Grateful

Every few days I stop by a blog that brings tears to my eyes just looking at it, I don’t even have to read the words. It’s from a woman I’ve never seen, never spoken to, or even commented on her blog. Why? Because it might bring back my own pain.

You see it’s the story about this family’s conception and loss of their daughter, Audrey Caroline. A beautiful name I must add. I would love if every mother could read this blog, not to scare them, not to hurt them, but to make them feel more grateful for their children, something I’ve been having trouble with myself lately.

You see, this pregnancy was a shock for me. I knew I wanted three children, but I like knowing what to expect and planning. This little bean was from one spontaneous night while out camping in the wilderness. Dealing with the shock has made it hard for me to accept that I’m truly pregnant…as if the midnight pee breaks and constant nausea weren’t reminder enough.

I sat down to read a few entries in her blog…Clay…is where I started back up. This one was particularly hard for me to read because I never buried my son. I spend years trying to push away his memory and couldn’t bare the the thought of knowing there would be a place to constantly remind me of him. Back in my first blog entry I mentioned skipping to the middle because the beginning was much too dramatic…well…this that beginning…

At 17, I was consumed with guys…for the first time I had some attention from them. Well, that attention led to my first pregnancy. I’m not going to go into detail about how that pregnancy felt, but I will say at one point I did become accepting and even looking forward to becoming a mother. The new idea of my life shattered when I was just 26 weeks pregnant. Gavin Michael died. The hospital staff and doctors explained that it was no fault of my own, they called it a cord accident. His umbilical cord became knotted while I was on a camping trip with my family and my next doctor appointment revealed he had passed…just like that. I never got to hold him close to my heart, kiss his little toes…nothing. I wasn’t in any condition to make decisions after those 3 days in the hospital and my family decided we should cremate him. So it was done.

Again, I’m not ready to share the details of the months to follow…I’m not sure I even remember them….I spent my senior year in high school consumed by depression.

My point is this…..experiences are given to us to teach us how to better deal with what is to follow. My own experience taught me how to prepare for loss…Angie’s experience has shown me how to cherish it and be grateful for it. That may not make sense to some but for me…there’s nothing more painful that losing a child and nothing more precious that having one whether it be one week, 6 months, or seven years.

So today my life begins again, grateful for the little life my husband I created.