I've delivered four amazing, beautiful children.
(therefore....?)
I don't think about my miscarriages often. But when I do, I allow myself to really think. To remember. To feel.
Four years ago today, I had my most sudden, unexpected, and traumatic loss. So many factors went into that experience to make it such, and I've never really talked about it.
My memory was triggered this afternoon. It is 4:59 as I type, and despite the wonderful vacation that last week was, this week of reacclimating kicked mt butt. I caught a glimpse of my weary, disheveled self in the hall mirror. Cranky baby on hip, still-in-their-pajamas toddlers at my feet. Grocery lists wrote themselves in my head as I kicked a overflowing basket of clean-since-Tuesday clothes from the hall to the bedroom (where, undoubtedly, they will continue to wrinkle, unhung, for a few more days).
I paused, feeling worn and defeated. Wishing I were doing better with the chaos. The noise. The chores. The tears. The to-do list.
And then I thought, it's the 19th. October 19.
Four years ago, at 4:45 PM, I was still pregnant with twins. And by 8:00 PM, I was only pregnant with one. And by midnight, I wasn't pregnant at all.
So, present day 2012, with an over-tired James soaking his blanket with piteous tears, and with Seth and Erin rearranging the playroom, I stopped. And I remembered the heartache and anger and fear and sadness of that night four years ago.
I remember that the ER doctors had my blood type wrong, and just as they were about to administer a transfusion that might have killed me, my wonderful Dr. G showed up. I remember thinking, "I'm never going to have the family I've dreamed of." I remember staring at a heart, so very still on the ultrasound screen, and wanting to kick the technician in the head.
I remember all the tears that night.
And in remembering, I rejoice in the chaos. The noise. The chores. The to-do list. The toe-stubbing laundry baskets. The PBJ for dinner. The 24-hour-plus-some jammies.
My family has been rewritten with each conception and loss and delivery, a half-dozen times over. And I'm okay with that.
The beauty that has come from the ashes of 10/19/08 is beyond comprehension.
5 comments:
Oh, honey. How is it that four years have gone by? I had a moment much like yours today, where all three of my littles were screaming for something and I felt like screaming for them to all just leave me ALONE .... but then, remembered what it felt like when I really was alone. And scared. And longing. We've got it good now, mama. And angels. We've got the sweetest angels. Sending long distance love to you and yours tonight. xoxo.
Love you.
Love to you and ALL of your babies.
Oh, Monica, this pain I can relate to! I wept hot, quiet, steady tears Sunday night missing my Mia. How quickly 10 months have flown and yet how vivid the memory. Two emotions fill my heart each time I think of her-how much I miss her though I carried her only a few weeks and how grateful I am that she never knew the pain of this sinful world. What precious gifts God allowed us to give back to Him far sooner than we would have chosen! And what previous miracles our other kiddos are despite the chaos! Love you!
the beauty that has come from the ashes is beyond comprehension. well said, monica.
oh, heaven will be sweet! i look forward to it for you and with you.
and give yourself grace. LOTS OF GRACE. these days they are so temporary.
these days-
my kids do the laundry
and most of the chores.
and help with dinner, or just make it.
and they are quiet, too quiet.
i miss littles (and have no excuse to rebel and eat at 10p.m.)
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