(This post contains some possibly upsetting word images. Please be forewarned.)
Today is Mother's Day, and at church they were handing out flowers, as many churches do on this particular holiday. I assumed they were just for the moms (normally they are). Until, that is, a ten year old girl in a stripey dress approached me with a bunch of flowers in her hand. She very deliberately walked up to me, and handed me one of the flowers.
"Here you go," she said.
"Oh, I'm not a mom," I said, cringing a little inside (because that statement, although I have expressed it in different ways many times, isn't really true).
She looked me straight in the eye and said (as only an outgoing ten year old can), "So? They are for all the adults. Not just moms."
At that moment, I knew that I was receiving a special gift-- from my child and from God.
Wait a minute, I can hear you say.
You don't have kids.
To which I must reply: On this particular point, I am going to have to correct you.
You may know this about me already, but if you don't, you're about to. Almost four years ago, about a week after we moved from Portland Oregon to Denver, I had a miscarriage. I didn't know I was pregnant, and we certainly weren't planning on having a child. We moved here so I could take a job dancing professionally with David Taylor Dance Theatre. It was not in the plan, and it was a huge shock. I knew I was pregnant for less than a day before I started miscarrying. My reaction to the news that I was pregnant was less than ecstatic. We had moved to Denver so I could dance professionally, not have a baby. We were not in a financial position (having just moved, and Casey not employed) to have a child. Both of us were quite emotional when we found out.
This went on for about six hours before I started cramping and bleeding that night around 8 pm. A trip to the emergency room, a lot of physical pain, and a few doctors visits later, it was already over. Over almost as soon as it started. I didn't have time to regroup. It happened so fast and I began treading water emotionally, alternating between that and breaking down. On top of that, I had to continue training physically for my first season with the dance company.
As with all deaths, it came with a lot of shock, pain and confusion. Guilt crept up on me, and I immediately began wondering if my reaction to the pregnancy caused the loss of it, or if the moving process caused it. I have since learned that was probably not the case. It was so early in the pregnancy that most likely it was chromosomal abnormalities and my body knew the baby would never survive. "There was nothing you could do," was something I heard a lot during that time. I slowly began to realize something: I loved this child I never had the chance to know.
I cried. I journaled. I ran away from the issue. I came back, and I cried some more. I choreographed
a dance to express my journey with Casey called "that which was lost" and have been able to share it with several different audiences including grief support groups. (What a blessing that has been, to share even just a little bit of healing with others, and at the same time healing my own heart through dance.)
I have not finished processing. I don't think I ever will, although my pain has significantly decreased. But it is not completely gone and it never will be. I have realized one highly important thing through all my processing, however. Today on Mother's Day, and every other day, I do indeed have a child. When people ask me if Casey and I have kids, I pretty much always say, with a smile, "Not yet." I always feel a twinge of guilt, and consider telling them my story (I never really do though, unless the situation is right).
This child, who is deeply loved by Casey and I, is in God's arms right now. The flower I received today was a precious message reminding me that I am a mother, and my child is waiting to greet me when it is my time to fly away.
If you have, or know someone who has ever lost a child, here is a link to wonderful foundation that wants to help: http://www.rowantreefoundation.org/
