This time, last month, I was four months pregnant. Then there was blood, so much blood. And then I was no longer pregnant.
Now, I feel like so much is broken. My words are
broken.
But this woman happened to be assigned as my nurse, and that is important.
There’s a piece of magic in that she was my nurse. I’m clutching this magic
like a spark in my hand, and I may not be able to use it now, because my heart still
hurts too much, but eventually I’ll loosen my grip and the spark will light
things up so I can see better.
Meanwhile, I want to share this woman’s story and her
song. I want to shed some light on the fact that so many women go through this.
I didn’t know before, but I know now, and I’ve felt deeply consoled by the
women who’ve shared bits of their own stories—bits of their shattered pieces—yet
they’ve found ways to heal, or to deal, and to continue finding joy and love.
I’ve not yet found ways to heal or deal, but here are
some pieces of gratitude I’ve been able to gather over the last month:
- I’m grateful for the woman who cleaned the blood off my legs. She didn’t have to, I could have done it, but she wiped my legs while I wiped tears from my face.
- I’m grateful for the woman who brought soup and sourdough for my family. I could have done that too, but she coordinated things in the background, so I didn’t have to.
- I’m grateful for those who prayed for us, sent love to us, condolences in texts and handwritten cards.
- I’m grateful for children who hold my hand and wrap their little arms around me, pressing their cheeks to mine.
- I’m grateful for a husband who will cry with me because, sometimes, that’s all we can do.
- I’m grateful we were able to find out our baby’s gender in December, and name her, and feel her close for a while.
- I’m grateful I still feel Esther close, sometimes.
To anyone else who’s gone through this, I’m so sorry.
I share this song, “Angels Remembered,” in hope that it helps.
