Charles Dickens in "David Copperfield"
One day shy of a year to the day from my seventh and last miscarriage we welcomed our youngest daughter into the world. Today she turned 5. The day before she was born in 2003, the bodies of Laci Peterson and her unborn son Conner were found washed up on shore in California in the marina her husband Scott had been "fishing" the day of her disappearance when she was 8 months pregnant. I held my little girl and wept - for a mother who had lost her daughter and grandson; and a mother to be that didn't have a chance to hold her son. The story was played over and over during the days I spent in the hospital following my csection. After seven miscarriages, the fertility drugs, the surgeries and procedures - I could not fathom how anyone would wish to throw away a life the way Conner's and Laci's were. To turn away from so much potential for joy and happiness? Though, even without the struggles to get to where I was that day - I still don't think I would ever understand. Whether due to my experiences or the combination of the incessant spring rain common to Missouri and the sad tale of Laci and Conner being retold, I kept my daughter with me the whole time, unable to bear letting go of her for even a minute. Because of this - I can still feel her weight in my arms and when I think of never giving birth again, the memory that I recall that epitomizes what I will miss the most is of that time in the hospital with her. During those first days, I held her close and kissed her head, whispering in her ears my wishes for a life filled with happiness, even while knowing that she will surely find sorrow along the way as well - and I prayed for her a lifetime of not ever having to know unfulfilled dreams or empty arms.
To help us celebrate a bright spot in a sometimes dreary world - please see my companion blog Desperate Mothering.
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1 comment:
Wow, five years?? I well remember your story of that hospital trip!
Isn't it funny how certain current events will link to personal memories? The day before I found out we'd lost Katie, a young policeman was murdered in Toronto... he had a young daughter & his wife was 8 months pregnant at the time. He is buried in the same cemetery as Katie, just across the road, & I take a rose from Katie's bouquet over there every year. The park across the street from where our support group meets is named after him. I've told this story to our support group over the years, & it's amazing how many people will tell me they knew him.
Anyway, I digress. Happy birthday, Sadie!
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