"Hope is a Thing with Feathers"

Words are my solace. Words are my grace. I've shared Dickinson's words over and over in times of comfort, times of sadness and times of great love, but now, I'm reminding myself of their meaning, combing through them for comfort and laying them on my heart. 

In September we'll celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary, and just after the first of the year, we found out that celebration would include a new family member. Shock doesn't even start to describe it. A baby. A sibling. A full house. I couldn't quite wrap my mind around being pregnant right now, but as always, John is the ever-present optimist and assured me we'd figure it out. We're great. We went to the doctor and spotted that little blob immediately. We started telling family and close friends and went back to the doctor watching for that beautiful heartbeat, and there it was. I was certain the planner in me was getting a real lesson in letting go. But somewhere around week 9, my energy came back, my sickness waned, and my clothes started to fit. I got quiet about my pregnancy leaving the remainder of our untold family and close friends in the dark. I finally confessed to John that things weren't feeling quite right, but in my next breath, I was reassuring us that second pregnancies are just different. Scheduled to go back at 11 weeks, I decided to trust my body and relax. 

By the start of week 10, I knew it was over, and while John was out of town, my body took ultimate control. I'm still not quite sure how to say it. What to say. To "lose a baby" sounds oddly irresponsible and to "miscarry" sounds so technical and heavy, and then I'm not sure where that lands us. 

I know that I've never been more grateful for my husband. Never more grateful for our sweet Charlie and the ease in which he came into this world. Never more grateful for our friends, especially Melissa who rushed me to the hospital, cried with me, laughed inappropriately with me and saw way too much of me but never ever thought to leave. And our family. Geez. Family sometimes doesn't listen. They show up. They lay in bed with you, cry with you, and love you without condition. Family understands that you just might not be able to be a mom today, and even though they're exhausted and emotionally drained, they whisk your child away for a couple days of fun and love. Words will never be enough to thank Fred and Ellen for the peace they provided me. The love. But as in my first pregnancy, I learned this is just what family does. 

Most days we are okay - we laugh, we joke, we enjoy our sweet little family, but the doubt, questioning and guilt has set in this last week. The doubt of if I only could have worried less, been more peaceful, more centered maybe this sweet babe would have had a better chance. The running internal question of will my body be able to carry a baby again, will we be able to give Charlie the magic of a sibling? The guilt of my body taking a baby away from John, a sibling away from Charlie, a grandchild away from our parents and a niece/nephew away from my siblings. I can't quite put a finger on this guilt, these questions, or this doubt, but they creep up slowly and flood me suddenly - at the grocery store, museum, and almost always in the car.

I know I want to settle in a place of hope, a place of peace, so until I'm there on my own, I'll keep reminding myself of these words. Keep reassuring myself that we're exactly where we're meant to be. Love was drained out of us momentarily but our hope remains.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

- Emily Dickinson