Sad News to Share Today

On Christmas Day, amidst the excitement that accompanies every Christmas when you are six and four (and even one), intertwined with the joy of seeing my brother-in-law engaged to his wonderful girlfriend, we received some most unwelcome news. This pregnancy has come to an end. I hope soon that the process will be finished and the healing may begin. We have not yet told the boys, but please say a prayer that we will have the words to tell them and then to be there for them.

I wrote this from Corona the other night, not sure what I had to say, only that I needed to write. I am sharing it here, unedited...

The thoughts are there, certainly, formed and powerful, undulating like waves in a swelling sea. Emotions, rising in temperature and intensity, come frothing at the break of the larger waves, where swells can no longer contain the power or urgency of the sea.

I am weak-kneed and awe-struck. Suddenly I am small, perhaps six, standing for the first time at the edge of a swaying pier, terrifyingly aware of how large, how unknown (unknowable?) the world is.

Yet I am old, and comforted by life; the same writhing, changing life that once haunted the child. In the rhythms of this sea there is a constancy, even among the changes.

While my mind gropes for control, for understanding, my heart knows that I cannot steer the passage. I have not seen the whole of the ocean, nor viewed the depths to which it opens. Like that small child, I see the beach or the cliffs and I want to go there, climb them. I see the squall approaching and I want to avoid that. The old woman dries the tears of the child and explains that there are things we may not know, cannot know. There are jagged reefs we do not see, dangerous currents we cannot maneuver ourselves.

"Sit quietly, child. This ship can weather the squall. It is strong and dry. It is captained by one far wiser than we, one who has plumbed the depths and has seen the whole of the sea.

I would not stop your grief, and I cannot stop you from seeking explanation. It is good to feel with your whole being and to seek understanding. But, my child, do not be angry if you cannot comprehend. We are very small, and for all the wonders we have seen and held, there are myriad others we will never touch."

My journey continues into farther waters, guided well, accompanied by the finest souls to set foot on this earth. Though I will, from time to time, glance longingly over my shoulder, please do not mistake my sadness for ingratitude toward the course set for me. For though I did not set foot upon that beach or climb those soaring cliffs, I saw them and dreamed them. And they were magnificent.

That experience is forever added to my chest, a bittersweet jewel among the most resplendent of treasures I already hold dear. It cannot dull the brilliant blues I have beheld, nor hollow the deep, rich browns in which I have wrapped myself.

No, I am most certainly not adrift and the journey is no less incredible, the experience no less humbling, for these rough and looming seas through which we must pass.

As always, kiss those babies.
~Dy