Monday, July 30, 2012

I Learned a Second Language

Did you know there is an entire vocabulary exclusive to the BLC (baby loss community)? It is like we speak in code - in a shorthand that no one else understands.

And five years ago, I didn't know it either. I didn't know how many things could go wrong while you're pregnant, or how often it really happens. I also didn't know how often doctors are nonplussed - they have no answers.

I didn't know many things. And there are many, many times when I wish I still didn't.

I do not spend every day in despair. You can't if you want to live. You can't  if you want to love.

Living well, with love and joy, is important to me. So I do not spend every day in tears. But there is a corner of my heart that is heavy - so heavy. It is the part that remembers every baby's face and name, the size of their hands and feet. It is the part of my heart that knows they matter to me.

Something like this...it changes you. Deep down, in the center of who you are - you become different. I never know how much of that difference is apparent to people who've known me always, or how much is covered by the things you deal with day to day. But I feel it always.

It is a knowing, a certainty of how fragile and short this life is. It is a quiet waiting for the day when I will see them again. It is the bittersweet joy for friends and family as they start or expand their families.

It is also the sadness I feel when Dancer asks me, "Mommy, will we all get to live in the same house in heaven?"

Or when Diva sees a pregnant woman and asks, "Is her baby going to die?"

They are different, too. What mother's heart wouldn't break to watch her children struggle with such questions? Because they shouldn't have to.

So maybe we are simply different than we were five years ago. Not worse, or better...just very different





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