Chapter One
The pain woke me up about 3 AM, and because I was already the mother of a darling boy I knew right away that it was labor pain. As it faded I lay on my side in the dark and got my bearings. I was 12 weeks pregnant. Every few minutes it would come again, stronger, and at some point I needed to focus and breath so that I would stay “over” the pain. If you get distracted, the wave of it can overcome you and you lose control; you whimper and moan. My firstborn had been a natural birth, and this felt familiar; this pain, this breathing, and this ability to stay “over.” I was silent except for my breath. I claimed this as my experience. I did not wake anyone, or call anyone. I did not want to explain to anyone what I knew was happening. I was with myself for this miniature birth. In that moment, and for many years, there were no words from me for this. Time passed, contractions came and went, and my focus and breathing held me. I felt the urge to get up and go to the bathroom. I took a few steps, and I could feel that something smooth was sliding through me. As I reached the bathroom I could feel the smoothness about to exit my body, and I reached my cupped hand below and caught the miracle. In my hand was the fluid filled sac, intact and whole and clear. And floating inside was my little fetus, with tiny arms and hands, itty-bitty legs with feet and maybe the hint of toes, and a tiny “large” head with dark eyes. I held a little embryonic world in the palm of my hand. I breathed. I sat on the toilet and waited a bit. Nothing more happened. There was no blood. The fetal connection to life, the placenta rich with its gifts of blood and oxygen, remained inside me. I crept down stairs in the dark, cradling the miracle tenderly, close to my body, and in the palm of one hand. I am logical in emergencies. I knew that the sun would rise and my doctors’ office would open and that I would drive over there with the miracle and I would ask how it all came to be. In my kitchen I was thinking cold was needed for preservation, but it seemed wrong to put the miracle in the refrigerator. One handed, I carefully chose a little glass Pyrex custard type dish and placed it on the counter. I chose a bigger yellow Tupperware container and set that down. As my left hand cradled the miracle I put ice cubes in the Tupperware with my right. The ice cubes clunked into the plastic bowl, sounding loud in those hours before daylight came. I then positioned the little glass bowl into the ice. I sat in the blue plaid wing chair I had gotten for my birthday. Next to me was our basket of children’s books. I sat and held the miracle for a time in its first and only cradle, the warm hand of its own momma. I marveled at it. I said a prayer to its sweet little lost promise. It was at this moment that more emotion came. Later it was hard to put the miracle in to the glass dish, because I knew I would most likely not hold the miracle again. The sun rose and my husband woke and I told him we lost the baby. “Maybe you are wrong,” he offered supportively. “You can go to the doctors and see.” “No, “ I said. “This is for sure.” I brought him downstairs and took him to the quiet corner of the kitchen where I had placed the yellow Tupperware, the little glass Pyrex dish, the ice, and the miracle. Our toddler son woke up, and the doctors’ office opened. “Maybe you are wrong,” the nurse offered supportively. “Come over now and the doctor can see. ” “No,” I said. “This is for sure.” I had no more words for it. I snapped the bright yellow cover into place, instinctively burping the extra air out of the container to seal in the freshness. This is only one woman’s story about a few moments in her own life. These individual experiences are so easily dismissed by others at times. Why do you suppose that is? Chapter 2 I drove to my obstetricians office with my miracle next to me on the front seat. This was a tiny office with one physician so a very intimate place that knew you when you walked in. I walked into the office carrying my sealed yellow Tupperware container. I opened it at the desk. “Oh,” the nurse sighed. I have never seen anything like this. Now I know what you meant.” The nurse gave me a hug. She went and got the doctor. “Oh my goodness,” the doctor said. “In all my years I have never seen anything like this.” He would retire after I had my next baby, so he already had lots of years in, and yet he looked and looked. “Everything looks perfect. I think the fetus is about 8 weeks along. Were you sick a few weeks ago?” He was kind and spoke gently, just the way you would want someone to be. We had been. We had been vomiting for 24 hours, 4 weeks earlier. He explained what he thought had happened. At certain points in development a fetus is vulnerable. Our miracle had not survived our catching that virus at 8 weeks. Mother Nature knew, and there we were, catching up with it all 4 weeks later. The doctor placed the miracle in a proper medical container and sent it to hospital pathology to test his guess and make sure that we would not miss anything that would be important for us to know. We waited to see if my body would pass the placenta but my body held on to it. I was scheduled for a D&C (Dilatation and Curettage) at the local hospital to remove the amazing network of fetal support my body had created. As a part time emergency room nurse, I called out sick that day and the next, to take the day after the procedure off, explaining what my experience had been. “Why are you calling out sick?” my nurse manager asked. “It is like having an abortion. People have abortions and do not get to take days off.” “I want the day off. I lost my baby.” My voice shook. I felt instant anger but this was all I could muster at the time. Why would someone be so cruel? Her heart heard me and her voice shifted. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Take the time, and I hope all goes well.” This is only one woman’s story about a few moments in her own life. These individual experiences are so easily dismissed by others at times. Why do you suppose that is? Chapter 3 Weeks went by and I thought about the baby we had thought we were having. It was a promise that was lost. Had we lost a boy or a girl? I wondered. Had we lost a second son? Had we lost a daughter? We had good insurance, but bills arrived in the mail. We received a bill from pathology. We did not receive any report. We paid the balance for the pathology testing that had taken place. More weeks went by and I still thought about the baby, the promise. Had we lost a daughter or a son? I wondered. Had we lost a boy or lost a girl? We were waiting several months before we could try to get pregnant again. In this time, I wondered. One day, something occurred to me, and I wondered if they could tell. Home alone, I took out the bill that had all the medical record information and I called that Pathology Department. “Can you look something up for me? Months ago, I had a miscarriage. But I passed the entire little perfect fetus, still in the sac. I have been wondering if it was far enough along that they could tell if it was a boy or a girl? I mean I know it does not really matter…. But if they could tell, if it is documented, I would really like to know. Could you look up the report for me?” The woman was helpful once I could give her my medical record number and dates for the procedure and enough of my information that she was confident that I was “I.” She put me on hold. About 5 minutes later she came back on. This was almost 30 years ago now; she had to pull a paper file. “Okay, I found it. Lets see….” I could picture her scanning through a document. “It just says ‘Indeterminate tissue.’ ” “That’s all? I mean… it was not indeterminate tissue. It was an actual little fetus in a sac.” “I’m sorry. That is all it says,” she said. I had no words for this. I shared this with no one. I did not want anyone else to be upset. I tortured myself with this fact. I pictured my miracle in a jar of formaldehyde on a shelf of specimens in a lab. I pictured my miracle in a jar on a bookcase behind the desk of some doctor. I felt that we had been violated in some way. I knew if I had known this would be the outcome, I would have buried my own little sweet promise in a pretty box in a pretty garden. I would have said beautiful momma prayers. You could not have seen that specimen, and labeled it “Indeterminate Tissue,” unless you wanted to keep it, the voice in my head would say. Unless you were doing it deliberately, because it was actually an amazing little miracle you do not hold in your hand every day. I could understand it might be a specimen worth saving. We should have been asked, if that is what happened. It should have been our decision. I was sad for my little promise. I felt that I let my little promise down. I would be sad when it came to my mind, for a long time. I would ask “Why?” It was my own, silent burden. Was it a bad thing? Should I be upset? I would leave the earth and my little promise would be alone in a jar, forever preserved. I wanted to know “something,” I was not even sure what it was I was asking. I longed for a greater understanding. For years I longed for what I did not “know.” We are told we can pray about things, seek answers, aren’t we. I asked to understand whenever I felt the upset reach for me. My heart asked, my mind asked; for meaning, for the intention of it all. Chapter 4 Time went by, and time heals, and sometimes I still wondered. Another darling baby boy was conceived and born. We were driving past the County Courthouse one day and my wise oldest son, now four years old, saw something unusual going on through the car window. There were maybe fifteen or twenty people outside the county courthouse with signs. “What are all the signs for, Momma? What do they say?” Oh, boy. All the signs were about abortion. He was a wise and thoughtful child. I thought a few minutes, and then I tried to explain. “People have strong feelings about something called abortion. Sometimes a tiny little baby seed will start to grow, and the woman will not be ready to have a baby. She might have big worries about being able to take care of it. So while it is still a baby seed, a doctor can take it out so it will not grow. Some of these people think women should not be able to do that. Some of them think that everyone should just let the women and the doctor decide.” All was quiet in the back seat as we drove slowly past the crowded sidewalk. “What are you thinking?” I asked him. “I think it is sad it does not get to be a baby,” he said. Chapter 5 In March of this year a little house finch laid three pretty eggs in a nest on our porch. The mother and father were very active with the nest. Three weeks later, I found a tiny little dead bird on the porch. It barely had feathers. Its holy little body reminded me of the holy little body I had birthed, so long ago. Even the simple little bird was such a magnificent little thing, its yellow beak and tiny head with little “ear gills” visible on the sides. Little stick legs. Just a dear little thing. I picked it up in a tissue, and actually took a picture to show my second husband. I got my trowel and dug a little hole in front of our house. Wrapping it in the tissue, I placed it in the hole and covered it with dirt and said a little blessing. The structure that carries life is amazing. And the essence of this little bird continuing on…. Yes, that is amazing, too. And that is what I wanted to share; my knowing of the “continuing on” of things. Maybe there are hearts that need to read this. Maybe there are hearts, like mine, that are asking to know. These words are only looking for those hearts. For I did receive answers. Knock and the door shall be opened. Seek and ye shall find. Remember this moment, what I wrote earlier? I called out sick that day and the next, to take the day after the procedure off, explaining what my experience had been. “Why are you calling out sick?” my nurse manager asked. “It is like having an abortion. People have abortions and do not get to take days off.” I thought about her initial response, often, for years. In my head, I asked why she could have been so cruel. One day, on a day that I was feeling wonderful, I just knew these words, about the nurse I had labeled as cruel. There are always other things we might consider. She might have had to have an abortion herself, and that decision was still upsetting. She might have wanted to take time off, but could not, because there are requests that are not socially accepted. “How could she need a day off? She CHOSE this,” people might think they should think. There are some requests you do not think you deserve to make. It was a loss to her, a loss she felt she could not claim. Whatever it was, she had not gotten support when she needed it and so she found it hard to give it. Just love her anyway. How can anyone think choosing an abortion is easy? Consider how hard it is, and that there are always things you do not know. Remember this? I was sad for my little promise. I felt that I let my little promise down. I would leave the earth and my little promise would be alone in a jar, forever preserved. I wanted to know “something,” I was not even sure what it was I was asking. I longed for a greater understanding. For years I longed for what I did not “know.” We are told we can pray about things, seek answers, aren’t we. I asked to understand whenever I felt the upset reach for me. My heart asked, my mind asked; for meaning, for the intention of it all. I thought about this grievance at random times in my head for years. One day, on a day that I was feeling wonderful, I just knew these words. There are always other things we might consider. You have cried out, “Did we lose a son or a daughter? Did we lose a boy or a girl?” Yes, It would be sad if it did not get to be a baby. Nothing is lost. Do you think that any promise of life is ever lost? Do you think that each has only one chance? I created all this. Why would I create such loss? Why would I let any sparkle of creation go unseen? It is all eternal and never ending. That is the promise. It is not complete without the individual sparkles of light. I love that one, and that one, and that one! How could I not have it become? You are such limited thinkers sometimes. Consider nature, for I remind you everywhere of limitlessness. Your miracle, if it is in a jar, or if it is not, is still a miracle. It was a living miracle of opportunity. A miracle of cells and design and structure and differentiation and promise. It is still a miracle, even tiny, even though it did not continue its growth and come into life through breath. The sparkle stayed with me, where it waited for another chance, another turn, another car, another journey. Or it waited for you to be ready and is one of your next children. It does not matter. Feel the ease of knowing life is never, never lost. The crosses in front of the church are set out with such good intention. They are set out with love and respect and deep grief for what is considered to be lost, each one representing 100 or 1000 losses. And yet there are no losses. They are never lost. Until the first breath, they are wholly my responsibility. Until the first breath, they are Holy, my responsibility. With the first inspiration, they are in your human care. At inspiration. That is my inspiration. Dear hearts that fight for this, have ease. You are carrying something you need not carry. Breathe. They were not lost. They were, or are, with me. You need not fight for them. The promised gift of them has already come or is coming. Take this in to your hearts. Feel the truth of it. The women that carry the burden of a difficult decision, for days or for years or for a lifetime… have ease. You simply did not take a chance in that moment. Your chance stayed with me. Our chance did not lose its chance. Your chance took another journey. Your chance may have waited for you at a different time, be a child you had later. Or your chance may live next door. Your chance may be on the other side of the world, in a poor little hut, taking a chance. Dear hearts that mourn and think they took a life have ease. Breathe. You did not and do not have the power to take that life from being. They were, or are, with me. If you carry guilt for making the best decision you could with what you knew, know the guilt is of no value. Know that guilt is never anything I am requiring. The promised gift of them has already come or is coming. Take this in to your hearts. Feel the truth of it. These individual experiences are so discounted by others at times. Why do you suppose that is? This is only my story. I offer it, just in case you want to take it into your own heart and feel the truth of it. Things are so hard sometimes, and there are always things we do not know. There are always other things we might consider. Breathe, fellow women, breathe. Breathe and focus.
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Back when I was a new first bride, after I moved to Pennsylvania but before I had any children, I got this amazing sales support job as a nurse. I was hired to partner with a salesman, I will call him Mark. Mark and I were instantly a great team. He was a decade older than I, so had more life experience. He had been a flight nurse, and was currently in the Air Force reserves. He was smart and a bit of a light hearted comedian; I was more serious but hey, I can be fun. We traveled locally from hospital to hospital. We worked really well together. He was single and had a happy personality, and he would play off that all the time. To give you a silly example, we walked up to a nurses station, the nurses were bustling around it. We were not catching anyone’s eye, so Mark picked up a flashlight from the desk and, turning it on, started flashing it in the nurses faces. This would be annoying, but somehow it was not, when Mark did it. As soon as he got some attention he would just be so engaging, so charming. Mark loved 50’s music and whenever we had a sales meeting he would bring his boom box and play his favorite hits afterwards. He was fun about it though, a work party was always better with Mark. He started dating this adorable woman and my husband and I would meet them often for drinks or dinner. We played rounds of Chip and Putt together, the four of us. After three years as partners with me, the company pulled him to a territory out west that was a new target area; he was on an advance team helping to establish business. He became the top sales rep on this travel team. I took over our old territory myself. He eventually officially transitioned out west to live and work. I became pregnant, and delivered, my first child. Mark sent the sweetest baby gift, these adorable, tiny, sneakers. Have you ever gotten a phone call where you literally, have to sit down? Crumple down to the floor actually, with a moan of disbelief, or other sounds you have never made. There are times in life that sounds come because words can’t. I got a sudden call about Mark, while the tiny sneakers were still fresh in the box. He had broken up with a western girlfriend. She began to date someone else. He climbed up onto the second floor balcony of the girlfriends apartment while the someone else was there. He shot and killed him. He jumped down, drove off in his car and killed himself in the garage of the company, using company materials. It was a total shock. I would have chosen not to believe, if that was a choice I had available. I would have signed a list, been one of 65 women to say how sweet he was, how easy to work with. I would have written a letter, been a character witness for him. I had no warning, no inkling, ever. I had no reason to doubt him, and might have doubted any one who told me something I did not want to hear. Mark had a side he never showed me. Who knew. People do not have to be all or one thing. Sometimes we cannot imagine what we humans are capable of. We can have a successful life and rewarding career... and then. We can be capable of great, surprising love... or not. I still wonder if the thank you note for the tiny sneakers, with the baby pictures I had tucked so happily inside, was ever opened by the Mark I knew. Sent from my iPhone |
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