this post I wrote on another blog (that became severely neglected very soon after). I wrote it on 13th March 2010, and I have to say I still feel exactly the same way.
This morning I woke up at 3am, with a 15 month old girl’s head resting on my chest. As I came round a bit more, and my eyes adjusted to the scene around me, I noticed that as laden as I was by my child’s weight, I definitely had the better end of the deal. Roo’s feet were sandwiched under her father’s nose, and her bum was in his face. I’d much rather be the pillow thanks!
Anyway, seeing as I am now 23 weeks pregnant with twins (oh I know, where did all that time go??) I am finding it hard to get back to sleep. So rather than lay there and be a pillow I decided to get up, potter around the house quietly and hope that sleepiness returned. It’s now past 5am, and no sleepiness in sight. Oh well, I’m being kicked in the belly double time to compensate
All of this has got me thinking though…
Five years ago, if I had been awake at 3-5am on a Friday night (or Saturday morning as the case may be) it would simply be because I had not gone to bed yet. I would definitely be intoxicated. I would definitely be dancing or have been dancing. I would have been having a fabulous time with my friends, dressed to the nines and in no mood to stop what I was doing because to me, at that stage, being out, having fun with my friends was just the most joyous thing. But to tell you the truth, as fun as all of it was, I am now so much happier to be alive, to be awake at 3-5am and to be unable to sleep because of the movement of my twins and the sounds of my daughter and husband snoring blissfully. This has led me to an epiphany this morning. The kind of epiphany that you always knew deep down, but that, being human, you never fully realise until you have evidence sitting in the palm of your hand (or sleeping in your bed as the case may be). The epiphany is this:
Jesus loves me. God loves me. Mother Earth loves me. Whichever higher power you believe is running or not running the show loves me. I know this.
*Insert higher power of your choice here (mine is God so that’s what I’ll use for the sake of reference)* loves me. He also loves our baby that died. He loves me and that baby so much, he let me feel the pain and brevity of the situation. He let me ache and he let me break. He lets me sit here now with tears and a lump in my throat as I remember the experience and the ground-shaking, raw and whole-being hurt of giving up my angel to him. And he let all of this happen for reasons unknown.
God loves me. He loves me and he let me hurt and be sad so that I could know what happiness was. He let me hurt so that I learnt the meaning of the word ‘bittersweet’. He let this happen to me (one of the hardest things was for me to accept that this was my baby, my miscarriage, my family this was happening to).
God loves me. He loves me and I know it because through all the pain he let joyous things happen. He helped me be strong enough to marry my husband only three days after the most horrid loss I had ever experienced. He helped me say my vows, look my husband in the eyes and know that I loved him, and will always love him.
God loves me and he provides. He provided me with strength and determination to get through. To move on. To not blame myself, my husband, my doctors. There was no blame. At the time, I couldn’t understand how any higher being, known for mercy and forgiveness, could possibly allow this to happen. But there was never any blame.
God loves me because 18 very short months after the loss of one child, I was blessed with the birth of another. A child in her own right. A child I love more and more everyday. I was given the chance to be a mother again and I took it by the proverbial horns. I am a better mother for Rory because I wasn’t able to be for our angel. I am more thankful for every snuggle. Every kiss, every sound and song, every single gesture my daughter makes, I am proud and enthralled by. I don’t enjoy being woken at 3am, but am grateful every time I am. Because I would rather be awake at 3am listening to my baby girl snore than be sleeping and never have known her. I don’t enjoy changing a dirty nappy. But at least she’s healthy and everything is working properly!
I have been blessed again with a twin pregnancy. A double blessing. A double blessing on top of the wonderful gift that is Rory. Of course I am scared. Of course I wonder how I will cope. Of course I worry about whether I will have enough love left over from Rory for two more babies when we weren’t even sure if another one baby was on the cards for us. I worry about the impact of two newborns on our home, our marriage and on the growth and development of our daughter. I am sorry for Rory that her parents will no longer have undivided attention just for her. But I have the hindsight from a painful and incomprehensible time in my life to know that hardships, in time, pass. Because as much as I hate to admit it. As much as by saying this I feel I am neglecting my lost baby’s memory, it needs to be said. Time heals. Not everything happens for a reason. There is not much rhyme or reason to life whether you believe in God or any other higher power in my opinion. But there is the future. And how do you know what is around the corner from the deepest, darkest depths of pain? You don’t. But once you’re around the corner you see something beautiful. God loves me.
|23 weeks pregnant with the twins|