December 11th is here. It never passes by without NOT being here, and I never seem to forget that it’s coming. Dates, you know, can be damming things.
It’s the due date of my first pregnancy. I don’t cry when it comes around. I don’t really even mourn anymore… I just remember it. I get suddenly pensive and still in the middle of the Christmas season and I think of mothers who have lost pregnancies. I think of how misunderstood the whole process can be, how many painful things were said by loving, well-intentioned people.
Miscarrying taught me a lot.
I was really young -only 20. I had a lot to learn then, and I have a lot to learn now. Learning is the purpose of life -it’s the part I take with me when I die.
And I learned then that words don’t really help. More often than not, words HURT. I learned that when people are hurting -no matter if that hurt is about a mean word said, a loss, or depression -don’t use any words that aren’t in the script. The script being: I love you, I’m sorry, thanks for sharing that with me, here’s some chocolate.
Don’t tell me time will heal or talk to me about God’s plan.
Don’t give me books or talks or scriptures.
Don’t begin any sentences with, “At least” or “On the bright side…”
I know you want to love me in my pain. And you’re right! LOVE is what I need! But love can be given without explanation. It can be expressed in an embrace, in an empathetic tear.
I already “knew” what everyone was saying… that the baby wasn’t developing properly, that miscarriage is common, that I would feel better in time. I found quickly that I didn’t want to SPEAK TO or SEE ANYONE who hadn’t miscarried. Because THEY KNEW. THEY KNEW! More than the pain of going through the loss -a loss that felt largely like trying to grab at smoke to describe -they knew how misunderstood that loss is. It’s incredible how our life experiences help us BE THERE in ways others just can’t. It’s also amazing how I never understood that before. People who have miscarried need people who have miscarried for support. We all need support. The only thing our souls need more than a validating, “I hear ya” is God himself.
Today I just want to say that it’s December 11th and I’ll never forget December 11th.
I know the holidays can be beautiful and lovely, but I also know that there are people feeling loss at this time, and I hope when I see them I’ll be able to stick to the script.
I also want to say that I never expected 8 eight years ago that today I’d be gearing up to celebrate a baby’s birthday on December 12th. We’ve already had one cake and ice cream bash.
I got the cake design on Pinterest. Simplicity is the new Coordinating Party Decor with Cake and Outfits and Photo Booths and Cake Pops and Homemade Fondant Glitter Streamers and Centerpieces.
Okay, truthfully the only thing homemade about the whole thing was the frosting.
And the pink sprinkles DO coordinate with the white frosting nicely.
Later that night, I found her sitting at the table in dim lighting placing the blown out candles back on the cake and softly cooing, “Hatty Birrday do you… hatty birrday do you…” and mock-blowing the candles out. It was really sweet.
I watched on, munching on some late night turkey stew.
“Want a bite?” I offered.
“NO!” She’s two. We hear “no” a lot. And then she -I exaggerate not -threw her face into the cake and came up with frosting up her nostrils.
Is the world ready for this two year old?
Yesterday I got to stay home with a little 7 year old with a croaky voice (“SCRATCHY, Mom. It’s scratchy”) and so my day consisted of crocheting and drinking tea and reading books to my baby and burning wooden spoons and making lotion bars.
And at the end of the day (which fell apart, as most days with young children do, promptly at 4 pm) I was grateful. I miss staying home 100% of the time. I was truly awesome at not socializing.
Alice doesn’t care about germs. She only cares about the awesomeness of having MOM AND LACY with her in the morning hours.
Okay, mostly just Lacy
My two girls: one born on December 12th and the other on January 11th. They remind me of hope… they remind me of God, keep me humble and have even been known to guilelessly “bless you!” after I rudely belch.
Happy December 11th.
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