and what a year it has been.
Today is a sweet feeling because I remember EXACTLY how it felt to watch that second line appear for the first time in my life. To look over at Nate with the biggest smiles on our faces and say, “OH MY GOD, we made a baby.” & nothing will ever take that joy away.
As a side note, I have “officially” been pregnant all but 6 weeks of an entire year.
& here we are. Harpie’s due date. June 10th. A day I joyously embraced starting in September, & dreaded with the loss in late November.
If I had to sum up this day into one word, it would be “bittersweet.” The bitterness of losing Harpie & the sweetness of Harrison, who has exhausted himself today by flips, spins, & kicks. I have been amazed at how sad I do feel today, despite my love of Harrison. I wear my Harpie pendent & occasionally find myself wondering if I would be in the hospital, holding my child. My heart still aches with a longing to know my first baby, even though I will get to hold Harrison in less than four months, & then watch him grow.
We wouldn’t have Harrison without Harpie. & that is the sweetest gift we could ever receive, at the most painful price we could have ever imagined.
Do I believe in a greater plan? Of course. Has the past year cemented that belief? Beyond a shadow of a doubt. It is so easy to say the cliche things through hard times — “God has a plan for you” or “There is a purpose.” These things are so hard to grasp & stomach while we suffer. (To be honest, I wanted to punch anyone in the face that dared utter those words to me.) But without a doubt, Nate & look back on the past 6 months & know that Harpie’s life & story has a purpose far beyond what we could have imagined.
I have been shocked at the outpouring of love from strangers & friends that follow our story. (I wish there was a way to thank you all individually!) I am amazed at the number of people that have sent me emails & comments on how touched they are by the honesty & the guttural grief, saying that it tied ends together or unintentionally offered support & solace. & through this, I have come to realize that losing Harpie did have a purpose. That all those nights of me sobbing in the shower, crying to God for answers, are coming full-circle — THIS is Harpie’s purpose. That our sweet little babe, only 12 weeks old, had the power to comfort people, reach them, & tie us together. The loss was a humbling lesson in compassion for me, & I am forever thankful for the person that God is shaping through the loss.
& for Harrison. There is no way to recognize Harpie & the pain without thanking God for my little boy. I have to believe that God had a purpose for Harpie’s loss, & part of that purpose was to make room in the world for Harrison — that Harrison has a purpose that is even larger than Harpie. & through the pain & joy, both Harpie & Harrison have given others hope. Hope that one tragic loss does not mean another. Hope in always trusting the bigger plan & pulling up by the bootstraps. Hope in a purpose is not a clear-laid path.
Tonight, I will probably cry. For what happened, what never was, & what could have been. But I will also feel absolute, undying joy with Harrison & thank God for this bigger plan & for His ability to hold me through the past 6 months.
this hand is bitterness
we want to taste it
let the hatred numb our sorrow
the wise hand opens slowly
to lilies of the valley and tomorrowthis is what it means
to be held
how it feels
when the sacred is torn from your life
and you survive
this is what it is
to be loved
and to know
that the promise was when everything fell
we’d be held
~Natalie Grant
Bottle of Coke: $0.99
Bag of peanut butter M&Ms: $3.59
A sugar high to get HJ moving: Priceless
I have been calm through this pregnancy. A few minor panic attacks, but for the most part…calm. I’ve been cool-headed, practical, knowing from experience that there is very little I can or cannot do to effect the outcome of this pregnancy. I’ve been the girl that pats other women on the heads, reminding them that they can’t “shake” a good pregnancy. & that each day is one day longer & one day closer to a healthy baby.
& then last night, I had the most horrific dream of my life. I dreamt that we went in for a regular check-up…and Harrison did not have a heartbeat. The entire subsequent labor & delivery were so vivid & emotionally excrutiating that I can hardly bring myself to remember the details. Anguish. I woke up at 4am feeling absolute anguish, resting my palm on my belly & praying for Harrison to move, just as a reminder. & right as I turned to wake Nate in utter, unfounded panic, HJ kicked — “Hey, Momma…I’m still here.”
It took me an entire hour to doze off again, but I woke up so unsettled. As we brushed teeth for work, I explained the nightmare to Nate, trying to laugh off the shaky unease I felt. “Other women have nightmares of birthing puppies & horses — why couldn’t I have one of those dreams?!” We laughed, poked the belly, & continued our mornings. I spent the entire morning relishing in every kick & flip, telling myself that the stupid dream had nothing on me & my kid. I deliberately pushed it aside as I met clients, shook hands, & went on a day’s work.
Until 2pm, when Nate called with a touch of panic in his voice, asking if I was okay. Of course I was, I giggled. And Harrison? He is kicking? Of course, I reassured. Why? Nate explained that his coworker told him that last night in church, he was overwhelmed with the need to pray for us & the baby. Normally, this kind of thing makes Nate chuckle, but I suppose this in conjunction with the dream sent him into a downward spiral of panic. & when Nate panics…I panic. He is the steady one, the consistent one that keeps me grounded. & when he is frightened, it sends alarm bells ringing down to my core.
So, logical as ever, I run out to get a Coke. & some candy. & I immediately subject my child to a sugar high for my own guilty pleasure of feeling him kick me. Because today, I cannot get enough reassurance. Today, I feel fragile. Today, when a dear blog friend of mine delivered her son at 26 weeks, I realized that nothing is guaranteed, even at this stage.
This is my son. MY SON. He has a name. & a nursery. & little clothes that I have picked out for specific events in his life. He has a father that loves him so immediately & innately that he’ll call in a panic on a Monday afternoon, just to be sure his son is okay. & at this point, there is nothing we will not do to keep him safe, healthy, & protected…& at the same time, there is very little we can do to keep him safe, healthy, & protected.
and I realize that less than 48 hours away from Harpie’s due date, I cannot bear the thought of losing another.
I promise that a Letter to HJ will be coming soon, as will a reflection on choke-inducing fear.
But for now, my head is literally pounding trying to figure out the insurance bills from Harpie. I am balancing about 30 EOBs, bills, and declarations from the hospital on my desk, all glaring huge numbers that demand my checkbook. & all I am trying to do is make sure we’re not over-billed, double-billed, or basically monetarily raped up the ass by a lazy insurance company.
To date, we have spent $2,023.02 on Harpie.
This sends me into laughing/crying hysterics.
Despite the fact that I did this a mere 3 months ago, I forgot how draining it is to grow a wee human in my body.
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