Last night I was sitting Shiva in the city for my husbands cousin, she had just turned 44 last week. She was a beautiful woman and an amazing mother to her two children, a wife, a daughter, a cousin, a friend. She suffered through a courageous battle with brain cancer, finally succumbing a few days ago. I don't want to use names because I in no way want to infringe on the familys' privacy. Their story is a tribute to life and the courage it takes to have faith when it seems none can be found.
Being in this space I can't help but recall my most recent experience with loss- the loss of my father almost two years ago. I went into what I would best describe as a trance for about two months after he died- the shock of sitting next to him in a hospital room filling out on a lunch menu what he wanted to eat -"Check Oatmeal, no jello," he said. And then a week and a half later never being able to see him again.
About a month after he died- I was driving down my block toward my house, I saw a car and a familiar face in my rearview mirror. I thought it was someone else but when she pulled in behind me I realized it was my friend. She was bringing me a baby gift. We hugged and laughed and she handed me a gift and then pulled out a baby romper hung in a dry-cleaning bag. "Now it will get three uses," she said. I stared at it- a beautiful hand-smocked sear sucker short sleeved white romper with thin periwinkle blue stripes and a peter pan collar- three tiny sailboats across the chest. I knew I had seen it before, but I couldn't attach any memory to it. She looked at me again, "Sue! This is the jumper! Don't you remember?" I couldn't remember. But I felt such a strong attachment to it, I needed to feel it. Compelled, I tore the dry-cleaning bag a bit and touched it. Still, I couldn't remember what it was about the romper. She explained, remember you gave this to me when I had Andrew? Yes. But there was more and I couldn't figure it out. I think I just went with nodding and pretending. I got inside and hung it on one of the hooks by my back door. Every time I passed it - it was as if it were calling to me to pay attention to it. My mind was like working through sludge. I had a memory in there and I couldn't get to it.
I went outside, it was a beautiful June day. The reason so many people want to have their weddings in June. Picture perfect. I went over the rest of the conversation I had with my friend on the driveway. "What were we talking about? Okay, I remembered giving that to her as a baby gift. How old is he now? He'll be a year! This week. Crazy. Then basically we said goodbye. Nothing there. Wait. What was last June? Oh My God. The re-gift! It all came back- raining down into my consciousness.
I was pregnant in April and had a miscarriage in June. I was devastated. The grief I felt was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. So many women go through miscarriages, it's almost a natural part of becoming a mom. I know there are women who have such a hard time getting pregnant they think they would just like the chance of a miscarriage. I never expected the pain to be so deep. When I went to the OBGYN that day and the sonogram showed no heart beat. A part of me died with it. At ten weeks along, I had imagined holding that baby. I loved that baby as much as my older two. It couldn't be. I wanted to know why.
Up until that point I had had an amazing relationship with God. I relied on Him for everything. Any problem I thought I had- I talked to him about, laughed with him (my God is funny!), went to him and I was relieved, I considered and talked to Him like a friend.
June 9th- the day of the D&C operation, one of the nurses said the pregnancy test came up positive- there was some questioning going on between the nurses in front of me- as I lay IV- in- flat on my back in the gurney. I began to believe for a moment that the baby was still alive- that the sonogram technician had made a mistake. I wanted to cancel the surgery and get another sonogram. My OBGYN was so frustrated. She told me in a harsh tone-of course the test will come up positive-your body still thinks you're pregnant- I was holding up the whole team - another sonogram will take hours and we will have the same result. She said she would run a test on the fetus and let me know what genetically happened. I had a notion that my mind was playing tricks on me, I said okay, I'll go forward. I couldn't make sense of it and I didn't turn to God. I turned my back and walked away.
When I got home I got the news that my friend had given birth to a son. I found my favorite gift I had gotten when my second son was born- the romper with the little blue sailboats and found solace that her little baby boy would have it. That life goes on.
The doctor called a week later and told me the baby had a trisomy on the 13th chromosome. The baby was "incompatible with life." I asked if it was a boy or a girl. "Are you sure?" she asked. I said yes. "Female," she said. "Thank you," I said.
In a couple of months I was pregnant. I struggled, scared for the first 14 weeks, thinking it would again disappear. My husband, friends and my mom gave me support- it doesn't happen every time- I had two other shining examples currently running around the house! And they were right. The baby continued to grow. I was due April 29th.
By March my dad was in the hospital, for good. No one can ever say for sure, but there was a feeling of that. I went to see him as often as I could and talked to him as much as I could without crying. I Googled "signs of dying" to see if he had the signs. I came across a website that offered what to say to someone who is passing to help them feel peace. That all the conversations they needed to have were had. This sounded like good advice. It's about him being at peace. Armed with my new arsenal of 'peaceful passing' knowledge, I fired away. "Do you feel you've had a good life?" "Do you feel like you are ready?" I remember my mom sitting beside me glaring- strangling words out of the corner of un-parted lips, so my dad wouldn't hear her, "What are you saying?!" she said,"Stop. It." and then she smiled big in his direction, like it wasn't happening. Then I asked another, thinking, "Don't worry mom, I've googled, I've got this." "Is there anyone you'd like us to get in touch with? An old girlfriend?" "Mom's my girlfriend." We still laugh over it. We laughed about it again today. The whole scene was so ridiculous.
Henry John was born April 26th, by cesarian section, no driving for me. My father, John, was moved into a nursing home that week, he was doing well! I remember not wanting to call him- I knew it was hard for him to talk on the phone and I didn't want him to waste his breath. There was no rush. I would bring the baby by in a couple of weeks. I would talk to him then. We would laugh together about the name. I would say, Henry John, and he would say, John Henry, the same way my mom said he corrected her when she told him the news. And then he was gone.
And then there I was. There we were. A year later. The heartbreak of the miscarriage an almost irretrievable memory. Cradling my baby- who if had been a girl- would have had no need for a romper with three little blue sailboats- and what I believe was my fathers nod to me from above to keep faith. A perfect circular reminder- hanging in torn dry-cleaner wrap on a hook in my den. We don't always know the plan. There are times we won't feel there will ever be a way out of the pain. The answers don't always come easy or in the time that we would like. But they come.
I apologized to my good friend God for turning my back, for ending my friendship. He just laughed- it never ended, I was always with you, I'm with you even when your back is turned. Even when you
think your back is turned. Aw, it's like we're that Footprints Poem, I joked... so grateful for my three little sailboats...and the relief of faith inching back into my heart.
