Since the miscarriage happened on a Sunday, Sundays have been kind of hard days to get through lately. It shouldn’t really make a difference, but somehow it’s hard not to keep re-living the memories of that day. So this Sunday, I was in the car with my 3 year old, and suddenly she stared asking lots of questions about her great-grandmother (Nate’s grandmother) who passed away earlier this year. Grammy is dead, but she can still see us, and we can see her in our hearts, right, Mama? That sort of thing.
You know those all those stories about children who in hard times suddenly say something absolutely lovely and profound and wise beyond their years? My midwife told me a beautiful story about how when she miscarried, then got pregnant again, her 5 year old son told her very definitely that the coming baby was the same one they had lost, just back in a new and this time perfect body. Well, after I had answered her questions as well as I could, Vivi got very quiet, and I could tell she was thinking hard. Maybe this is it, I thought. She’ll say something beautiful, something miraculous and profound that will make me see everything that’s happened with new eyes.
“Mama,” Vivi finally said, “I am trying to figure out whether God piles everything up on top of Himself.”
Huh? I still have absolutely no idea what the sweetheart meant. Ah, well. It made me smile. That’s a grace and enough of a miracle for right now.
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