Sunday, January 9, 2011


Dearest baby girl, has it really been two years since I held you? Two years since I examined every inch of you, slept with your delicate little body wrapped up and tucked beside me? I slept, somehow, and yet I remember being fiercely aware of your presence, terrified that if I were to move in such a way you would fall. And my rational brain argued that it wouldn't really matter, would it? You couldn't feel anything, you couldn't die again.

I have thought of you nearly every second today, replaying the events of two years ago over and over. I let the tears fall when they needed to, but they came and went without a lot of lingering sadness. We went down to the beach and lit candles for you tonight. Two glowing lights for the years we have lived without you, shining against the backdrop of a brilliantly pink and golden sunset. It was beautiful and simple and perfect, your brother squealing with delight as he stepped across the sand, reminding us of all we have to thank you for.

Without you, we would not have Orrin. We would not have known about the MTHFR and the extra vitamins I had to take. I would not have realized how much purpose I found in motherhood. I would not have known my own strength, or that I could love a baby so much that I would choose the unthinkable. I would not have united with so many other strong and courageous women who have walked this path before me, along with me, and after me. I wouldn't have discovered my more local soul sister, or been by her side as she joined me in this journey.

I have so, so much to thank you for.

So, two years later, I celebrate you. I love that you chose me, that I had the honor of knowing your little soul, even for just a little while.

You will always be a part of me.

I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be

Happy birthday baby girl.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

more flashbacks

There is an underlying current in my heart these days. Every once in awhile I stop to think of what it is I am feeling so unsettled about. Everything is fine, two years later. But my body remembers, even when my mind tries to forget. There is a constant stream of memories playing, even as I go about my day like normal, and I am remembering things I haven't thought of since they happened.

It was New Year's Day when I made the call to my midwife. I spoke the words, full of finality, admitting the decision we had come to. I had realized it was a holiday halfway through the ringing in my ear, and wondered if it mattered that I was calling her then. She sprang to action and assured me that she would get back to me about my next step.

For days I existed in a removed state. I stood alone, all the sound in the world muffled, and watched as it kept going on without me. People smiled, laughed, drank coffee, like nothing had happened at all. I went to Starbucks one day and ran into someone I knew. She smiled and asked how the pregnancy was going. I lost it, right in the middle of a crowded cafe full of people, and she rose out of her seat and wrapped me in her arms, even though we didn't know each other that well. She didn't ask questions, she just hugged me and let me go, told me about her sister who had just lost a baby. It was the first time I had told anyone outside of my immediate circle that something was wrong.

For days, there seemed to be birds everywhere. My mom would gasp and call us over, and we would flock to the window to find a brilliantly colored bird in the backyard. There was only ever one at a time, spread out over days, all spectacular in some way or another. To this day, I have never seen these kinds of birds again. Sometimes I wonder if it was only my imagination; maybe these birds were ordinary and I was on the verge of insanity? Still, I felt like she was sending me signs, and this is how Wren came to be part of her name.

There were so many days, in retrospect, of this in between. How I made it through, carrying a baby who I knew would be leaving us in a matter of days, is beyond me. I cannot imagine that girl, how she kept moving even though she didn't want to anymore.

I am so much more present with these memories this year, than last, and I have a feeling this anniversary is going to hit harder. In a way, I want it to.