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| Entrance Hall of Saint-Paul Hospital, Vincent Van Gogh |
The effect of the last month -- and today marks a month since I stared at a positive pregnancy test -- has been chaotic. It's as if the world turned upside down, and everything in the house crashed around. And then, once I picked myself up and started arranging the furniture and the cabinets so that we could move forward living on the ceiling, the world flipped back over. Now the house is right-side-up once more, but everything I'd started neatening is on the floor again, and I'm bruised in mind and body.
I don't know what moral one takes from all this, except that being a middle-aged woman is a bitch. But one thing which has jolted me, pleasantly, is the startling kindness of so many. In my darker moments -- and I believe this is true of many of us who could be described as the Older Brother type, those of us who go through life with a stiff upper lip and a minimum of drama, who pick up after others and don't tend to bleed all over the place -- I've wondered if anyone would take a step out of the way if I ever needed help. Lo and behold, many steps were taken. People appeared on my doorstep with food. A nurse friend came over at night to check my blood pressure and oxygen. The Knights of Columbus started a prayer chain. And so many gracious friends sent me messages after I wrote about being pregnant unexpectedly and about miscarrying, sending me love, and telling me their own stories.
It's hard to strike the right balance in talking about pain that's still raw. I wasn't ready to talk about being pregnant, and neither was I ready to talk about miscarriage. Maybe I'm still not ready. The difficult thing about being human is that we must communicate, and that means that sometimes it's necessary to talk about imperfectly processed things. I don't know that if that kind of vulnerability ever feels easier. But I've had to do a lot of it lately, and I have been comforted, not by having my burden lifted, but by others carrying their burdens next to me.
It seems there is nothing but time for this. Thank the Lord for those friends who came to comfort you, and let them love on you. It's okay to not be the strong one for a while.
ReplyDeleteOur first pregnancy ever after 19 years of marriage ended in miscarriage last summer. We got a second chance, and little Thomas is now 11 weeks old. I should be - and am - elated, but I want both of them... Our oldest adopted sons are way off the reservation and we didn't see or hear from them for Christmas. Our middle son is joining the Marines next week (this is very, very good). I don't know how to feel such intense highs and lows so close together and often at the same time.
A book that has helped me deal with such mysteries is "Into Your Hands, Father" by Wilfried Stinissen.
What a coincidence! I have been reading exactly that book, and it has been a game changer in many ways as I deal with a completely different circumstance (closure of our parish and my potential unemployment as a church musician). This is a powerful book. And I will pray for your family!
DeleteAmazing! One friend has dismissed it as sappy Carmelite drivel, but I find it very moving. Temperaments and all that, I guess.
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