Begin, Again

I’ve struggled this week to write a post after my last one—it seems heartless to write a post about some mundane little thing. - Fairly Odd Mother
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This morning, more heartbreaking news, another baby lost to his mother forever. Another mother I don’t know.

And yet. Still, there is an ache. Or is it, as Catherine wrote so urgently, fear? We walk this earth blindly, unaware of when and how tragedy will strike. I can testify that even when the life lost is longer, and even when you wait knowingly for death, the last breath of someone you love steals the very oxygen from your lungs, as well.

All of this grief, even the tremendous outpouring of love, makes the spectre feel so much closer. Like Loss is brushing me on the elbow, reminding me that he waits for all of us.

We just don’t know when.

I had a doctor’s appointment today that led to five more doctor’s appointments. Doctors who will probe my body looking for gremlins. I think of Maddie, of Thalon—of my lost father, gaunt and empty as his days wound down to zero.

And like Catherine, fear beats its drum in my veins.

I look at photos of the lost babies and my daughter touches the screen: Who is that beautiful little baby, Mama? I want to meet her! I find Maddie’s name stuck in my throat and I can only shake my head in reply.

The terrible truth is that babies die, every day. Children are lost, parents are bereft, and many times the equation is reversed. It is the waxing and waning of humanity. But here, in this ether-world, the losses that might go unknown instead become … intimate.

Today is my seventh wedding anniversary, and I planned to share photos of a day that dawned dark and rainy, but was nonetheless filled with warmth and light.

But I can’t. Because it feels disrespectful of Heather and Mike’s Maddie, and Thalon, son and brother to Shana, Rich and their two daughters. I don’t know when I will be able to begin, again.

I just don’t know.