Wednesday, March 5, 2014
There is a strangeness about a day that should be a birthday, but isn’t; about a day that was the anticipation of a birth, but passed full of nothing more than heartache and grief; about a day that was meant for someone special, but that someone isn’t there. For the last three years this day has come and gone for me, and it is coming again, and it will go again, and there is a friction inside of me, a rubbing of grief and celebration, of sadness and joy, of sorrow and thankfulness. March sixth marks the day that I should have met my first child, that day never came for me and while that grieves me, I can't resist celebrating; celebrating that she existed, no matter how short that time was, celebrating the impact that she had on my life, and celebrating who I am because of her life and loss. Even so, on the other side of that celebration, comes the strangeness and the friction, the sadness of not having her here against the joy of knowing heaven is her home, of wondering what life and her birthday would be like had she been born that March day against the joy of knowing that her life has only known the perfection of living with her Heavenly Father, and of really not knowing what that day should look like. Should the day be solemn? should it be joyous? Do I let it pass like any other day? Do I mark it with something special? I am never quite sure what it "should" look like because I'm not sure there is an answer, I'm not sure someone can tell you how to spend the anniversary of the due date of your baby that didn't make it to her due date. Is it any wonder that the mother's heart feels so adrift in grief? Getting lost under this tapestry that has been woven of grief and joy, never really knowing what you should do yet trying to follow the direction of a heart that has been broken. Ultimately that's what it comes down to, though, following your heart, whether that heart is in a million pieces, those pieces have been picked up, are in the process of being repaired, or have been put back together with a baby sized hole left in it. So as March sixth comes and March sixth goes for the third year in a row, I will rest in the tapestry that has been woven of my grief and joy and I will celebrate the life I carried even if that life isn't here to celebrate with me.