This weekend I heard wonderful news - my friend gave birth to her baby girl. I sang inside, relieved and excited for their future together.
This weekend, on the same day, I heard tragic news - my friend's tiny baby had died inside of her, the end of a joyful new pregnancy coming much too soon. I grieved with her, aching for their loss of future together.
I stare at my own baby girl - a miscarriage early in pregnancy wouldn't have lost a nameless, faceless baby. We would have lost her, and everything that is to come.
In church we prayed for S.ria, for the oppression and violence and blood and silence.
In church I held my baby girl and we shared eyes and smiles and so much affection. We are glad for each other.
I imagined S.rian mothers years ago, with precious babes in their laps, smiling and thankful. They never imagined their children would grow to commit such brutality, or experience such abuse.
I too have a smiling baby who will one day be capable of giving and receiving pain.
It's the vulnerability of fertility; we plant all and we lose control. Something grows but we can't keep her alive, we can't make her stay, we can't even make her do right or love us back. A mother gives everything, and yet she still isn't able to make it certain, not anything.
Occasionally I feel the nakedness of it all, in birth and life and death, how close we are to falling off the edge.
This weekend, on the same day, I heard tragic news - my friend's tiny baby had died inside of her, the end of a joyful new pregnancy coming much too soon. I grieved with her, aching for their loss of future together.
I stare at my own baby girl - a miscarriage early in pregnancy wouldn't have lost a nameless, faceless baby. We would have lost her, and everything that is to come.
In church we prayed for S.ria, for the oppression and violence and blood and silence.
In church I held my baby girl and we shared eyes and smiles and so much affection. We are glad for each other.
I imagined S.rian mothers years ago, with precious babes in their laps, smiling and thankful. They never imagined their children would grow to commit such brutality, or experience such abuse.
I too have a smiling baby who will one day be capable of giving and receiving pain.
It's the vulnerability of fertility; we plant all and we lose control. Something grows but we can't keep her alive, we can't make her stay, we can't even make her do right or love us back. A mother gives everything, and yet she still isn't able to make it certain, not anything.
Occasionally I feel the nakedness of it all, in birth and life and death, how close we are to falling off the edge.
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