The Wine-Dark Sea

The Mole subsided forlornly on a tree-stump and tried to control himself, for he felt it surely coming. The sob he had fought with so long refused to be beaten. Up and up, it forced its way to the air, and then another and another, and others thick and fast; until poor Mole at last gave up the struggle and cried freely and helplessly and openly, now that he knew it was all over and he had lost what he could hardly be said to have found.

The Rat, astonished and dismayed at the violence of Mole’s paroxysm of grief, did not dare to speak for a while. At last he said, very quietly and sympathetically, “What it is, old fellow? Whatever can be the matter? Tell us your trouble, and let me see what I can do.”

Poor Mole found it so difficult to get any words out between the upheavals of his chest that followed one upon another so quickly and held back speech and choked it as it came.

[. . .]

Recollection brought fresh waves of sorrow, and sobs again took full charge of him, preventing further speech.

The Rat stared straight in front of him, saying nothing, only patting Mole gently on the shoulder. After a time he muttered gloomily, “I see it all now! What a pig U have been! A pig—that’s me! Just a pig—a plain pig!”

H waited till Mole’s sobs became gradually less stormy and more rhythmical; he waited until at least sniffs were frequent and sobs only intermittent. Then he rose from his seat, and remarking carelessly, “Well, now we’d really better be getting on, old chap! set off up the road again, over the toilsome way they had come.

While putting together my retrospective post for my blogiversary, I stumbled across a comment in an old blog post that recommended a parenting book,
Tears and Tantrums: What to Do When Babies and Children Cry by Althea Solter. For whatever reason—I was busy, distracted, overwhelmed with an already towering reading pile?—that recommendation didn’t really register on my consciousness at the time and I never followed up on it nor until I re-read the comment last week did I remember that it had been made. But now it caught my eye and I decided to get it from the library. And oh I am glad I did. Sometimes the right bit of information at the right time catches just right and suddenly the world shifts and everything realigns and you are able to see clearly for the first time a new path where before there had only been a close thicket. This was rather like that.

The author’s thesis is simple: that tears and tantrums are the natural, healthy way of relieving stress and that when children are allowed to cry the recover from stress and from psychological traumas, both big and small, more readily. When crying is suppressed or denied children will find ways to cope, of course, but there will be repercussions in other ways as the stress is bottled up.

In general her theory makes sense to me, although I’m a bit leery of her theories about birth trauma and rebirthing. It’s the kind of thing that takes a truth I already know—that crying is a stress relief—and shows me how that truth can change how I approach certain moments in parenting. I think that keeping this truth in mind, that crying and tantrums help children resolve stress, will help me to be more patient with tears. Whereas before I was seeing them as something I need to fix, now instead of seeing my job as keeping them from crying, it is so much less of a burden to have my job be to merely be with them as they cry, so that they are not alone as they work through whatever emotions are overwhelming them.

But what is truly revolutionary is how it’s changed the whole matter of putting the baby down to sleep. I have been uncomfortable with nursing the baby to sleep, knowing that it is a poor soothing tool because when the baby wakes up he wants to nurse again, to recreate the situation in which he fell asleep. But the only alternative I knew f was the method of letting a baby cry it out, and that appealed to me even less. So there I was nursing Anthony to sleep and then nursing him down again and again for an ever increasing number of night wake ups. I didn’t like it but I didn’t know how to get him to sleep otherwise without abandoning him to cry alone in the dark. Solter’s solution is so simple and obvious I feel rather foolish for never thinking of it. She advocates that once the baby’s needs for food and dry diaper have been met, that you should simply hold the tired baby and letting him cry himself into a deep sleep. Oh! I can do that. In fact, Dom had already been doing that on the occasions when I couldn’t get Anthony to nurse to sleep. It’s just that Dom has less patience for screaming babies and so we never thought of it as a real solution to the bedtime dilemma. It makes sense too because often Anthony cries himself to sleep in his carseat while we are out and about. It isn’t very loud crying, just a soft kind of creaky moan that he seems to need to do to release tension and fall asleep. We’d already labeled that particular sound as Anthony’s sleepy creak and noted that Ben had done the same thing.

So for the last few nights I’ve nursed Anthony as we say prayers and read bedtime stories. Then after the other kids are tucked into bed I have taken Anthony to our room and held him in my lap while sitting on our bed. Every single night he has cried and writhed around for about five or ten minutes and then eventually found a comfy position, either on my lap or on the bed right next to me and gone to sleep. Every time his cries were not loud angry cries or hungry cries, they were most definitely the sleepy moaning cry that I’ve heard from the car seat so many times. I knew as soon as I heard that cry the first night that we were on the right track. Sure enough it takes less time for him to cry himself to sleep than it did for him to nurse himself to sleep. I sit with him until he’s deeply asleep and then move him to his bed. He’s been sleeping for hours every night and then waking up only twice in the night. I have been nursing him back to sleep at those wake ups because it is easier than letting him cry and he does seem to go back to sleep pretty deeply and let me put him back into his bed after the first middle of the night waking. After the second one he’s been staying in our bed until morning. This is a huge improvement over his previous pattern where he woke at least once before I was ready to go to bed and then woke again shortly after I went to bed and then almost always spent the rest of the night in our bed, nursing several times.

I really wish I’d read this book a long time ago when Bella was a baby. It would have changed my approach to so many things and I think would have helped me be more patient during various tantrums and fussy stages. It’s funny because nothing in it is really completely new to me but the way it introduces the topics was exactly the paradigm shift that I needed.

The bit about Mole and Rat seemed too perfect when I read it to Bella this afternoon not to include. My aim is to be able to be as sympathetic as Rat is and as willing to acknowledge when I have been piggish and failed to listen and to be compassionate to a poor sad little one who has as hard a time as Mole at expressing a need.

Homeschooling has kind of stalled out for us since before Christmas. It’s not that Bella isn’t learning, I’m sure; but formal lessons of any kind have fallen by the wayside as I’ve not had much energy for gathering myself into a purposefulness. So today it was a wonderful surprise to find ourselves stumbling into a little impromptu lesson inspired by today’s feast, which is one of my favorites.

It is a frequent custom, though it doesn’t happen every single day, for Bella to get a chapter from a longer book read to her while the boys nap. So we read her chapter of our current book, a life of St Rose of Lima. Then I read a picture book for Sophie. Then I pulled out my Bible to read to them the passage of the conversion of St Paul from The Acts of the Apostles, part of my resolve to read to Isabella from the actual Bible more often in addition to retellings from her various Bible story picture books.

After we’d read the story of Saul’s vision on the road to Damascus and his healing by Ananias and his preaching of Jesus, then I thought it might be fun to show them some art inspired by that famous story. I googled “Conversion of St Paul” and clicked on Images and found the Carravaggio that I expected and a Michelangelo. Then I found this great Biblical art website that has catalogued a most impressive number of images of the subject, four pages of thumbnails. We didn’t look at all of them, there wasn’t time. But we clicked through to see quite a few of them. We had fun trying to identify which figure was St Paul, where the light was, or where Jesus was. It was interesting to try to figure out why each artist interpreted the picture as he had. Then Bella told me that none of them looked like what was in her mind. I told her that if she wanted to she could try to draw it; but she said she wouldn’t be able to get it right. Bella and Sophie had no idea that this was a school lesson and they are developing visual literacy. They just had fun looking at the pretty pictures.

Some of the images we looked at were from illuminated manuscripts and one, by Fra Angelico, was clearly from a psalter with the square neumes of chant notation so I turned on my iPod and played the girls the Invitatory Psalm from today’s Divine Office podcast while we looked at the image and I briefly explained that the picture was from a song book and would sound something like the one we were listening to.

One image that caught Isabella’s eye was very colorful and very modern looking. The link took us to a gallery of images from a contemporary Chinese artist, He Qi. So we clicked through and looked at all the images in the gallery, and Bella was able to identify the subject of almost all of them, thus demonstrating to me both her visual and her Biblical literacy. She immediately knew the subject of the Finding of Jesus in the Temple, the Annunciation, the wise and foolish virgins, she identified an Agony in the Garden as Jesus on the Mount of Olives with the apostles falling asleep while he prayed. (Here’s the index to the gallery where you can see all of He Qi’s work. I’m in love and have spent hours staring at all the images in the galleries)

We couldn’t actually tell which character in Brugel’s painting is meant to be St Paul.

We had a nice little side trip because Sophie spotted the one picture that wasn’t a conversion of St Paul but an image of the Road to Emmaus. So they asked me what that story was and I retold the story in my own words. (One of my favorites, because my parents used to own a Catholic book store called Emmaus.) That led to Bella asking about why were the women in the upper room and us discussing whether the apostles taught Mary about Jesus or Mary taught them about him.

Then Anthony woke up long before we’d exhausted the girl’s curiosity, which is probably a perfect place to end.

Bella was captivated by this one but neither of us could figure out which figure is supposed to be St Paul.

We’re all still sick and the house is a terrible mess from days of everyone being too tired to pick up properly; but it was one of our best learning days in a while. Isn’t it funny how that happens? Isn’t it funny how this spontaneous excursion was so much better than anything I might have planned ahead of time? Why do I spend so much time worrying? If I just rusted more I would see that Our Heavenly Father has it all taken care of.

And now it is time for me to go to bed. I think today was Day 6 of everyone being sick. I’m ready for this saga to be over.

Well last night we we survived Midnight Mass with four children with not a single child fall asleep or needed to be taken out. In fact no one fussed at all. Or at least not what anyone but me would have called fussing. Ben did whine and complain in a loud toddler not-whisper but I don’t think anyone who wasn’t our immediate neighbor heard him. And Bella did cry quietly when she realized she’d forgotten her blanket at home (Especially frustrating because the only reason she even wanted it was that before we left I’d prompted her that she might want it.) Anthony squirmed a bit and had one moment of exuberantly grabbing a bulletin and shaking it loudly during the homily. Sophie only beamed sleepily from ear to ear and hugged her blankie in tired excitement.

Abigail asked if I have a secret to getting four kids to Midnight Mass and if I’d post about it on my blog. While I’d love to take all the credit for our success, I suspect much of it is due to the temperament and personality of my kids (and perhaps that is in turn due to my temperament and Dom’s?) And even more I suspect that it is due to sheer grace. Though I can’t stress enough that having a third adult is a giant help—my sister who lives with us and who therefore can be counted as a second mommy when it comes to cranky toddlers because they have known her as a part of their immediate household all their lives. Ben spent the second half of the Mass, after he’d got tired of Daddy, in Auntie Tree’s lap. Had she not been there Dom would have definitely been out in the vestibule. Or more likely were she not in the equation we wouldn’t have gone at all.

Last year when we took Bella and Sophie and Ben we weren’t at all sure it would be a successful experiment. We were quite prepared to throw in the towel if things looked like they were going downhill. But it worked. And the stars in the eyes of my little girls made the loss of sleep and subsequent temper tantrums worth it. They were still talking about Midnight Mass as Advent began this year and there was no way we could tell Bella and Sophie that they weren’t going to go again. The only question in our minds was whether or not to try to bring the boys too. Last year, I’d assumed we wouldn’t try it again this year. There’s no way a 10 month old could cut it, I thought. And yet as the day grew closer, I was more sure that we should try. I still expected that I would probably end up in the back with Anthony; but I felt like we should give it a shot anyway.

And yes tempers were short today and children were overtired and cranky. And there will probably be more and worse repercussions tomorrow and aftershocks for the rest of the week. But they were all very good during Mass. And it was totally worth it.

Every time I looked down to meet Sophie’s eyes her face lit up with a glow that I can’t even begin to capture. Oh the smiles that little girl can give! And most especially when we sang her favorite song, Silent Night. She was in heaven.

Bella had a harder time; but even she doesn’t regret going. And though Ben spent most of the time complaining, his first words were wonder-struck: “Lights! Christmas trees! Look, look, Christmas trees! They have frost on them!” His not-whisper toddler voice carrying too-loud in the hushed church.

Dom says, and I agree, that walking into the church fifteen minutes before Mass began he felt like the guy walking onto the plane with four kids. It seemed like everyone was sizing us up and groaning in anticipation of the bad behavior of our little clan. But then after Mass many people came to compliment us on their good behavior.

Still, even if their behavior hadn’t been so stellar I might still consider the effort well worth it. Why? Because I can think of no other way of teaching them with our actions that Christ is the heart of Christmas. We go to Mass every Sunday. It is one of the prime ways my pre-school children mark time. So getting up for Mass on Christmas morning wouldn’t necessarily make a dramatic impression. But waking in the middle of the night and putting on brand new clothes and going out into the cold and dark to sit in a bright church… we are teaching them that Christmas is worth losing sleep over. It’s worth the effort and the inconvenience.

They get the magic of midnight Mass. Even Ben who kept asking, “Why is it dark? When is it going to be light? Why is it dark?”  Why is this night different from every other night? What makes Christmas so distinctive in their world, what makes it different from every other day and night isn’t only the tree and the pile of presents and the festive music on the radio… what makes it different is the magic of getting up when they are normally asleep, the magic of the church transformed into a bright wonderland of light.

Actions speak louder than words and the ancient practice of keeping vigil, of watching during the night hours, teaches our children more than any number of sermons or picture books, more than Christmas movies or any kind of lessons I can devise. This night is holy, set aside for God. We give him our precious night hours, we give up sleep so that we can be present at the manger, present at the feast. We come to adore him in the silent night. We come to listen to the angels delivering their tidings of great joy. We come to hear the proclamation and to sing his praise in the watches of the night. This is the meaning of Christmas not the tree and the trimmings and the presents and the food. If we want our children to understand that Christmas is about Christ, then we need to put the Mass at the center of our family’s celebration. It is worth the sacrifice.

Now, of course, prudence dictates that if your kids aren’t as calm and placid as ours, you might want to wait a few years. Our parish is small and Midnight Mass is not at all crowded. The church was, sadly, only half full. The Mass was not really longer than a normal Sunday Mass. If it were standing room only and we had to get there an hour early to get seats, I’m not sure we would have been there. If it were epically long, then I’m not sure we would have gone. If our kids were the kind that climb the walls, that run up the aisles, that scream and rant, that projectile vomit at the drop of a hat, then we would not have been there. So please don’t feel like I’m condemning you if your calculus leads you to stay away from Midnight Mass. Consider your children, consider your parish, consider all the factors and weigh them carefully. But one of the factors you should weigh in the balance is the value of wonder.

Consider the child whose eyes are aglow, who blinks and rubs his eyes and cranes his neck to see all that is new and different and wonderful as he gazes at the tiny baby in the manger whose birth is the reason for the candy that will make him sick and the presents that he will forget or the present that he will treasure. What will that child remember in years to come? What will speak of Christmas to him when he is older and living on his own? What seeds might you plant now and is today’s labor of missed sleep and temper tantrums worth the harvest he may one day reap?

As I watched Ben ask questions and Anthony stretch his neck to look and Sophie smile and Bella dream, I knew that we would be back again. Maybe next year, maybe not. We’ll see how things look then. But I am determined that even if we have to give it up for a few years Midnight Mass will be what my kids remember most fondly when they think about Christmases of long ago.

[I wrote this last year and hesitated to post it at the time. But on re-reading it I’ve decided to go ahead and put it out there. ]

God did not make death,
nor does he rejoice in the destruction of the living…. 

For God formed man to be imperishable;
the image of his own nature he made him. 
But by the envy of the devil, death entered the world,
and they who are in his possession experience it.

Wisdom 1:13; 2:23-24.

No one scorns the haiku for being shorter than War and Peace
Nor scolds the daffodil for being briefer than a redwood
But this little life cut off so young
We mourn and cry “too soon too soon”.

Surely the Author knows when to end each tale

And yet
Jesus wept

So should we all
For in the beginning death was not

And though there is a plan perhaps for even this little sparrow’s fall
Still we cry
For we know that a sparrow was meant to fly.

9/1/2009

I woke up this morning from the midst of a dream I couldn’t shake. i think it sprang from reading the story of Hannah and Samuel yesterday and from this post by Rachel Balducci about how hard it is to have her little baby in a full body cast.

In my dream Benedict was a toddler, maybe a bit older and larger than Sophie is now. We were having some sort of religious ceremony, putting a sort of ritual garment on him that he’d have to wear the rest of his life. It was sort of like the fringed garment that Jewish men wear under their clothes. In the way of dreams, its appearance changed a couple of times. At first it was a rough uncut piece of sheepskin but then it appeared that there were several layers sewn together and the one next to the skin was rough, like a door mat, the ones with thick ropey fibers, and directly next to his skin was the side with the little rubber spikes that prevents the mat from slipping.

We put it over his head like a poncho and it was so heavy and so rough against his tender skin, the points biting and the fibers rubbing. I cried seeing my little boy having to wear such a burden and yet knew I was doing it out of obedience to God.

And I suppose that’s what the dream really boils down to: how hard it is to give my children over to God, to keep in mind that my children aren’t mine but his and are merely given to me for a time to care for them as His steward. (I wrote a long reflection on that here after my miscarriage.) And that in turn relates to broader concerns I’ve been pondering recently: trusting in God, relinquishing control, letting go of fear and anxiety, suffering for our children but also suffering with our children.

Dom also pointed out that we’ve also been discussing the question you don’t have to deal with when you have a girl child: to circumcise or not. I’m not sure how much a part that played in the dream, but certainly that comes into it to. It’s obviously not a religious question for us but one of health concern. So often as parents you have to make the tough decisions, the things like immunizations that hurt your child and protects him at the same time and all the limits and boundaries you set that can seem harsh and unnecessary to a child but you know you do for their own protection.

Heavy thoughts for so early in the morning. Just had to get them down because the dream won’t let me go.

A reader emailed to ask if I had any advice to give for consoling some friends of hers who had suffered a second miscarriage. I thought it was a good general question that I’ve not seen addressed anywhere and so thought I’d share my thoughts here as others may be wondering the same thing. I’d also like to invite readers who have had miscarriages to share anything that someone did for you that you would recommend or something you wish someone had done.

It is so hard to know what to say to someone who is grieving and especially who has lost a child to miscarriage. There are no public rituals of funeral and burial to help you through the grieving process and it is hard to talk about with people so it is easy to feel like you are alone in your grief. for me the blog really helped not only because I was able to write about it (here, and here, and here, and here) but because of the wonderful outpouring of prayers and sympathy and encouragement from my readers. I really felt like I was surrounded by people who cared and understood. In that respect I think the mass card is a great idea because it is a sign of their being a part of the Body of Christ, of being connected in prayer with the universal Church. I’d have loved to receive something like that. I’d encourage other friends and family members to send cards as well, if you know anyone in their family or circle of friends you can prod in that direction. Those little gestures mean so much and the cards themselves are a physical token with the child’s name that they can keep as a memento. I started to realize this fall that I really wanted something that I could touch or hold that was connected with my baby. Our faith is incarnational and we do so need to connect to spiritual realities through our senses. When you lose a baby so early it feels kind of abstract and almost as if it never happened. I wanted something to cling to.

For me one of the best things anyone did was to give me an object with Francis’ name on it. I blogged about that back in February. My sister’s roommate had made mugs for Dom and I when we were married and she made one when Bella was born and so having one for Francis really meant a lot to me. That’s very particular to our family, so I wouldn’t necessarily suggest going out and getting a mug; but perhaps there is a way of memorializing the children which would be appropriate for their family. Giving them some kind of token which they can associate with that baby or even planting a tree or a flowering bush in the baby’s honor. I’d think a small statue of Mary might be something I’d have appreciated. I’m not sure about something baby-themed such as a baby blanket or shoes. For some parents that might be a comfort, for others it might be too painful, I think it’s too hard to tell unless you know them really well.

You said they named both children. That would be one of my first recommendations for parents who’ve had a miscarriage. it is so important to acknowledge that these are immortals souls who are known to God and somehow, mysteriously have a place in his providential plan. I’d encourage them to pray for their children every day and even ask their intercession as the Church allows us to hope that God’s mercy extends to these innocents who died before they were born. We always add Francis to our evening prayers with Bella and Sophia. Saying that name out loud every night helps me to not feel like my child is forgotten. I also found great consolation enrolling Francis’ name in the book at the Shrine for Children who died unborn at the NY Church of the Holy Innocents website. I’d encourage them to do that. It is nice to know there’s a name physically written in a church in a book that sits where people go to pray. The website says: “Here, a candle is always lit in their memory. All day long people stop to pray. On the first Monday of every month, our 12:15pm Mass is celebrated in honor of these children and for the comfort of their families.” For me and I suspect most parents who have very early miscarriages the lack of a memorial or grave site to visit or any physical mementos, as I said before, is particularly hard.

One helpful word of advice that we were told was to expect to feel sadness not only on the anniversary of the miscarriage but also when the baby’s due date came around. Dom read something about someone whose wife started to feel blue without even being consciously aware of the date. When he told me it made sense and so I kind of knew to expect it, which helped when I started to feel blue. It helped to be able to memorialize that date on my blog and have support then. So if you know when that will be, you might be prepared to give some additional comfort and support at that time as well. Knowing someone else remembers and cares might be a great comfort.

Also, for me it helped just knowing how many other women have gone through this loss. I was surprised at how many people shared their stories with me and then I also started reading blogs and stumbling across miscarriage stories online. It helped me feel like I wasn’t alone. Being able to talk about it helped. If she isn’t a blog reader already,  she might take some comfort in the online community and you might help point her in that direction. The Catholic moms I know online are such a great group of loving women who support and encourage one another so beautifully. 

I know too that at the time Dom expressed how often people seem to ignore the father and focus on the mother’s loss and pain. It’s important for friends and family to remember that he is grieving too, not just the mother. I know for men it’s more complicated as well because in the early stages of pregnancy, before their wives begin to show its all rather abstract. It’s not that they don’t care but that they don’t have that physical connection. I know too that it is very hard for a husband to watch his wife suffer through pregnancy, childbirth or miscarriage because he feels so very helpless. So I’d especially love to hear from any fathers out there who have lost children: what have people done or said that helped you or what do you wish someone had done or said?

I can’t think of anything else right now, but I welcome any additional thoughts.

I’ll also pray for them as I pray every night for all parents who have lost children.

This post at Testosterhome made me remember something I meant to write last week.

As Lent began I was so tired and I felt so lazy. I knew that a lot of it was the first trimester sleepies. I’m not being lazy, I told myself. It’s the baby. (And the fact that Isabella was still not sleeping through the night.)

And then the miscarriage. And about a week later suddenly I found myself bounding down the basement steps to throw in a quick load of laundry before breakfast. Well, not literally bounding, that would be foolish and land me with a broken neck; but I was bounding on the inside. And I realized I had my energy back. Suddenly those steps didn’t seem like an insurmountable obstacle, to work my way up to, maybe after a full breakfast and then a little rest.

I knew pregnancy was taking a lot out of me, but I didn’t realize how much. After all, after Bella was born there wasn’t this sudden surge of energy. I was recovering from surgery at first and then dealing with being a first time mom with a baby who never slept more than half an hour at a time. 

Of course, now I don’t have any excuses. If I don’t get up off the couch to do the laundry, it really is laziness.

I had a miscarriage yesterday.

If you don’t want to read about it, then don’t. But I need to write about it.

Spotting began Saturday night. I noticed it right before we left to go out to dinner for my sister-in-law’s birthday. I didn’t mention it to the family at dinner because it might be nothing and because I didn’t want to disturb the happy occasion.

Spotting and cramping after dinner and I called my OB’s office. She said as long as the spotting was light, I could probably hold off and go into the office on Monday for an ultrasound. But if it got worse, to go to the ER.  Cramps got worse overnight and by morning we decided to go to the ER after mass. But as we were getting ready to leave I changed my mind and so instead of going to church, we went straight to the hospital.

And a good thing too because after they had checked me in, while I was still in the waiting room, waiting for them to find a place for me, I guess, I started bleeding very heavily. Scared, I sent Dom to try to get them to hurry up. They weren’t fast enough, though. A very heavy gush of blood scared me. I panicked and started screaming. Mostly because I was scared, though also a bit because I knew it would get me the attention I needed. It sure did. The admitting nurse was on the radio telling some guy that she didn’t care, she needed to bring me back NOW. I feel bad for the people in the waiting room. It was pretty scary. I left a pool of blood behind in the chair and on the floor.

But once I was actually in the ER the nurses were great. They told Dom and Bella to come on back with me. He did, leaving our coats in the waiting room as he pushed the stroller. They started to put me in a curtained area in a larger room with three other beds, but then a nurse found an empty room where I could have more privacy. It wasn’t an exam room at all, but they made do.

Time passes funny in a hospital. You wait, wait, wait, wait wait. Sometimes it drags and sometimes it flies. The longest wait was for the ultrasound. There was a backup there. Usual, I was told. But they had waited until my bladder was full to even begin the process. So I had to wait with a full bladder. And wait and wait.

The hardest thing was not being able to take care of my poor distressed Bella. I did nurse her briefly during one of the long waits in the morning. Then fortunately Dom’s mother and sister came and helped out with her. They took her home to get her lunch and changer her diaper, the snacks and diapers in the diaper bag having run out. Then Dom came back to the hospital in time to take me home, around 3:00. I was so glad I didn’t have to stay overnight. As it was, when we got home, poor Bella had cried herself to sleep in her auntie’s arms. She was so glad to wake up to find herself in my lap instead. It was so hard to know my little girl needed me and I couldn’t be there for her.

Now I’m home. Taking it easy today. Tomorrow a follow-up doctor visit in the office. So glad Dom is here, taking care of us.

Like I said, all the staff at the hospital were wonderful. But there was one nurse, a motherly woman named Mary. I guess she’s actually grandmotherly. My mom’s age. She took care of me the whole time and was very comforting, friendly and reassuring. Very solicitous of my feelings, telling me it was ok to cry, to grieve. I hope she’s there for all women in such situations. Our society just doesn’t know how to deal with death, especially the deaths of babies. So it is very good that she was there and knew what to say and how to say it.

Anyway, I don’t want to write about the emotions now. I can’t. Maybe later. Or maybe not.

I’ll just say this: God has a funny way of preparing us. Thanks especially to Karen E., whose been writing about her own miscarriages recently on her blog. And then there was last Monday, at the Carmelite bookstore in the mall. Dom and I browsing through the children’s books and he picked up one for children about a child dealing with the baby being in heaven instead of having a younger brother or sister to play with. I shed a tear or two as we leafed through the pages. Little did I know, I’d be crying more just a week later.

Updates:

Counting My Blessings
Thoughts on Motherhood
A time to weep, and a time to laugh