It’s been two months since we were told something was wrong. It doesn’t seem that long, sometimes. Sometimes it seems like it happened to someone else. The sorrow, because sadness is too small a word, while not unending is always present. It’s still hard to see fresh wee babies or pregnant women, but possible now to smile at them rather than look away and choke on tears, small angers. Why them, why not me, why me, why not someone else. Except I wouldn’t wish this on anyone else.
And returning as the sorrow recedes the questions–what should I do now? What will be the next thing.
Admittedly the writing is not going well. No time in between moves, losses, recoveries and more losses. Well time yes, but no strength, no concentration. I will make one small move today to change that. One easily overlooked, almost nonexistant step towards changing that.
My physical self is sad and slow, not what it was before all this started again. I can’t face trying to move and lift and sweat like I did just a few months ago, but I need to try again.
And try again at trying again. This baby thing isn’t over yet. It almost is, but not yet. What will we do differently? Before each OB visit, stock the refridgerator with easily cooked, healthy foods. Make sure the cats are supplied and the house is clean, laundry done. Assume each time, not good news but bad.
And one more time we have. One more time. I’m brimming with fear as I was once with sorrow, was once with expectation. Will this one stay? Will it be healthy? Is this meant to be? Is this meant to be.
Because if not now, then never.
Never, that unending word. So much is contained in so few letters. Never to hold our baby again, never to kiss small toes, ease small hurts. Never to watch the discovery of a a smile or the surprise of a step. These are things neither of us are willing to give up yet.
I know what I’m supposed to be when I grow up this time, but what about next time? My girl, she doesn’t need me like a baby, but like a 5 year old. A brilliant, beautiful, loving five year old fierce girl tumultuous with joy and the amazing challanges each day brings. Many of which she navigates away from me, during school. I hold her so close in the morning, in the afternoon, but she’s busy. She has books to read, dolls to play with, flowers to grow. I am proud to stand back and marvel, though I would gladly hold her, stroking her hair and her soft round cheeks much more than she’ll let me. I can see the baby in her face still, but now also the girl, the teenager.
So much of her life has been a revelation, a gift, a belly laugh. Well I want more. I’m greedy to do this, this life thing, this growing thing, this mothering with another.
If not, something nearly as immense must happen. A new direction, a consuming passion–almost as motherhood.
I’ve had so many directions, I like this one but I don’t know if I can keep traveling this way.
