Monday, February 20, 2012

this weekend (we lose control).

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.


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