Silence. That defeating distance between what should be and the reality of what is unfolding. I've experienced this silent mystery too often this year- the slow motion dizziness of life as it turns upside down like a laundry basket emptying its contents tip-toppling to the end of a long staircase tumble. There is no real remarkable noise. It happens in hyper-speed and leaves only blurry utterances of actors adlibbing their way through the fall.
Two days ago family gathered for the excitement of my daughter's 12 week sonogram. Even though there were only four of us waiting to hear the heartbeat, we were too much of a crowd for the tiny room and had to wait turns. I went in first with my daughter and her boyfriend, all of us making our humorous cases for the boy or girl debate.
The grainy image cleared into full view of the expected wee one. As the tiny picture flashed on the screen I saw my daughter's face. Where I expected joy, I saw confusion. There were a few questions, grasps for a different understanding, but like I said- the actors were stumbling; their voices nearing inaudible as the room filled with the white noise of fear, desperate sadness, and loss. She knew in that instant that life had slipped away
The grainy image cleared into full view of the expected wee one. As the tiny picture flashed on the screen I saw my daughter's face. Where I expected joy, I saw confusion. There were a few questions, grasps for a different understanding, but like I said- the actors were stumbling; their voices nearing inaudible as the room filled with the white noise of fear, desperate sadness, and loss. She knew in that instant that life had slipped away
There are no words to comfort a mother losing a child. The doctor's droll, "I see this all the time" and "don't blame yourself" evaporate in thoughts of a sweet cuddled bundle already filled with a mother's, a father's, a grandmother's, dreams and hopes. And as my daughter pulled a brave face out of her pocket, I felt my knees buckle as I pleaded with the doctor to give me hope where no hope could be offered.
In my last post I wrote how some had thought my daughter too young to have a child. She is 19. She has been to college. She has been across the US and Canada on a motorcycle with her Dad. She has played with tigers in a Thailand jungle. She spent her high school junior year summer recovering from open heart surgery. Usually shy and quiet, she initiated a media campaign earlier this year to try finding the hit and run driver who nearly killed her father. She has mourned the loss of more than a few key people in her life. She has the kindest, most gentle humanitarian spirit and her soul is an old one that will rise from this loss as well.
As I wrote in my last post; we do not choose when life is to come and go. Life opened the door in May, 2014. On July 21, 2014, life left, closing the door as it went.
~Rest in peace precious wee one. You are loved. Always ~
In my last post I wrote how some had thought my daughter too young to have a child. She is 19. She has been to college. She has been across the US and Canada on a motorcycle with her Dad. She has played with tigers in a Thailand jungle. She spent her high school junior year summer recovering from open heart surgery. Usually shy and quiet, she initiated a media campaign earlier this year to try finding the hit and run driver who nearly killed her father. She has mourned the loss of more than a few key people in her life. She has the kindest, most gentle humanitarian spirit and her soul is an old one that will rise from this loss as well.
As I wrote in my last post; we do not choose when life is to come and go. Life opened the door in May, 2014. On July 21, 2014, life left, closing the door as it went.
~Rest in peace precious wee one. You are loved. Always ~
