The One that Got Away...

I've written a little about the births of two of my three living children. I've haven't yet written about the birth of Oldest Son, quite possibly because it involved a lot of screaming. Yes, I'm sure he has been affected by hearing muffled shouts of "KILL ME" while he was struggling to be born. Anyway...that's for another day.

My first pregnancy began as a delight. I did all of the 'right' things. Announced it to THGGM via a birthday card to 'daddy'. Attended all of the 'right' classes. We were so happy. The first thing we bought was a crib mattress. I still remember trying to hide this fact (in line at the local Meijer) when we came upon some people we knew. It is very hard to hide a crib mattress, yet, somehow we managed to. My mother made us a baby blanket and bought some booties at a local craft show. We waited the required three months before making our announcement.

But, something went terribly wrong in the second trimester. Things that should have happened, didn't. Things that shouldn't have, did. I had to stay in bed. I read a lot. I ended up in emergency. I had the most horrible hospital experiences, one in the ER and one in the OB wing. I had surgery. We were so young. Twenty-one.

I required frequent blood tests and chest x-rays to be sure that the evils that took the baby did not enter my blood stream. They didn't. And, one year to the date of that awful day, we brought Oldest Son home. He wouldn't be here, were it not for that awful day. I'm glad he is.

But, losing a life that you were responsible for is an extremely trying thing. I rethought everything I had done, even though my doctor (equally appalled by my hospital experience - i saw him turn away, and he had tears) said it wasn't due to anything I had or had not done. But, she died inside of ME, and I felt responsible.

I never have 'settled' this in my mind. Death is awful, even when it allows new life to follow. An overwhelming thought has always been that in that great sea in heaven where all the unborn children float (while we down here try to theorize on where they actually go) could someone please find her, and tell her she was wanted?

She has a name. Emily Jane.

More than a decade later, on December 15th - the anniversary of her death - I noticed a yellow bud on our very old and dying rose bush. This doesn't happen in Michigan in December. I picked it, and brought it inside. The bud never opened. I still have it.

Someone wise once said, 'God gave us memories, so that we might have roses in December'. Someone less wise says: God gave me a rosebud, so that I might have memories in December.

Thank you God, for the rosebuds in December neither which opened, yet still exist. I have one, you have the other.