Songs about Rainbows

A family I know is getting their rainbow baby.  I'm delighted for them.  They lost their three-year-year old in a tragic horse riding accident close to a year ago.  They're watching the date of her angelversary coming on with dread.  I hope and pray this knowledge that their rainbow baby is coming soon will help them find peace as that nightmarish day looms. 

However, I know from experience that the fear will sit beneath the surface, like a storm stirring in what seems like a gentle sea.  They've also had at least one miscarriage.  Fears of a repeat have to weigh on them as they always did on me. 

If anyone deserves the joy of a rainbow baby, it's this family that has been through so much heartache.  There was a time I would have felt jealousy over this because they are getting their rainbow, but I never did.  A rainbow baby is said to fill the big, gaping hole of loss.  That rainbow baby will never replace the lost baby, but there is healing in holding one child after another is lost. 

Or, so I hear.  I didn't really get the chance to figure that out for myself.  Alli came after my first miscarriage, so she was technically a rainbow.  But we felt strongly that she was the one we lost in the miscarriage, that she tried to come, and this was the same baby actually making it into our arms.  It's hard to quite call her a rainbow when they were both she, coming twice and leaving twice. 

I'm past envying other people's rainbows.  I've found peace in the two I can still hold, in knowing I will hold Alli and all the other angels I've lost (15? 16? 17?  I've lost count).  I'm past yearning for diapers, past feeling the pain every time I see a pregnant woman or a baby.  I'm truly happy for this family that finally has something to celebrate.  I will be praying along with them that this baby comes and stays.  It's a beautiful thing to know you have angels who love you on the other side.  However, nothing can quite replace the warm weight of a sweet baby in your arms.  In the meantime, for me, I'll look forward to the day I can hold mine again. 

Bouncing Back

Last time, I blogged about my dad.  It turns out it was probably just a seizure, and he's coming back to himself.  But he's lost enough functionality that he needs to be in a facility to help him work through walking and talking issues he still has.  His children flocked around him when we thought he was going.  And he probably registered little to none of it.  It makes me feel bad that we're not there for him now he's conscious enough to be bored and lonely.  Mom goes to the facility almost every day, but the rest of us are so busy that we don't make it to see him.  

I think that's often how it goes.  When one seems to be at death's door, everyone is there.  During recovery, people get too busy.  We are making plans to go and visit him soon, but it is harder to rearrange life when my days are far more full than they were when this started.  I was able to drop everything and run.  Now, not so much.  

It's the same story I've heard again and again.  Death or near-death comes, and everyone flocks around.  Time passes, and they stop coming.  It's not that people are intentionally skipping out to let one or a few left to pick up the pieces.  It's just that after the storm, things seem quiet.  Life goes back to normal...except for those left picking up the pieces.  I'd like to do more, to not be one of those that disappear.  I'm on my phone almost every day, supporting my mom through this, far more than I used to be.  But I'm trying to find a way to do more.