I read this today and it made me weep. I know it is so easy to say, “Wow, someone went through that, but I certainly never will.” I try to stop myself from thinking that any more because there is nothing “special” about me that insures me against tragedy. I’ve experienced enough that I should have figured that out by now!
What struck me in this article was the author’s continued hope for each of her babies. Out of 12, she has three living children. Perhaps it helped that her living children were interspersed among the losses, allowing her to grasp onto hope a little tighter, but I don’t really know. After our losses, I feel in complete despair about ever having a living baby–a “real baby” as I’ve told my husband a few times, since the future babies and the alternate universe babies we always dream about don’t seem real. Yet, I suppose even with my last pregnancy, I was planning out which day I hoped our baby would be born on, we had picked names, I actually eyed my box of maternity clothes twice (especially since I still have the stomach for them) and we discussed which of “Seraphim’s” clothes would be passed on to the new baby. We had hope, I guess, but we weren’t telling anyone. We still haven’t told our parents about the last one. I think it would be too hard.
So I admire her attitude, with years of loss and reflection to shape her stories of joy and despair. I hope I can learn that kind of hope again, especially because I fear a lifetime of loss after loss.