Negative, positive

We'd just finished enjoying a late lunch of coastal Carolina-style fish stew on Wednesday when the phone rang. It wouldn't have done any good not to answer it. Results from the nurse on my latest hCG test. News I was unprepared for. The number isn't rising, is retreating, has given up doubling, has doubled back, has doubled-crossed us. There are no ifs ands or buts about what this implies; been there, done that before. It can only mean one thing. No miracle baby hatching in April. Sophie's flight has been cancelled.

I don't understand!

That was all I could think, all I could say, all I could choke out with my tears.

(I'm telling you this now, because I let you in, I invited you to the mad-happy celebration, and because of that you are now part of the story too. And I'm glad you have been. And still are. That said, it's really okay with me if you feel like you need to stop reading this.)

I thank God that Rob was with me in that moment. That I didn't have to ring him on the intercom or drag myself the twenty steps to the shop just to hurt him.

Holding me, he said, "Let's go for a drive." Forget work.

The gas tank was blessedly full. Rob aimed the car north and soon we passed out of a melting city into a blurry autumnal canyon. I don't care how fast you go.

He took me to Heber, to a small antique shop we'd tried on other occasions to visit always to find a "CLOSED" sign aggravatingly propped in the window. This time we were lucky.

On any other day I would have said the boutique was a little disappointing. It's got nothing, of course, on the place here in town run by our own dear Gary of the Tiaras and his business partner. The new place had mostly ho-hum antiques, with a lot of girly stuff thrown in—chenille cakes, cheap costume jewelry, lots of gingham chicken-scratch aprons, ladies' straw hats, and the DIY Network blasting from a small teevee screen in the back room. But it was a relief to have something frivolous to look at, bits and pieces of fluff to pick up and put down again, a direction to walk in.

I happened to spy a small stack of old black and white photographs in a box on a corner shelf, and was drawn to go through it. Photos are nearly always irresistable to me. I was able to smile a little at some of the family shots, images that look just like what's in everyone's grandmother's scrapbooks—frumpy, birthing-tough matrons; stringy men smoking cigarettes; precocious boys in woollen knickers; young bucks posing with their cars, each with one foot planted on the running board; women, young and old, huddled together in front of flowering bushes, wearing drop-waist frocks and fur collars; small girls with Clara Bow bobs; almost everybody in a hat.

I was nearly through distracting myself with bygone lives, and considering the circumstances, was doing a pretty admirable job of overcoming gloom for Rob's sake, when I found a wonderful photo, a beautiful little girl holding a bird cage. It made my breath catch. Quickly finishing the stack, I also found the photo's negative. I've got to have these, I said to myself.



Most of you won't recognize what about this picture grabbed me, because I haven't yet related much of the symbolism that has long been and recently become tied up in this epic baby acquisition project of ours. I would be writing for hours if I were to try to get you up to speed with a single post; it's something I'll need to spread out over time, and some of it, naturally, isn't suitable for blogging anyway. I wish you could just lean your forehead against your computer monitor and I could osmote some history through cyberspace to you.

I'll tell you this much: My personal sky has over the past few years become filled with birds. It started with a Dream I had, of two beautiful hummingbirds. That will ring a bell for some of you who've known me a while and know me well, and who have even grown comfortable or brave or nuts enough to refer to those little birds by name. Sophie. Mercy. (If I'm going crazy, then I guess I'm taking you with me. It is a small comfort.) The bird motif has broadened in the past while to include a number of other magnificent wingéd creatures, even small shining fireflies. This is where I think I'll leave the point for now, though I want to come back to it in some other post.

So, I found this picture and its source, its reverse, its negative. Even just that little detail was remarkable to me—both pieces were in my hands. But the photo! At first I only noticed the dark bird inside the cage, but then I realized there was also a smaller, lighter bird. Two birds, safe and cared for in the hands of a gentle, smiling, proud girl. I can't describe how the image spoke to and comforted me. I felt absolutely seen and understood. I know it makes me sound dreamy, but honestly, I felt it was a tender little gift from God. I know, honey. I know. Don't lose heart.

*************

I had strong feelings about this pregnancy. I was so sure it would work out this time. I have had some beautiful and sacred feelings and experiences—I do mean much more than just a heart full of longing wishes, although that has been ever-present—these all seemed to come together and point to a complete springtime nestful of YES. For once, I tried to put all my fears far away from me and give myself to believing the answer I felt I was being urged to embrace. Even now, in the depths of loss, I don't think that was a mistake.

I was told this pregnancy was a miracle, an answer to prayer. Is it any less so, now that it's ending in an unexpected way? I don't think so.

I have a long list of incredible moments that I've been intending for weeks now to write about—insights, interactions, inspirations, et cetera. Should I throw away that list now, and call it meaningless, or worse? I really don't feel that to be so.

At first I was completely bewildered. How could it be over, after all I've seen and heard and felt? (I wish this was the right venue for giving more details. But I guess I'm already in violation of some propriety code or other. What in the world possesses me to go on like this, compromising my own introversion?)

This is much longer than I meant it to be. Let's get to the bottom line:

I will not be shaken off my foundation by this. Apparently, there are some lessons I need even more than I need a child right now. I know God loves me. Deep down, I believe that this is an opportunity, not a punishment. It's an invitation to learn—to learn more patience, to learn to "wait on the Lord," and to examine the nature and healthy expression of faith—my own faith as well as others'. It's a chance to learn compassion, and to practice forgiveness. It's a time to keep going. I don't know what else this is, but I trust I'll find out.

If I manage to learn what I need to, then the sting of this investment will have been worth it.

What was sacred is still sacred. Yes will still ultimately be yes. I just need to open myself up for new and better interpretations of the mystery that is this moment. For now, I'm not in a rush to connect all the dots. I trust that it's okay to live with my frazzled, rapidly-changing feelings, that I'm not condemned for moving through the grief process, even the really ugly, sometimes almost dangerously angry parts. I trust that the answers to my questions are known to God, and that when the time is right I'll be able to know them too, but it isn't up to me to set the deadline. I trust that it all makes sense, even if I can't make sense of it yet.

I hoped this would be a more cohesive post, and a brighter one. Oh, well. I'm working things out, and I'm too tired to edit. You get what you get.

Thanks for reading along.

*************

My dear friend Debby came over today with a coupon and persuaded me to go shopping with her. I came home from BB&B with a bright yellow teapot. It's such a cheerful color; I thought it would help me feel better to drink water boiled in enameled-steel sunshine. My happy pot sings in four-part harmony when it's all ready to kiss tea leaves.

Early this morning I took a break from the heaviness and the processing and I danced and danced till I couldn't anymore to just one favorite song, a song that seems to perfectly capture my current state of mind. It's a sweet one. Would you like to try dancing to it as well? (The lyrics follow.)

The Littlest Birds

Well I feel like an old hobo
I'm sad lonesome and blue
I was fair as the summer day
Now the summer days are through
You pass through places
And places pass through you
But you carry 'em with you
On the souls of your travellin' shoes

Well I love you so dearly I love you so clearly
Wake you up in the mornin' so early
Just to tell you I got the wanderin' blues
I got the wanderin' blues
And I'm gonna quit these ramblin' ways
One of these days soon
And I'll sing

The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs . . .

Well it's times like these
I feel so small and wild
Like the ramblin' footsteps of a wanderin' child
And I'm lonesome as a lonesome whippoorwill
Singin' these blues with a warble and a trill
But I'm not too blue to fly
No I'm not too blue to fly cause

The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs . . .

Well I love you so dearly
I love you so fearlessly
Wake you up in the mornin' so early
Just to tell you I got the wanderin' blues
I got the wanderin' blues
And I don't wanna leave you
I love you through and through

Oh I left my baby on a pretty blue train
And I sang my songs to the cold and the rain
I had the wanderin' blues
And I sang those wanderin' blues
And I'm gonna quit these ramblin' ways
One of these days soon
And I'll sing

The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs . . .

(I don't care if the sun don't shine
I don't care if nothin' is mine
I don't care if I'm nervous with you
I'll do my lovin' in the wintertime)

~Syd Barrett