June is always a contemplative month for me. Julia's birthday and the due dates of our other two girls, Joy and Pearl, all fall within June, and I always find myself reflecting on the significance of small moments and single days that fundamentally shift the course of our lives.
Days that make us and break us and make us again.
I imagine that at the end of our lives if we are given the time to reflect, our reflections will consist of a handful of days which built the framework for the rest of our lives to exist within.
It was during this time of reflection that I was reminded me of a beautiful essay my dear friend Arlene wrote several years ago about her daughter Macey and one of these significant days. I asked Arlene if I could share her essay here and she graciously said yes.
I'm so honored to share my dear friend's writing. I met Arlene Thomas 10 years ago in grad school, where we were both studying to become marriage and family therapists. She is one of my dearest friends and someone I have looked to often over the years as a model of how to live beautifully with pain.
This is for all of you who can appreciate the restorative power of one single day. Thank you Arlene, you are one of my heroes and I love you!
~~~
On the third day of my daughter Macey’s life, I was
reborn. For many new mothers, the third
day of their baby’s life might pass in a blur.
Those first days blend into one another under the fog of sleeplessness
and awe. For me, Macey’s third day
stands out as one which fostered a renewed sense of hope. It was a day I was scared to dream about yet
anxiously awaited. With so many days
full of enormous emotional meaning, it is difficult to pinpoint the most
important day of my life. But in many
ways, the third day of Macey’s life was a day of rebirth for me.
Macey was not our first child. Her big brother, Micah, was born two years
prior. When my husband, Ben, and I got
married we had a master plan for our lives.
We knew we wanted kids, two to be exact.
We both wanted to complete graduate school and be married for five years
before starting a family. After we
checked these milestones off our list of things to do, we expected to get
pregnant in a timely manner and live happily ever after.
Right on target, I finished graduate school, and we
celebrated our fifth anniversary while I was pregnant with Micah. We imagined the countless ways he would be
integrated into our family. I thought
about what outfits he would wear when I took him on his first outings. I
envisioned taking him to his first baseball game. I dreamed about family gatherings where we
could show off our beautiful little man.
After a smooth pregnancy and birth, we welcomed a healthy little boy
into our family. We were elated with our
son and were so excited about carrying out our new roles as parents.
Tragically all the hopes we had for our future with
Micah were shattered in an instant.
Micah passed away unexpectedly in his sleep the morning he turned three
days old. We later found that he had
died as a result of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, a mysterious phenomenon that
remains a medical mystery.
As the initial shock wore off, the pain I felt in
losing Micah seemed to touch every aspect of my life. Eventually, all the clothes we had bought,
washed, and sorted for him had to be packed up along with his completely
furnished and decorated room. Unused
supplies were either returned or stored.
During this time, I also slowly began to recognize the
innumerable ways in which Micah’s life had impacted mine. In this, I began to see how much Micah had
taught me about unconditional love.
Although he was no longer physically with us, our love for him only
continued to grow, showing me how powerful love can be. Having
given my love to Micah so freely, my heart was broken beyond description. After his death, I was unsure if I would
emotionally ever be able have another child or to love another as much as I
loved him. However, the time Ben and I
were able to share with Micah made me realize how terrifying it can be to love
so deeply and yet how much we wanted the chance to have another baby and be
parents in the “normal” sense of the word.
Six months after losing Micah, we started “trying”
again. With this decision, we knew there was the possibility of
experiencing great joy and a renewed sense of hope, but there was also the
chance for tremendous hurt. A few months later, we were cautiously elated
to learn we were pregnant again.
Although at first I was afraid of connecting with this new baby, I also
felt like Micah’s little sister or brother deserved that same unconditional
love we gave him. I also wanted to appreciate every second I had with our
new baby, realizing each moment was a gift.
Nearing the end of the first trimester, we went in for
a regularly scheduled doctor’s appointment.
After weighing in, having my blood pressure taken, and getting
measurements of my uterus, everything looked great. However, minutes later our doctor was unable
to find a heartbeat. At that moment, it felt like our hearts stopped
beating as well. We had lost another
baby. Through testing, we were able to find out that we had a little
girl, who we decided to name Morgan. My mending heart was once again
crushed.
Despite all the grief we endured, our desire to have a
baby continued to grow.
Three
months after losing Morgan, I was pregnant again, this time with Macey. From the beginning, I was both wrought with
fear and overjoyed with every moment we had with her. Every time I threw up, every bout of
heartburn, every pound I gained reminded me this was exactly where I wanted to
be. Every heartbeat I heard and every kick I felt was life affirming.
During Macey’s pregnancy, I literally took life one
day at a time. I never knew how to
answer those who asked how I was going to decorate the nursery, what method of
childbirth I was planning, or where I had registered for gifts. Those aspects of pregnancy and parenting
seemed so inconsequential in light of the truth I knew: I wasn’t promised a
future with this baby. What I did have
was the present and that is what I focused on.
As days turned into weeks and weeks turned into
months, I was forced to start planning for my baby’s future. I had to pre-register with the hospital for
my delivery. I had to research insurance
plans. I had to choose her future
pediatrician. With every plan I made, I
feared having to go back to undo each of them if we lost her.
One week before I delivered, we hadn’t even bought any
supplies or clothes for our little girl.
We finally decided to buy only the absolute essentials. It amazed me how buying a five pack of
onesies felt like a new level of commitment to believing in Macey’s future.
The day I gave birth I had such mixed emotions. Between missing Micah, wondering what it
would have been like to have Morgan, and anxiously anticipating the birth of
Macey, I couldn’t help but wonder if my faith in hope could be renewed. When at last I saw and held Macey for the
first time, I was in awe. She was
here. She was healthy. She was beautiful. There was relief in finally being able to see
her, along with continued fears that at any moment something could go
wrong. There was a nagging realization
that we would never truly feel like we were out of the woods.
Knowing that many of our friends and family never got
the chance to see Micah, there was a sense of urgency in our desire to have
those closest to us meet Macey. I
started to memorize all of her features and yearned to get to know her as much
as possible. Every hour seemed like a
lifetime of opportunity to spend with her.
My husband’s family had come into town for the birth and planned on
staying through the following week. The
only way Ben and I were going to get any reprieve from our fear was through
knowing that someone would be holding and watching Macey around the clock.
Somehow we made it through Macey’s first two days of
life. But there was also a sense of
foreboding as her third day came near.
At the time, it was too scary to acknowledge our fears out loud, but we
all felt the day’s brooding approach.
Knowing that I desperately needed to get some sleep, Ben’s parents
offered to stay up with Macey during the night shift that would lead into the
ominous third day. That night, as I
tried to force myself to sleep, I kept my mind occupied with anything other
than the fear that loomed just below the surface. Somewhere in between distracting myself with
thoughts of paint colors for our bathroom and what I wanted to eat the next
day, I was able to fall asleep.
Amazingly, I slept soundly until Ben’s mom woke me up for Macey’s next
feeding. I looked at the clock and it
was 4 am. It was the next day. It was Macey’s third day. She made it through the night! We made it!
That morning, as I joyously fed Macey, I thought of
Micah and the heartbreak which began on what should have been his third
day. I thought of the lessons on life,
love, and gratitude that were instilled in us through his short life. I looked down at my beautiful little girl,
Micah’s little sister, and recognized seeds of restoration. Restoration in acknowledging my own
capability to be a parent. Restoration
in my hopes for the future. Restoration
in my ability to acknowledge my fear and pain while at the same time allowing
those experiences to guide me to recognize the gift of life.
 |
| My dear friend, I love you so! |
And now, here we are, and eight has arrived! And it
feels significant, like we've made it to something big or past something big. And even though I
know that nothing has actually changed over night, that Julia hasn't magically
become safer than she was when she was seven, it still feels big. Nothing changed for Julia, but something changed for me - my narrative has shifted, some burdens have lifted - and that makes this
one day pretty darn powerful. That makes this one day worth a big celebration!
