It’s been a while since we’ve caught up. And if I had it my way, we’d all be sitting on big comfy couches with our pajamas and big fluffy pillows in our laps, talking over a cup of coffee, tea, lemonade… something yummy.
Talking from one loss mama to another. Even three years later it means the world to have that force behind me, that bond. A group of women who don’t freeze up when I talk about Jenna, or cringe when I bring up details about my pregnancy with her. A group of women who can deal with the ugly side of grief and love anyway, because they’ve been there.
If we had the chance to catch up in real life, I might be too excited to get to the details in life that really matter. It would be a surreal moment, one that many of us writers at Still Standing have dreamed about forming together one day. A retreat for loss mamas. A conference of some sort. It would be life-changing.
But if we did get the chance to sit down for a good while, I would finally get over the jitter and excitement, and the SURREAL of the moment and spill some of my heart with you. You’d get it somehow.
I’d tell you I feel guilty sometimes for being happy about having another girl. And I feel so lucky to be the mama of one boy and two girls. I’d tell you those two feelings in one heart just don’t make any sense and it makes me want to implode somedays.
I’d tell you about the calendar idea I have for 2013 for Carly’s and my card line. Excitement-CITY.
I’d tell you that I want to write a book. It’s a burning desire I have inside me that needs to get out. I just have zero clue where to start. Pen to paper, right? Or in this day and age, fingers tapping the keyboard.
I’d tell you I sewed a blanket for my little man the other day and I felt proud to be my mama’s child. She taught me a few things.
I’d tell you that my son is beginning to be a daddy’s boy and while it should be sad, it’s not. It’s beautiful to watch. He adores his daddy, and rightfully so. Pete is such a great Daddy.
I’d tell you that the evening and late night hours are my favorite time of the day. The baby flutters I feel are too much to put into words. Just joy, unbelievable, unspeakable joy.
I’d tell you that our pool closed the other day and while I know it’s silly, it made me smile. It just made the closing of summer that much more real, and the beginning of a new season and the homecoming of our baby girl that much closer…
I’d tell you we’re supposed to see Jenna tomorrow and I’ve got mixed feelings about it. I do know I want to take her something fuchsia. I think she’d like that.
I’d tell you I am more clumsy than ever and it’s almost to the point that it’s ridiculous and life-threatening. I’d ask you if that is normal in pregnancy, because while I can google statistics and questions, a friend’s opinion always means much, much more.
I’d tell you I still have a hard time praying. And I’d tell you I never thought my faith would feel so weak after feeling so close to God after losing Jenna.
I’d tell you I have a hard time with trust in this pregnancy. Trusting my own body. Oh dear, we can camp out here for a while. How does one trust their own body after the most epic let down?
I’d tell you this pregnancy is trying my faith almost more than anything I can remember. With Jenna I had a solid faith in God, even though it was the most disappointing moment of my life, that he let her die. I still had faith in him. With Bubby I began to feel frustrated. I had strange, mixed feelings toward him. My faith toward him was out of sheer desperation. If anyone could help this new child, he could.
And now, I think my faith is just tired. Does that make sense?
I’d ask you about you. Your life, your dreams, your faith. Your heart.