A person’s a person, no matter how small. --dr. seuss

"There is, I am convinced, no picture that conveys in all its dreadfulness, a vision of sorrow, despairing, remediless, supreme. If I could paint such a picture, the canvas would show only a woman looking down at her empty arms. -Charlotte Bronte

Life goes on, as it does and will, and we find ourselves a bit less sad, a bit more "normal".

There are times though, like driving home from dropping Erin and Afton off at the airport last week, that it all bubbles over. Not only the emptiness that always comes when we sisters find ourselves in different spots on the globe. But looking back in the rear view mirror and seeing two car seats, one full one empty. And Anna staring at it the whole way home.

I remember holding him in that bleached white blanket, moving every miniature finger and toe and wanting so badly to be his mother. This perfect, tiny little boy I will never push on a swing or kiss goodnight.

Then making the call to cancel the ultrasound sound we'd scheduled. "And what is the reason for this cancellation?"

Or sitting in the sun, eating sandwiches on stone benches in my parents backyard and listening to my grandma cry through the recounting of her two babies' deaths. Over half a century has gone by, and still she cries. Still she wonders about what could might should have been, and aches their loss.

I am not alone. Of this I am more aware than ever. I have felt God's comfort and reality through that long night and all that has followed. My family on both sides have proven the love I already knew.
Women across the ages have dealt with loss of this kind, and carried on, while many in my situation died right along with the babe.

I am blessed. And I am more grateful than ever for breath and light and life. For a husband who sees me and loves me fully, for Anna who is zest. For health and hope and the delicious happiness that I have known.

The sun shines on.

“Do not judge the bereaved mother.
She comes in many forms.
She is breathing, but she is dying.
She may look young, but inside she has become ancient.
She smiles, but her heart sobs.
She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works, she IS,
but she IS NOT, all at once.
She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity.”

peter

Appointments at the midwives this go around are neither easy nor boring. Example: Peeing in a cup with a diaper bag and assistance from a one and a half year old.

But, I had been able to schedule this appointment for 8:40, giving us a good half hour before Anna’s morning nap time. Conditions were as ideal as possible. As we sat in the waiting room, she said hieee!! and waved to every single person coming in, buh bye! to those leaving. It was going to be a good visit.

Finally in the room, a midwife in training sat down with me to review how things were going. A page full of notes she’d taken when reviewing my file last night lay open on her lap.

 “So, things are going well? I see you are about 5 months along, congratulations! Have you been feeling baby move yet?” 

Yes, off and on, little flutters and tiny kicks. Nothing big or constant yet. 

“Oh, great! That’s always so fun when you can start to feel them in there. It’s like a whole other level of connection between mom and baby.”

Claudia, the actual midwife then came in, and after getting Anna situated on a chair with her milk, crackers, and a book, I laid down on the butcher papered table, ready to hear that little heart I already loved so dearly. 

“Mama!!!”  

Claudia pulled the chair over so Anna could stand right up next to the bed. The assistant began, pressing the tool gently against my skin. After a few minutes with no success, she handed it over to Claudia who began her search. “When was the last time you felt the baby move?” she asked casually.  I thought back. “Mmm, maybe a few days ago? It hasn’t been very consistent.” She pressed harder, more urgent. Back and forth, brows furrowed.  “Hmm. This is not a good sign.” And suddenly my heart stopped. 

What if there was no beat. 

She tried for a few more minutes, then slowly pulled the tool off, looked up at me. “We need to get you up to the hospital for an ultra sound right away.” I broke down. The assistant wasn’t sure what to do, and followed Claudia out of the room to go make me an appointment. Anna looked up. “Mama sad?” I sat up, wiped the jelly off my stomach, and pulled her close. Claudia came back into the room. Finding me in tears,  she now gave me a hug and I suddenly felt like a scared little child. 

“I am so so sorry. Do you have anyone that can go with you?”

 I thought through where my family would be at 9am on a Monday. No. 

“I’ll let the midwife on call know you’re coming and she can be with you. Ok? I am so sorry.”

And so I packed up the bottle, tiny books, and half eaten grahm crackers. My throat felt swollen shut, and the tears simply would not stop. Anna was genuinely confused at her mother behaving this way. I placed her in her familiar spot on my right hip, and together we walked back out into the world. “Mama’s doctor! Buh byeee!”

The buckles on her car seat felt extraordinarily difficult to find and fasten. She writhed and twisted, shouting every comfort command she knows: “Niu nai!! (milk, in chinese) Hug!! MAMA!!” I gave her her milk and a kiss, then pushed my seat back into position and climbed in. Right then, I knew.

I called Eric, praying he would answer even though he was teaching and would have his phone on silent. Nothing. Mom, Dad, Colin, no answer. Eric again and again.

I stared at my phone, deciding what to even say in a text to him. 

And then we were staring at the front doors of the University Hospital. This is where I will hear the news that my baby is dead. I steadied my breathing.

Maybe not, I thought. Maybe.

melt

This is how she felt about snow at the beginning of this winter. She grew to like it a bit more, thankfully.

But oh it was good to run around on the sun drenched dead grass today, discovering sticks and sidewalk.

Happy March 7th!

choice

Sometimes there's a gap. It means you eat that ice cream bar knowing full well that it will bring your organs and cells absolutely nothing nutritious.

Or find yourself at the end of a day not where or how you know you want.

Sometimes, it itches. Other times it feels so massive and real that you resign to it. You crawl or fall or sit down deep inside it and just do all the things you know better than to do.

Weeks can go by, sitting down there. Which is how it's been around here, in this head and body of mine.

Granted, it's been a crazy few months. Eric leaves before seven, gets home around 8 to eat dinner and put Anna to bed (sometimes) then works again until about midnight. Weekends frequently included.

Also the radiant heat pipes meant to warm our chilled little house decided instead to freeze, making them ever so less radiant. During Utah's 3rd coldest winter in recorded history. We have been staying off and on in my parent's basement, lives half leftover at home.

Also, I am pregnant.

BUT. The idea that what I put into me; food, ideas, entertainment etc is critically important and makes me who I will be, is one I have long held tight to and lived by. For the most part, I eat simple, real food. Lots of whole grains, fresh fruit and veggies, little or no meat.  I try to limit silly entertainment and actively use my mind to think and learn.

Recently though, I have just sort of laid down in that gap, opened my mouth wide and frequently, and let whatever falls come on in.

I want a wendy's chicken nuggets kids meal nearly every day.  Only 1.99 after 4:00! Chocolate chips, ice cream bars, cookies, processed snacks, and even a soda. In me. Mindless minutes spent in front of a computer screen while Anna naps. Lonely running shoes. And I'm in the middle of no book.

good news! Yesterday, I climbed out.

The gap is still there. I know I won't behave just exactly as I hope and know how. But I was sick of sitting.

p.s. I don't mean to be down on myself. I recognize I've done all sorts of wonderful things wonderfully as well these past few months. But oh it feels good to be standing on top. Choosing again.

"Self control is the highest form of courage." 

"Our moral muscles grow with exercise and use. If we want them to be strong for the times of greater temptation, we must make them strong by using them to resist the ever-recurring small temptations" William James

There is rain falling on the ash in my parent's fireplace. Something about that soft conclusion to each drop's flight from the heavens makes me not want to stand up and close the flume.

Also, I've decided just now ( as I have been known to do in the past ) that there is value for me in recording thoughts, on staring at the words that they have to fit into, awkward though that process may be. Once a month or so is not enough.

I'd honestly rather not spend time in front of a screen, and often when I sit down to start something, I decide it's probably not the best use of time. That there are at least 17 other things I should be doing at that particular moment.

But too much is gone.

Bath times with bubbles and plastic horses, books that forced me to pause and think "I will never be the same again", strangers made friends, chilly walks taken, salty pillows.

Nothing to document how it smelled. Or looked. Or how it changed or rearranged me.

And.

I'd like to remember the following sunny moments, at this moment.