Monday, October 01, 2012

On Time. And Wounds. And Healing.

Today a young woman I know found out that, yet again, her pregnancy has ended without a baby.

When she announced the pregnancy, it was with the wild abandon and hope that this one was gonna take. A baby had to come this time.

Because the first time it happened? Who knows?

And the second? Well, he was just about to leave on a yearlong deployment and so maybe it was god's way of saying this was not the right time. Right?

But he's home now. Life is beautiful and happy. Just the way you dream of life when you're a child. It should really work out when everything else is going so well, shouldn't it?

Only it doesn't always. And it doesn't so often that I find myself hoping I can somehow absorb the worries of my friends' hearts. Like that will raise the chances of a happy outcome.

Because I never want anyone to feel that kind of loss.

Do you even know how quickly an entire life can be imagined? From the realization that a pregnancy test is in order to the confirmation of life, plans are already hatching. Dreams are already forming. A future life is already being lived.

How many times have I sat in front of a monitor in a dark room and seen the still shadows on the screen?

Saw the words, "NO FETAL HEART TONE"? And why do those words have to be in all caps?

I have to say, the best part of getting my tubes tied two years ago is never having to worry that much through another pregnancy.

Okay, yes, until someone is carrying my grandchild. And then, hopefully, I will do what I do now. Cheer and celebrate and hope for the best while silently sending out little pleas that this one will make it.

Last week I was going through an old magazine that we have laying around. There's a note in the back from the editor. To the infant son he lost 36 years before.

It was one of those pieces that slammed into my head as much as my heart.

It never goes away.

I am not a freak because I look at young adults around me and think I could be their mother. I mean, not theirs, but the mother of a friend that they never got to make. A brood of young men and/or women could be filling my life, along with the son and daughters I know.

Where did they go?

And at the other end of this babyloss-marked life, I have to say that I'm grateful to the little being that never was, who gave way to Fynnie. We could not have had that baby and Fynnie since they were created less than two months apart. I cannot imagine choosing anyone else.

October is a somber time for many people. It's National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. Did you know that? Did you know that people all over the country will be lighting a candle at 7:00 P.M. on October 15 in remembrance of the little lives lost? It's to create a wave of light.

That saying about time healing all wounds? I suppose it does. To some degree. Define healed, right?

I am heartbroken for my friend and a little sad for me. I hope she feels the light on October 15 like a blanket. Between now and the peaceful sadness and wonder I think she'll eventually come to find, I hope there is a rainbow in her arms.


Emms said...

And queue tears. What a beautiful post Shan, as heartbreaking as it is. Losing a baby that you have hoped for and dreamed of is horrible. My heart goes out to your friend today as she grieves over this devastating loss. She is in my prayers along with so many others. I hope she seeks support as there are so many wonderful women in this world who have been through this and understand.

I also was not aware that Fynnie was your rainbow! I am so sorry for your loss, but happy that Fynnie was the result.

Hugs all around.

Rue said...

Thank you for writing this. Sometimes I feel strange missing someone I never got to meet, but wouldn't it be more strange if I didn't? No you are not a freak at all.

Anti-Supermom said...

Shan, this hurts my heart so much... I'm sorry.

The song 'where are you now' from Mumford and Sons is going through my head. Sometimes we don't get answers, and sadly, yes, sometimes *it* doesn't ever go away.

Bossy Betty said...

It's a particular kind of loss that stays with you. It's nearly impossible to understand if you haven't been through it. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh. Sadness.

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