What exactly I am grieving

I am hesitant to treat Josiah's departure as a death, because I know he is a thriving, happy almost-two-year-old.  But in so many ways it feels like something has died.  I know this feeling.  I have felt it before.

When Josiah was first placed with us, a miracle occurred.  God finally filled my heart with hope.  Hoping for a future where I finally got to be a mom and Justin got to be a dad was a dream I had a hard time accepting before then.  Pregnancy was not an avenue that had procured the ending that I had so desperately prayed for, time after time after time after time.  In my mind, pregnancy did not equal motherhood (and honestly, despite one healthy pregnancy, my heart is still so guarded to think that my broken body can produce that ending again.)  But when Josiah entered our home, the hard shell that had protected my heart against hope melted the moment I saw him.  He made me a into mom.

That hope for myself soon changed again when God allowed me to fall in love with him.  He was my son and I was his mom.  I no longer cared about fulfilling the role that God had called me to.  Instead, I cared about him, his future, his dreams, his safety.  God had changed that hope into something bigger than me- I hoped that Josiah would reach his full potential in Christ, with us being the people chosen to guide him into the direction he should go.

I finally let myself dream big dreams- about Josiah and Molly walking into their kindergarten classroom hand in hand, about listening to him memorize Bible verses, and me kneeling by his bed next to him and hearing him accept Jesus in his heart.  I dreamed about the day I would get to teach him how to mix primary into secondary colors, getting to see his dad show him how to throw a football, and watching him protect Molly when boys wanted to date her.  My dreams for him were good dreams.

Then all of a sudden this dream I had was smothered until it had no breath.  It ceased to have a heartbeat.  It could go no further.  It could grow not further.  This is the feeling of miscarriage.

Carrying, planning, hoping, dreaming, sacrificing, and then....nothing.  No life.  Just darkness and emptiness and silence.  

It is for this I grieve:  I had a dream for my son.  And now, again, I find myself having to admit to God that His dream for the child He blessed me with was better than mine.  I have to let my dream for Josiah die and allow God to replace it with a new dream, and it is a painful process.  I grieve what will never be.  

Hope is a painful word because along with it comes the idea of trust.  I hope Josiah is happy.  I hope he loves his family.  I hope he doesn't miss me like I miss him.  I hope he grows up to be all that God created him to be.  But I have nothing to do with growing this child any longer.  I have to trust that God is keeping Josiah safe, healthy, and happy, and that someday, somewhere, someone will tell him who Jesus is.  

I trust my God is big enough to do anything.  And I trust that God doesn't need me to carry out His plan in Josiah's life.  But I admit I have a difficult time letting myself hope that my life can feel completely fulfilled without my son in it.  Am I always going to feel like our house is emptier than it should be?