Wednesday, December 12, 2007

December 1979

Twenty-eight years ago, we had just moved into our first house. After five years in a one-bedroom apartment, it was heavenly to move into a 1950's two bedroom with a large yard. We were filled with dreams. Dreams of hardwood floors and a remodeled kitchen. Dreams of paint and carpeting. Dreams of lush landscaping instead of a bermuda grass desert. Dreams of a dog. Dreams of a baby to come.

We were happily pregnant for the first time. Sleep often brought sweet dreams of a little red-haired toddler in our new family room, sitting on our new soft carpet and playing. We laughed at the thought of red hair when no one in the family had anything vaguely resembling any shade of auburn.

Then midway through the first trimester, I began spotting. It was too early for us to have chosen an obstetrician yet, so we headed for the emergency room. Amidst all the worry, I remember the smile we shared as the young doctor confirmed that the test showed we were indeed pregnant. We already knew it, but it was so thrilling to have it officially confirmed. We went home where I was to take it easy and hope the bleeding would stop.

We looked for an OB and made an appointment. We finally called our far-away parents and let them know our tenuous situation. The spotting grew heavier and my sweetie insisted our way into the doctor's office past one of those gatekeeper-types who seem to protect doctors from sick people. Although nice, the physician was not encouraging and warned us we were miscarrying. He was right. After a long afternoon of cramps and heavy bleeding, lots of tears and sorrow, we called him again and he arranged for a D&C.

I so clearly remember emerging from anesthesia as they wheeled me into the recovery room, feeling a terrible and final sense of loss and thinking, "No more baby, no more baby." I spent the night alone in the hospital, crying silent tears.

Life goes on and a happy ending later gave us two wonderful sons who are now grown. Sons, both of whom possessed red hair for a brief time during babyhood, a circumstance that amazes me. Still, each December I think of the little red-haired boy I never got to meet. With every particle of my being, I hope there is a heaven. I hope there is a way for souls to embrace because I need--someday, somewhere--to hold that son. To cuddle and hug and love in a very special reunion.

1 comment:

  1. That was both a beautiful and sad post, I too hope there is a way you can hold your son someday.