4-19-18 NaPoWriMo |
Had a rainbow baby long before I knew what they were or that they were a thing at all. Any mom who loses a child understands the overwhelming grief of losing that child before they got the chance to know all that it could become. Wonders 'what they did wrong' or if this or that might have made a difference. Twin boys at four months-- no words. There are no magic words to fix or heal or make the pain go away. We made love because he was trying to make me feel again. I wanted neither to feel nor was I feeling lovable. I couldn't conceive of being in that place-- I'd just lost twins. That one time must have been magic, the fates must have aligned. Nine months of frantic worry. Of wrapping myself in cotton batting. First words out of my mouth were: fix her. They hadn't said she was a she. I knew. I also knew she was blue-black and something was wrong. Fix her. Three times too many red blood cells. Zero blood sugar. Not enough air to change blue to red. Five percent chance of her living; if she did, less than five percent of being anything more than a vegetable. (Doctor's words -- not mine) Not again. What was wrong with me? I needed to see her. But they wouldn't let me. I didn't want her to die alone. I didn't want her to die before she lived. My husband, now ex, left. I was left alone in my fear, self-doubt and a cloud of pain. I couldn't make those happy phone calls. Couldn't tell my mom. My roommate had just had healthy twin boys that she refused to have anything to do with. She was a foreign ambassador's wife and I called her every name in the book most of which insulted everything about her. Then I grabbed my stuff and left. I camped out in the smoking lounge alone, crying, scared to death. Night nurse came, found me sodden. Left, came back and trundled me off to the pediatric critical intensive care. Wrapped tubes close, wrapped blankets around her to keep her warm and handed me my daughter. I was freezing cold until I looked at roses and cream, tuft of white-blond hair, immense green-grey eyes, studying me, until she grabbed my finger and blinked. No blue. I knew in that moment she was perfectly fine. I knew the odds had been made even. She'd been given less than twenty-five chances out of a thousand to be okay. And I knew. Miracle child who'd go on to fall from forty-foot tall pine and land without a scratch or broken bone; not even a single bruise. Miracle child who'd serve her country and win high military awards. Miracle child who has a genius IQ, a heart she wraps around all who know her and who stands and fights for anyone less fortunate than she. Miracle child with stars in her eyes, with words and designs erupting from her creative soul and joy in every single breath. My miracle child. I don't know why things happen as they do. I don't pretend to comprehend the complexities of the universe. I mourne and I celebrate. The constellations continue to dance, brighter for two brilliantly shining stars gazing down upon us all. |