One of the pages I set up on my website was to be dedicated solely to the heroes in our lives who have helped us through difficult times, who have been strong supporters, who have given their love and time and cared enough about us to make a difference in our lives. I have had several people look at the page, but no one has ever responded with a “hero” story.

I’ve decided to tell a story that very few people have ever heard. This is the story that was on my mind when the page was created, so perhaps it was meant for me to tell my hero story first.

Almost half my life ago, I found out I was pregnant. I was 17 years old and two days away from high school graduation. I was terrified. My boyfriend and I told our friends and family, and shortly after we both turned 18, we were married. I was five months pregnant on the day of our wedding. Exactly one week after the wedding, I was over at my parents’ house doing laundry and I went into premature labor. My parents took me to the hospital. It’s the only time I remember feeling him move inside me, and it’s the only time I remember hearing his heartbeat. He did not survive after the delivery. It was September 13, 1992 at 3:30pm. There was a nurse named Lily who stayed with me through it all. She gave my mom an envelope. Inside was a birth certificate imprinted with two perfect footprints. I still keep it in my bible.

I have a brother who is younger than me by almost four years. I seem to remember that we always got along pretty well – although he may tell you otherwise (don’t listen to him). But from the day that he found out his big sis was pregnant, he somehow transformed into my “big” brother. He watched out for me, he took up for me, he was my best friend and constant support in the house and it continued even after I moved out – to this day, in fact. Once I accidentally washed my contact down the drain in the bathroom sink. He walked in on me freaking about it just after it happened. I didn’t want to have to tell my parents – I’d obviously been pretty off the mark in the responsibility category and was just trying not to disappoint them anymore. This kid snuck tools in from the garage, dismantled the bathroom plumbing and found my contact!

But that’s not what this story is about either.

A few days after I lost the baby, my family and some church members held a small funeral up in the hills in a tiny cemetery next to a pretty little mountain country church. It is truly a very beautiful and peaceful place. I didn’t go to the funeral, but I do still visit there sometimes. My brother though was among those in attendance that day. Mom said he stayed pretty quiet the whole time. I really can’t imagine what it would be like to watch all of this through the eyes of a ninth grade boy. After the funeral, as they were walking to the car, Mom said my brother kept stopping and looking back. He told them to hang on, he’d be right back. He walked back up the hill to the little grave. Mom watched him pull something over his head then kneel down. When he got back, she asked him if he was okay. He said yes, but that it bothered him there wasn’t a cross anywhere on the grave. There was a green marker with our last name handwritten in and the words, “Lived in love on this earth for 5 months.” When my brother had turned around and walked back up there, he had taken off the silver cross he was wearing around his neck, kneeled down and placed it under a rock on top of the packed dirt.

I don’t know if I’ve ever told my brother what a profound impact that simple act has made in my life – but I have always, always cherished him more than he could ever know – for loving me and my child so much, and for having such a pure and undoubting faith in God. It was his way of lending comfort and security and protection to the tiniest, most helpless and vulnerable little human being he ever knew. It was his way of proclaiming that this child was protected by the power of God.

For women dealing with the pain and void of infertility, it is so hard to live through the ups and downs and not be able to point a finger at someone and say, “This is your fault.” We all too often spend way too much time blaming ourselves and our bodies for betraying us, that in desperation we MUST look elsewhere for blame. So many times, that blame so easily falls on God. I myself went through a time when I looked to God for blame. When you are hurting and angry and broken, and you have people telling you things like, “It was God’s will that you lost your baby,” or “God just isn’t ready to give you a child yet,” how else are you supposed to respond?

When I start feeling the blame monster creeping up on me again, I don’t turn to God for blame, I turn to God for comfort, for security and for protection. I remember my brother’s faith and his actions that day and I turn to God with an open and vulnerable heart, seeking healing and strength to stand up, turn around and face the world knowing that I am a child protected by the power of God.

Today, my brother is a firefighter paramedic. A real life hero to many people. He saves lives, he protects families, and he’s still a firm believer in God – strong as ever I’d say. My brother is a daddy now too. I am so proud of him, of his wife and of his two beautiful boys.

As much as I’ve cried writing this post today, I probably will not be able to talk to him about it without breaking down, but my little brother I want you to know that I love you, that I am so proud of you, and that you will always be one of the heroes in my life.

Thank you so much for being exactly who you are. I am so blessed and so thankful that you are my brother.

He that loveth his brother abideth in the light, and there is no occasion of stumbling in him. ~1 John 2:10