Wednesday, December 22, 2004
It's been a year since my baby Sara died in my womb.
I've been thinking about it a lot because it's that time of year. On last Thanksgiving weekend I felt the first definitive kick from my daughter.
About two and a half weeks later she died.
I remember searching in earnest for her heartbeat that morning in December.
I called her dad to say I needed to go to the hospital.
He argued he had a meeting or something and I said ok, I would find someone to watch the kids, but I was going to the hospital. That's how he knew I was serious.
I called him from the hospital later and told him I would be having surgery. I knew I would be going through the birth alone.
I called family. I lied to them that I was ok.
I found out that night I was pregnant with a little girl. I named her Sara. The hospital put a sign on my door, signifying I had given birth to a dead baby. I was on the maternity ward and kept hearing the other babies crying in the hallways.
I came home as soon as I could because my son was desperate to see me. He sensed something was wrong.
He wanted to know if there was still a baby in my tummy and I told him, "No. There had been a mistake and Sara was gone. She's buried in a childrens cemetary in Corpus Christi.
I was numb. I thought life was unbearably unfair. My daughter was dying. My just held another dead daughter.
And my heart was heavy with grief.
It still is to some extent.
Always will be, I am told.
I that wish that it never had happened, except that means I would never have had Sara at all and that's intolerable.
I just want innocence and happiness back. I want life to make sense for a change.
Maybe one day I'll find comfort in knowing amaris has a sister in heaven waiting for her. that's the only sense I can find in all of this.
Monday, December 20, 2004
South Texas has had a rare cold snap and I'm freezing.
I don't have the skin for cold weather and so the kids and I have been holed up in this house for four days.
It's mind numbing. Now and then I'll realize that Lucas has been talking, I've zoned out, and he has asked me a question because of the expectant look on his face. Then he'll say, "Right mommy?" 'Oh, I'm a zombie head,' I tell him, 'ask me again.'
It makes it hard for me to find entertaining things to do. We spend a certain amount of time in each room of the house. We actually get excited when we realize, "Hey, we haven't been in the laundry room yet!" And off we go to find out what fun the laundry room holds for us today. But the truth is that in it all, I am really very peaceful on days like this. The weather is making me stay home, inside, huddled with my babies. I realized that when I just give in to it, instead of thinking there's something I should be doing, I relax in a way I haven't in a long time.
And after the kids are in bed my mind wonders back and forth between my dad and my daughter. Would God really do this? Would Life expect that I am going to survive something like that? What is my dad feeling? Am I giving my daughter enough joy in her life for whatever time she'll have? Am I going to have regrets? Will I wake up broken hearted and drowning in despair one day because I didn't realize something that she needed? Does my dad, does my daughter really know how much I love him/her?
My dad taught me to be brave and to love without fear. He also taught me to not fear death, but I always assumed he meant my own. I realize now what he was doing. He has tried to prepare me for when one day he is no longer around. I know that he has a great chance of recovery, but hearing that he has cancer has caused me to do a lot of reflecting, the way things like that often do.
And as always, I am weighing the choices I have made for Amaris thus far in various areas, such as school and therapy. My entire outlook now is to arrange everything so that it adds joy to her life. There's really no benefit in keeping anything that does otherwise.
And I realize I feel a longing for the days when my son was a baby. It's almost painful to remember those days because I miss them so much. I was so content and happy then. I was innocent of this. The days held such promise. Everything made sense. Everyone was healthy. They were golden days and they passed too quickly. I wish I could find that again. I know I never will.