I have three biological children. This has been our journey: pregnancy to eternity, pregnancy to a lifetime, and now pregnant again. I hope and believe this is my earth-side tie breaker. Breaking the tie of one girl and one boy, the tie of one in heaven and one in this world: that tie breaker. I was thinking about grief and butterflies, cocoons and molds. Sometimes grief feels like a type of cocoon where you went in one thing and are morphing into another more dynamic being with each and every passing day. And other times, it is an undeniable mold. A thick and heavy plaster was poured all over me, and I got stuck however I was last when it dried. I can’t move, although I try. I hope the burning love in my heart can heat the shape that encases me, eventually break it off. But, the freezing numbness coming from my mind neutralizes the force, and in the sculpture I stay. Grief is a place for great transformation, and it’s a great place for stagnation. I don’t know if it’s what we make of it, or it makes of us, but one thing I know: grief is.
Pregnancy after loss, the second time, is different than the first. It’s easier in one breath because I finally know I am able to give birth to a living child on earth. But then it’s hard. I have sisters waiting on their first rainbow while I’m brewing my second. I have friends who have suffered recurrent losses. And no matter how hard I try not to compare, I am heartbroken for my grief sister’s heartache (as though I have none of my own). I just wish for a moment that bereaved mothers were the audience, and Oprah was handing out babies. “You get a baby! You get a baby!” Nevertheless, reality strikes, and I learn to be joyous and hopeful despite all the other thoughts, fears, and frets, clouding my head.
I took my son to a pediatrician appointment the other day, and after learning of our family dynamics, a mother in the waiting area said to me, “Well, not to make light of what you went through, but look what you have now!” referring to my beautiful son and the baby in my womb. I just kinda stared at her. Yeah, look what I have now–a daughter in heaven (still), a son in my arms, and a child in my womb. Did she think for a second that my blessings erase or replace my heartache? Joislen will always be my hope deferred. I didn’t just want a baby; I wanted her.
Hope deferred maketh the heart sick: but when the desire cometh, it is a tree of life. Prov 13:12
Two years on the 16th. Feels like yesterday. Feels like it never happened. Feels like it never stopped happening. Feels like it happened in a former life. Cocoons and molds.
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