Having never been around agriculture before marrying L, farm life was an adjustment for me. And that's putting it mildly. Even now, six years later, you'd think I'd know better than to plan a weekend vacation during the summer months. But NO...I had to go and do it anyway. And ended up postponing the trip three times in total. So far. It's still only July. I've got to get through August and part of September before it 'officially' becomes a Fall vacation...
My first mistake was planning the vacation at all. My second mistake was planning it first for the end of May. That turned out to be a no-go when it quickly became apparent in April, that Mother Nature had her seasons mixed up and thought it was still winter before switching to monsoon season. The end of May saw us frantically trying to get crops planted between raindrops and cooler temperatures delaying fieldwork.
My second attempt at a vacation was derailed when the hay crop decided to have a weekend growth spurt. Being an understanding, if slightly disgruntled, farm wife, I pushed my plans off for another week.
My third try came thisclose to success when L was literally one foot out the door to go buckle the kids in their carseats when the phone rang. It was unexpectedly bad news about a near and dear family member and there was only one decision to be made under the circumstances. Luckily, the bad news quickly turned into not-quite-so-bad news and it's now at pretty-darn-good status but our trip was still pushed off.
We are currently awaiting an update that will let us know whether our 4th stab at a summer family vacation will happen in another week or if it will be two weeks out.
But, as any good farmwife knows, the only sure things about summer on the farm are the hay has to be made, the cows need to be milked, and vacations aren't to be planned.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Life doesn't stop for the hard stuff.
I've been dreaming of writing this blog post for two and a half months. I still am writing this post but it's not going to be as I envisioned it. Instead of being a post filled with joy and brimming over with happiness, it'll be filled with bittersweet hope. But it can't be any other way. For that's how life is sometimes, isn't it?
To start, ten weeks ago I found out I was pregnant. Two pink lines appeared instead of one.
This last week, however, my two pink lines weren't quite enough.
It's hard knowing I'll be doing this yet again but I'm at peace too. This baby, my angel, is resting in God's own embrace. Knowing my child is with the one person who could love and care for him/her as much as L and I do, helps me get through these sad days.
The things that hurt the worst are knowing this is another child I won't see doing all those 'firsts'. I won't spend hours trying to figure out who they look like. I can't see them take that first step toward independance, or muddle my way through their teenage angst or see them graduate high school or enter into their own life. There's so many things I'll miss and that tears me up inside more than the physical loss does.
Yet, I can't wallow in my grief either. As I wait for the physical parting to start, I know the spiritual parting has already happened and my baby is at peace and without pain. It's been said God only gives you what you can handle and I firmly believe there's a very special place for babies taken too soon. Perhaps they are guardian angels... All I know is that He wouldn't put me through this time and again if there wasn't some higher purpose for it.
The hardest thing about miscarriage is that there isn't a physical place to go to for closure like when an older family member dies. There's no grave marker in a cemetery to place flowers at. So many women make their own memorials. Some make a box with ultrasound pictures and special mementos-perhaps a rattle or a pair of booties given specially for the baby. Others send out balloons with messages or seeds inside. I have a quiet little place tucked into the trees where I plan to plant a bush or tree as my way of memorializing my babies. It's the place I go to when I'm in need of solace and comfort for there, in the dappled shade of my own little 'secret garden', I feel most at peace. It's as if my children are there, saying, "It's okay, Mom. We're so happy where we are and Thank You for giving us life, as brief as it was. We love you."
I'm happy I have my V and my A and I am so very very aware of just how miraculous it is that I have them. My two precocious, precious children have made me smile through my tears and kept me in the Real World this last week when all I've wanted to do is crawl back in bed and pull the covers over my head. When all I wanted to do was hide from my troubles, they would do something to make me see life didn't quit on Tuesday afternoon-like A taking off her diaper and promptly proving she's not ready for potty training or V hauling in a board so he could go 'hunting' and 'fishing' in the living room. They've kept me smiling instead of crying and helped start healing my bruised and battered heart with slobbery kisses and hugs from jam-sticky hands. Just today, they were sitting on the chair 'singing' at the top of their lungs while 'reading' their books. The sight made me laugh. I mean, really laugh. And laughter is the best medicine of all, right?
To start, ten weeks ago I found out I was pregnant. Two pink lines appeared instead of one.
This last week, however, my two pink lines weren't quite enough.
It's hard knowing I'll be doing this yet again but I'm at peace too. This baby, my angel, is resting in God's own embrace. Knowing my child is with the one person who could love and care for him/her as much as L and I do, helps me get through these sad days.
The things that hurt the worst are knowing this is another child I won't see doing all those 'firsts'. I won't spend hours trying to figure out who they look like. I can't see them take that first step toward independance, or muddle my way through their teenage angst or see them graduate high school or enter into their own life. There's so many things I'll miss and that tears me up inside more than the physical loss does.
Yet, I can't wallow in my grief either. As I wait for the physical parting to start, I know the spiritual parting has already happened and my baby is at peace and without pain. It's been said God only gives you what you can handle and I firmly believe there's a very special place for babies taken too soon. Perhaps they are guardian angels... All I know is that He wouldn't put me through this time and again if there wasn't some higher purpose for it.
The hardest thing about miscarriage is that there isn't a physical place to go to for closure like when an older family member dies. There's no grave marker in a cemetery to place flowers at. So many women make their own memorials. Some make a box with ultrasound pictures and special mementos-perhaps a rattle or a pair of booties given specially for the baby. Others send out balloons with messages or seeds inside. I have a quiet little place tucked into the trees where I plan to plant a bush or tree as my way of memorializing my babies. It's the place I go to when I'm in need of solace and comfort for there, in the dappled shade of my own little 'secret garden', I feel most at peace. It's as if my children are there, saying, "It's okay, Mom. We're so happy where we are and Thank You for giving us life, as brief as it was. We love you."
I'm happy I have my V and my A and I am so very very aware of just how miraculous it is that I have them. My two precocious, precious children have made me smile through my tears and kept me in the Real World this last week when all I've wanted to do is crawl back in bed and pull the covers over my head. When all I wanted to do was hide from my troubles, they would do something to make me see life didn't quit on Tuesday afternoon-like A taking off her diaper and promptly proving she's not ready for potty training or V hauling in a board so he could go 'hunting' and 'fishing' in the living room. They've kept me smiling instead of crying and helped start healing my bruised and battered heart with slobbery kisses and hugs from jam-sticky hands. Just today, they were sitting on the chair 'singing' at the top of their lungs while 'reading' their books. The sight made me laugh. I mean, really laugh. And laughter is the best medicine of all, right?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)