The Stork's Impending Visit (not to me)

My great niece is going to be born any day now.  On one hand, I celebrate inside because it means I get to hold a baby in pink and play with baby toes.  On the other hand, I will be praying inside, nervous the whole time leading to the birth, the time of birth, and even after baby is here.  Most people sigh with relief when a baby is here safely.  Having lost a babies in and out of the womb, I know babies are fragile in all their stages.  I'd be paralyzed with fear if it were my own baby.  Even watching my nephew and his wife, with whom I have been close for several years, bringing a baby to this earth scares me.

Babies are just scary to me for their sake.  They're scary for me for my sake, too, because I have lost too many times before.  I can't help it.  Babies equal loss to me.  I know most babies live.  This little princess will probably outlive me by many years. But just thinking about a baby makes me cry.  There was a time I envied women who called themselves "expecting" because they were pregnant.  It's been years since I've expected anything but loss, even when I was pregnant.  There was also a time I envied those with babies.  Now, I realize I don't envy any of it because babies mean fear to me.  I'm much more at peace letting other people deal with the stress.  I'll be grateful for my older kids and the chance to hold other people's babies. 

Ongoing Damage part 2

Over a year ago, my preteen girl was diagnosed with mono or a malady very like it.  It was almost impossible to wake her for school.  I had to dress her like a doll and still often couldn't wake her afterward.  Every day felt like the improv game of dead bodies where I had to manipulate a floppy person who was almost as tall as I am.  I finally just let the school know she was not coming or coming late every morning we couldn't wake her.  Summer couldn't come soon enough.  Over the summer, she got better but not all the way.  She showed every sign of chronic fatigue. 

Recently, I called the doctor's office to get some ideas of how to help my girl through these symptoms, which still haven't faded entirely.  I figured she still had the mono, which I had heard could become chronic.  When I talked to the nurse and told her my perception of the situation, she suggested good vitamins and getting her walking in the sun for vitamin D.  But the doctor said these symptoms are psychosomatic, that they have their root in psychology.  He recommended we get a therapist and/or have her work through a kids' therapy workbook. There's no pill to fix her.  There's no easy fix.  And it all started with the early trauma and tragedy of losing her sister on which the trauma of a bully, of a teacher that created an emotionally damaging environment, and other life events have only built to change her from an extreme extrovert who trusted the world to an extreme introvert drained by too much "peopling." 

On one level, she's done a lot of healing since her traumas.  She's gained a lot of confidence and self-assurance in her gifts and abilities.  On the other hand, it's hard to know how far she has to go and what being healed looks like.  All I can do is be there for her, give her those workbooks the doctor recommends since she has no interest in therapists, and help her turn toward God for the healing the atonement offers. 

Mixed Bag

                                              (A photo from Craters of the Moon last year.)

Last time, I wrote that we planned to go to a bed and breakfast to avoid being home and just feeling the pain of Alli's angelversary.  Last year, going to Craters of the Moon offered the perfect balance of get-out-of-the-house-with-the-family-and-stay-busy and time to mourn.  We ended the day looking through her baby book.  It was perfect. 

This year's trip to a lovely bed and breakfast was nice.  What with life happening, we didn't get there until late, and my acid reflux had me throwing up everything I tried to eat, my chest burning until I did.  But waking in an old farmhouse to crepes was lovely, especially when the turkey and ducks serenaded us, the cat and dog came for a visit, and the owner made us fabulous fruit crepes and orange juice.  I highly recommend the Woodland Farmhouse Inn in Kamas if someone is in that neck of the woods. 

Sadly, the experience of eating anything was marred by my acid reflux bout.  And we only made it one mile of the mile-and-a-half, steep Timpanogas hike before my acid reflux and my girl's budding heat stroke forced us to turn back.  We were so busy rushing there, rushing up the hill, and rushing to meet my nephews and niece for dessert, and taking care to eat non-greasy foods to even spare a thought for the meaning of the day, for mourning.  It was great to see family members I don't get to see often, however.  We collapsed in bed that night only to wake up to utter exhaustion and grief to double up and strike us hard the next day.  We got little done because we were still reeling from a less-than relaxing and fulfilling trip. 

I can't say I regret the trip.  But I can say I think we'll need to plan a bit better next year.  It's nice to escape, but one can't escape entirely from the grief monster.  If you hold it off, it will get you in the end.  Escape if you can, but plan time to mourn.