Last night Ryan worked late so I was on my own for the night shift. Our bedtime routine becomes a little tricky when faced with the job solo, but with a little creativity it usually goes pretty well. Last night I worked it out by having Grace quietly work on her loom while I put Jackson to sleep. As I was gently rocking him, this song ("Somewhere Over the Rainbow" by Iz) came on. Grace hopped up from under the tree (where she was working) to turn it up a bit as it is one of her favorites. I, on the other hand, gave a short sigh. Recently this song has been requested so much around here that I had grown quite tired of it. But I continued to rock Jackson to the song anyway and watched as his eyes became too heavy to hold open. As I rocked back and forth and gazed at the bright orange fire, suddenly (and really I'm not sure how this happened now since I have heard this song so many times over the past several years) I was reliving a memory that I had completely forgotten about.
About 7 years ago I had a miscarriage and was diagnosed with a molar pregnancy. Because of the complications that can happen with a molar pregnancy I was asked to wait a year before trying to get pregnant again. It was the longest year of my life. And there was this ache. This ache in my heart that, despite what I did, just would not go away. It was a desperate feeling. For a brief moment, I had been a mom, and that was just long enough to make me realize how badly I wanted that. How really truly, it suddenly seemed, I had been waiting my whole life for just that moment. But the ache went even deeper then that. It was this sense, that at the time I'm not sure I could have even put into words, that people, important people, were missing. In particular, I felt, a girl. There was a girl that I could feel and sense and even picture. And I could not get over the idea that she was suppose to be here now. And I was grieving the loss of her unarrival. And most importantly, trying to imagine how long it would be before I would finally get to meet her, to hold her. Or, worse yet, would I ever. While that sounds completely ridiculous now as I write it, that is what I felt at the time. I lived with that ache for a over a year.
I had completely forgotten about that ache.
Until... last night, when I was transported back in time all those years ago. I'm not sure exactly how long it had been since I had had the miscarriage, but it had been long enough where the ache felt especially deep. It was night and I was driving, alone, in my car. I was playing that song over and over. And I was singing. Singing to my girl. The one who, it seemed, I would have to wait an eternity to hold in my arms. I was singing to her.
And suddenly I was overcome with emotion, and awe, at the moment I was in. For now, 7 years later, I was listening to her, my girl, sing that same song to me, as I rocked my boy to sleep. Seven years ago, this moment seemed like a fantasy. It almost felt too foolish to even let myself think about. It seemed lifetimes away. And yet now, here I was, blessed, not once, but twice, with two beautiful children.
Last night, the more I thought about it, the more it felt like a miracle.
And as I think about it now, I guess, in a way it is.
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