New Post: A Thousand Years: Pregnancy Loss By Felecia Jacks
June 16, 2025 | Interpersonal Insight
At the James Arthur concert, I was caught off guard when he sang “A Thousand Years.” Two weeks earlier, I had shared the story behind that song with Abigail—our pregnancy loss in 2010. When we got home that night, she played it on repeat through her Alexa.
I don’t have the words to express what it feels like when you realize your daughter understands the depth of love, pain, and hope that stories like these bring to life.
“Mom, why does it mean so much to you?”
That question lingered—echoing the unspoken pain and deep emotion I carry.
The Heart of Loss
In June 2010, my husband and I faced a heartbreaking reality: we lost our first child. My heart shattered when the doctor told me I wouldn’t be meeting the little one who had already stolen mine.
I tried to understand—did I cause this? Was it something I did? But there isn’t always an explanation. And that might be the most brutal truth of all.
A person you loved had to go, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. No lesson to learn. No habit to fix. Just grief.
Grief that leaves a hole in the soul.
What Does Grief Look Like?
It looks like a new reason to look forward to heaven.
It’s marked by two dates—one for the due date, and one for the day they were lost.
You count each year how old they would’ve been.
Even without holding them, there are vivid images—face, hair color, personality. They grow in your heart, not in front of your eyes.
You celebrate silent birthdays. You remember them in private. You feel them in sacred moments.
Over time, anger softens. The pain doesn’t go away, but it transforms. You don’t get over it—you grow around it.
Until one day, a “birthday” arrives, and the dam breaks again. The memories flood in: the image of their eyes, the way they’d fit into your family, the life that might have been. You smile. You cry. You know they would’ve belonged.
A Sacred Space in Your Heart
In quiet moments, if you close your eyes, you see something holy—
eyes that never opened, dreams that never unfolded, love that never faded.
They live deep in your soul, and in that hope—something only God gives to parents of children in heaven—you find peace.
You know they’re waiting.
And that knowing becomes something you feel in your skin.
The Story of Love and Hope
When that song played, everything came rushing back.
Why does it mean so much?
Because it’s more than a melody. It’s a story.
Your dad was surprised by that pregnancy. We had only been married two months. He wanted me to finish school. He wanted peace. I wanted hope.
Each month, I prayed silently for a surprise.
The Moment of Hope
In January 2012, I dared to hope again. I calculated: if we conceived in March, I could finish school by December.
He felt the ache I carried. He said yes.
And in April, the test turned positive. I ran to my journal. He came home to a gray shirt with a very obvious message.
A Prayer from the Heart
“Dear God,
I come to you today because I just found out I am pregnant, and just like I come to you when I’m sad or scared, I come to say thank you.
Thank you for Robert. Thank you for this child.
After those cramps Sunday, I knew that was you at work. Thank you. I can’t explain it, but I know you’re near.”
Life’s Unexpected Trials
But life had other plans.
In May, I saw blood. At the OB’s office, I learned I had a subchorionic hemorrhage. A 50/50 chance of survival. I was crushed.
In the shower, blood washing down the drain, I dropped to my knees and prayed. That prayer became a life-marking moment.
I sang “A Thousand Years.” I waited. I braced.
The Miracle of Matthew
Matthew Bryan Jacks was born in December 2012—almost exactly a thousand days after we lost the first baby.
When I held him, he was so still I thought he had died in my arms. I screamed.
But then he moved.
And I knew—God answered.
The Meaning of Love and the Song
I hear the lyrics differently now:
Heart beats fast, colours and promises. How to be brave?
How can I love when I’m afraid to fall?
I have died every night waiting for you…
And I would love you for a thousand more.
Final Reflection
That day in the car, when Abigail asked, “Mom, why does it mean so much to you?”—I didn’t have the perfect answer.
But in my heart, I knew she understood the story.
Not just the one I told her—but the one written into the song.
This wasn’t just about music. It was about a love that endured. A faith that healed. A loss that shaped forever.
Because even love that only lives for a moment can shape eternity.
And the truest love really can wait a thousand years.