be kind

Some days, you just have to be kind to yourself. Today is one of those days.

I found myself wrapped in a web of grief, the kind that makes decisions difficult, leaves you wandering the house in your pajamas, and wanting to snap at the store clerk who says, "Have a good one!"

It's risky business letting yourself into the painful experience someone else is having. I remember sitting across from the doctor yesterday as he explained "the procedure" to my brother and me. This procedure removed the "tissue" and the placenta from my sister-in-law. I woke up this morning wishing that I had said, "Please! It's a baby! Stop being so abstract about this!"

So today, being kind to myself means setting aside the agenda I had. No studying. Not even as much piano practice as I should have done. Instead, I painted the new plasterwork in the front hallway. The sweep of the roller... the soothing color of the paint... the rhythm of physical activity calmed my mind.

I wouldn't have missed a moment of yesterday, though. That's what love is - being there during the hard times.

Even when it hurts.

celeste

Today we said goodbye to Celeste.

She was 11 weeks and 1 day from conception, measured perfectly to the day on Wednesday. My sister-in-law went in for a routine pregnancy checkup.

There was no heartbeat. The routine quickly became non-routine, and the D&C was scheduled for today. With tears in her eyes, she told me, "I keep thinking that someone is going to call me and tell me this is a joke."

She had dreamed that morning that she was bleeding, perhaps an unconscious anxiety after having a miscarriage in December. Or perhaps her body's way of letting her mind know that something was wrong.

It's harder than the first one, they agree. And can they withstand another miscarriage, they wonder. But that conversation waits until they pass this "for worse" moment in their marriage.

They might hold Noah a little closer and hug him a little tighter for awhile. They are so grateful for their beautiful 18-month old son.

It seemed important to me to name this child, and as I drove home, I thought "Celeste". It seems appropriate that it means "heavenly", because today she flew home to her Heavenly Father as we opened our reluctant hands and let her go.

Ah, Celeste. We miss you. There is some comfort knowing that we will see you in heaven.

sweetie pie

Such joy not long ago as my brother shared the news that he and his wife were expecting their second child. Noah, aka "Sweet Pea", is nearly one year old--so "Sweetie Pie" was expected almost exactly 18 months later.

Such sorrow this Wednesday when we found that Sweetie Pie had died, and that Debbie would have to go in for a D&C the next day.

Oh, we can tell ourselves that these things happen for a reason... I ask whether that is simply an effort to short-circuit the sadness over a beautiful child that we must now wait to meet in heaven. There will almost certainly be other children, there will definitely be other joys! The fact remains that our arms ache for Sweetie Pie.

We will hold Noah close and rejoice in his mischievous explorations and his wondrous laugh. We will celebrate the miracle that is Noah. And we will hold Sweetie Pie in our hearts, though our meeting is delayed.