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?

Do you believe in dreams?

Do you believe in dreams? I am not sure how much stock I put in dreams but here's one dream that definitly left an impression. I was sitting on a bench in this garden maze (you know, the kind with high hedge walls?) on a sunny summer day. Picture perfect. The walls of the maze formed a three sided room around my seat and I am holding a peacefully sleeping baby girl in my arms. She is cradled close, almost smiling and I know that she is my daughter. Suddenly I hear the light giggle of a little girl wafting through the air and look up to see a child of about 5 or 6 run past the entrance to my garden room. She has curly blonde hair and is wearing a frilly white dress. I notice this as she peeks in at me. Then, smiling as calmly as my slumbering child, she walks towards me with arms outstretched. As this girl approaches, she appears to grow before my eyes. She stops in front of me, aged to a young woman of 20 with a laughing smile, and motions for me to hand my baby to her. Cradling the infant, she turns to walk out the way she came. I make no move to stop her, knowing instinctively that my baby is in good hands. Just before she leaves the room, I ask her "What's your name?" With a wide grin, she answers, "Jodi" and leaves.

Now what makes this dream so different from the rest of the ones that I have had? One-it happened during a particularly emotional time after my first miscarriage (a baby that I was POSITIVE was a girl), Two-my mother-in-law had a daughter named Jodi who died soon after birth, and Three-While I knew that my m-i-l had a baby who died very young, I didn't know her name was Jodi until I told Lanny about my dream. What do you think? Was this merely my mind finding a way for me to cope with the loss and grief I was feeling over the miscarriage or was it God's way of showing me that my baby was going to be well-cared for in her heavenly home? I believe the latter.