January 30 Good morning Birdy, We didn't have a good ultrasound. The ultrasound tech didn't show us anything, which made me feel a pit in my stomach. At 9 weeks we were expecting him to show us something, anything, but he didn't. He didn't show us a "measuring small baby", he didn't show us a heartbeat, there was nothing. Instead, he asked how quickly we would be able to talk to our doctor. Your dad and I knew we'd lost you, but the news sunk in like waves, big brother Theodore being quite the distraction as we left the clinic and settled in at home. Theo has been a real gift to us and I believe he has been very in tune with my grief. He pulls my hand when I'm laying on the couch to come play trains with him, or he simply climbs up to cuddle me, even though I know he'd rather me get on the floor and play with him. That day I texted my girls asking for prayer because I just knew you were no longer with us, but that the worst was yet to come. After dinner I started to get cramps and bleed more. I put Theo to bed and as he urged me to sing again and again the lullabies I'd sung to him since I knew I was pregnant with him, I cried and cried. He stroked my face, the hair around my face, and even sniffled when I sniffled. I thought about you Birdy, and how that might be the last time I'd be singing those songs to you, with you in my body. And Theodore knew. He didn't want it to end, probably mostly on his own toddler terms-not wanting to surrender to the slumber- but I think he somehow sensed the beauty and the profound meaning of the moment. So I kept singing, over and over, "Jesus loves me", "Edelweiss", and "Lullaby my baby", voice shaky, and I held you both close, drinking in my last night as mother of 2. The next morning I got into the shower and played my favourite album right now, Sleeping at Last, Atlas, Year 1. I listened to the song "I'll keep you safe" on repeat, and I just bawled and bawled. I cried in the same way I cried after Theodore was born- postpartum tears- the loss of a piece of myself- the overwhelming feelings of trying to figure out my own identity with the knowledge of my body no longer holding 2 souls but now only 1. It is profoundly lonely, that moment. In the shower, I let the hot water run straight onto my face, tears and water mingling, not knowing which is salty and which is fresh, it feels like the whole shower is crying for me and with me. I held out my hands, the song lyrics pouring over me. " I'll keep you safe, try hard to concentrate. Hold out your hand, can you feel the weight of it? The whole world at your fingertips, don't be, don't be afraid... I promise I'll keep you safe... darkness will be rewritten into a work of fiction, you'll see, as you pull on every ribbon, you'll find every secret it keeps.. you are an artist and your heart is your masterpiece.. and I'll keep it safe." Birdy, you are my little miracle. And there is something you've got to know about me, your mama. I am not strong enough on my own. I needed that moment, that song, those tears, to remind me that I too am a miracle, that I am being held and kept safe in the face of suffering. I loved the line in the song that talks about when darkness is rewritten, "as you pull on every ribbon you'll find every secret it keeps", and I imagine myself standing in heaven, making sense of these heart wrenching moments in life, and pulling on the ribbon and inside of it finding your beautiful soul, and all of the amazing ways that God is going to redeem this. Because he has to. Because he loves, you and me Birdy. xoxo Mama
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AuthorI'm a farm girl living in the city, a daughter, a sister, a wife and a mother. I love the simple things in life, and love to share them with others. Archives
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