Funny, I guess

It was about a year ago that I was pregnant. It was about a year ago that I was not pregnant anymore. It's been a while since I've written anything about this on a blog. But it doesn't mean I haven't thought about it. Especially last summer: My dear sister-in-law had warned me that I would grieve again at the time when the baby would have been born. She was right. Though, thankfully, the pain was much less.

In the late summer, I couldn't help but notice the ways in which a baby could have, would have, fit nicely into our family (the husband-leaving-us thing aside, which, I realize, is no small matter). Mostly it had to do with my children. When I got pregnant, it was an enormous leap of faith. At the time I couldn't imagine how we could possibly bring a baby into our family. Then, suddenly, this summer, just before what would have been the due date, my children matured, just enough. The dynamic with them and between them changed. David spontaneously began expressing interest in babies. He pointed them out to me and proudly entertained them and asked me about getting a new one for our family. Mary wasn't the baby anymore--David had decided that, and Mary whole-heartedly agreed. Mary seemed older than she was. She, too, loved babies. And she seemed ready to be a big sister. They also both became more independent. While they are a still a high-maintenance duo (just ask my parents), the impossibility of welcoming a baby into our family suddenly seemed possible (had Greg been around, of course). That possibility makes my heart ache a little. There was something difficult about seeing my children doting on their baby cousins this summer. I was reminded of the future that at one time I thought we were going to have.

I think it's the loss of that future that makes miscarriage so heart-breaking. Life is full of disappointments, of unexpected twists and turns. With each disappointment, the future we had imagined is lost. But there is something especially difficult about the disappointment of a miscarriage. I think it's because you carry within you, if only for a few weeks, the future. It's more than an idea or an expectation. It's not just a possibility. That future is real. It literally lives inside you, nourished by your body and wrapped in your spirit. So when it is lost, when that life you imagined and nurtured is no longer possible, there is left within you a hole.

Lest you be confused, I do not wish I had a baby right now. (I'm sure my parents are very relieved too.) Life is taking us a different direction than what we could have anticipated a year ago. We never imagined that Greg would be gone a whole year. That we would celebrate Christmas apart. That I wouldn't put up my own Christmas tree. Or set up my nativities. And a year ago I would not have thought there would be no baby in our family this Christmas.

I'm not sure where I was going with these thoughts. I have no conclusion, no thoughtful, hopeful way to tie this all together. Just that life is funny, I guess.

And I'm promise I'm not as melancholy as I sound.