Lately, something strange has been pulling at me. It’s a feeling I haven’t felt in a long, long while. It’s something like the feeling of a Saturday morning, when Tim would get up early, brew a pot of coffee, and run out to buy newspapers for us. We’d read and (I’d) sip contendedly in bed for an hour or so.. this was a peace in my heart and soul that disappeared after Evan was born. His birth brought a whole other set of feelings and emotions, as I adjusted to motherhood. I never really got that quiet, peaceful feeling back. After Isla was born, and died, it went away completely. I was in the depths of grief for a very long time. I couldn’t stand being by myself, I couldn’t handle still time, peace. It wasn’t peaceful, it was torturous. I had to be reading, usually baby loss books. I had to be watching inane tv. I had to be very near my husband, physically. He couldn’t go to the bathroom without me standing outside the door… When he went back to work a month after Isla died, I was a wreck for weeks.
Now I am coming to a place that feels like an old friend. I make coffee now, and stop to truly smell it, and appreciate the aroma. I look outside, and treasure the sun warming my face. I see Evan playing with his toys, and my heart swells with love and disbelief at all that he is, and is becoming. Suddenly, I like me time again. I like a chance at a drive through the country alone. The thought doesn’t send me into a panicky tailspin. I welcome it when I drop Evan off at school and I can go shoot some photos alone. I am relearning to appreciate quiet tranquility. A change is happening in my heart, my soul, and for the first time, I am deciding to welcome it.
For a while now, these feelings have been hinting at their presence. I denied them, ignored them, and refused to acknowledge them. Because to do so would (seemingly) be admitting that I’m moving on from Isla. I’m not ready to leave her behind. But something has happened. I think I’m realizing that grieving Isla and experiencing hope and joy again can coexist peacefully in my heart. I want to look at baby clothes, I want to daydream about this new life inside me, and bond with his/her little kicks. I want to love this baby completely, and I don’t want to feel guilty or unworthy of doing so. So I am. I am allowing myself to buy a few onesies. I am dipping my toe in the baby sections of stores again. And you know what? It feels nice. It feels giddy, and kind of silly, like I’m faking it. I think it’s because it’s all so new again, and not fraught with grief. These are new baby things, for new hopes and new dreams. I feel buoyed by hope on the horizon. It sometimes hovers on delirium. Finally. Finally, my heart is willing to open up again.
Isla is something that I will never ‘move on’ from. She is with me, always. When I’m sad, and missing her desperately, she is there. When I am celebrating Evan, or this new bean, laughing at something funny, shopping for baby things, she is with me. She is there regardless, and so I have decided to stop torturing myself by disallowing myself to enjoy this pregnancy. It is time to believe that what will be, will be. I don’t have any control over what is going to happen between now and May. I obviously hope for the best, but realize that my worrying, panicking, celebrating or indulging is not going to affect the baby or his/her outcome.
So, bring on the sun, I am ready for some hope, some light and warmth. It doesn’t mean I’m ‘moving on’ or have forgotten my daughter. Au contraire, it means I’m expanding my heart again. By opening up to risk, heartache and pain, I am opening up to love, hope and joy.
And it is completely worth the risk.
