Saturday, September 03, 2005

Everything will look brighter in the morning

My Mom used to say that to me all the time when I was a kid and, doggone it, she's still right. Even though the thing that's bothering me is a little bigger than being teased by the boys or not being able to do the flexed arm hang in gym, her wisdom still rings true. I feel much better this morning.

Thank goodness.

My beloved and I went for a nice long walk after breakfast and it has cleared the muck and self pity from my brain. Most of it, anyway. For now.

We walked to the new park, complete with a baseball diamond and two soccer fields, along the brand new path that connects it to our subdivision and back home again. Sorrow tried hard to work its way in along the way, but I thwarted its attempts quite deftly.

As we walked past the second girls soccer game, I said to my beloved, "if we ever have another baby," then I paused to include "that lives" and continued with, "I'd like it to play soccer because it seems like such a healthy sport for kids to be involved in."

I was a little stunned by the words, 'that lives', even thought they came from my own mouth, but it's our grim reality. We don't know if we'll ever have another child or one that will live if we do, so it just feels safer and somehow wiser to be cautious. Or pessimistic, depending upon how you see things.

As we made our way closer to home we passed a family of four. The little boy, who looked to be about four, blew right past us, a smile on his face and mischief in his eyes. The little girl, who I think was probably about two, was clutching a raggedy bouquet of Queen Anne's Lace. Weeds, for the gardeningly challenged. As we passed her she proudly held up her handful of flowers and said in her sweet, two-year old, sing-songy voice, "Look! I gots flowwwwers!" We smiled and told her how lovely they were as we walked past. Her little voice trailed after us saying, "They're for my moooooomy!"

I felt the all too familiar stab of pain, but we laughed as my beloved mimed turning the knife that's still wedged firmly in our hearts. It was good to know we shared the pain - that he felt it too and I wasn't alone in wishing that we had a tiny little ragamuffin with a fistful of weeds.

We were almost home when a little blond boy about three years old yelled out a hearty, "How are YOU doing today?" at us from his front porch as we approached. My beloved replied with, "very good thank you, and you?" Which made the boy just beam. Then we both waved the silly, loose-armed wave you give to little kids to make them laugh.

And then we made our way home.

It was a good walk. I don't know if I'll ever look at another child without remembering the face of the one I lost, but there's something so sweet about still being able to be touched by children - having them connect with us, smile at us, show us their flowers and wish us a good day.

We don't have our child, but at least we have that.

1 comment:

Jill said...

Hey, glad you are doing better today:)

You are so right to say that sometimes, as much as it hurts, it's a lovely thing to let the kids into your hearts.

I guess I only have that issue with kids of the exact age as Thomas should be, but I have chosen to separate my loss from these other children. I couldn't survive otherwise and in the end, it has been lovely:) Bittersweet, but so nice.