A Year

One year ago today I missed my period.

 

Because I’m the obsessive pregnancy tester I am I had actually known I was pregnant for several days.  But to actually miss my period?  Made it real.  It meant something was really going on in there – finally!  Something robust enough to transform the landscape of my hormonal existence in its entirety.   After four years!  We tried, we hoped, we prayed, and when we had finally given up it happened.  We were having a baby.

 

We were having a baby.

 

*******************

 

It is 2011.

 

Our family of three should be a family of four.  I should be up every few hours each night, suckling a little baby with the nourishment from my body while I nurture her preciousness in my arms.  Tahd should be the beaming, protective father of a daughter and Gabe the doting, proud big brother.

 

But we’re not – at least not in the way we imagined.

 

********************

 

Three hundred and sixty five days later I’m starting to dream again – little dreams of making it through each day.  Bigger dreams of babies even though the odds are against us.  Giant dreams about what I want to do with my life and what makes life worthwhile.  How did I get from there to here?

 

How?

 

I love this picture.  I loved it when I first saw it and I love it even more now.

 

 

We had just released balloons while Kelle Hampton took our family photos.  Watching them float away touched places in me I didn’t know existed, and this picture sums it up beautifully.  Notice the hives on my neck and Tahd’s lone tear?  They only hint at the broken hearts we nursed as we watched our present joy slip through the clouds.  But there are also faint smiles on our face while our gazes turn upward.  To me, that’s it.  That’s how we made it through this year, and how we make it every day, and how we’ll probably make it from here to there.  There’s junk and muck all around us and we have no choice but to let our souls feel it.  But our hope is ever present, tenacious beyond the gentle effect hope naturally signifies.

 

Our hope, even dashed, was strong then.  It is stronger now.

 

********************

 

Mara, with hearts full of love we miss you.  Thank you for leaving us with a new and precious hope.  It makes us strong.

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Comments

  1. The memories of the excitement and anticipation are wonderful, aren’t they? If we could just have followed that excitement with actually welcoming a baby nine months later. A lovely post, Heidi. Hugs and prayers for you.
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  2. My heart aches and feels your pain on this anniversary of confirmation of your pregnancy with Mara!! I miss her every day!! Once again. an eloquently written post … straight from your heart!! You are amazing!! Love! Love! Love!!

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