[This is most certainly the most raw and honest thing I've ever written that has been read by another human being. The hardest part of this essay was knowing that others would have to read it. I knew there would be peer editing and even a grade, and that terrified me. I vowed to myself to be completely honest and true because really the only person I was writing this for was me. I have been needing to get it out of me onto paper for a while now. It has been healing. As I wrote, I felt every single emotion just as I originally did. There was also a tender mercy that was given to me in this process. I was at my mom's house when this rough draft was due. I had hardly even begun to form any thoughts in the outline I had submitted the week before. One night I couldn't sleep. I woke up at 2am and tossed and turned for hours. Finally, at 4:00, I decided I might as well get up and do something productive. So I went downstairs and began to write. I wouldn't have been able to do that with people awake and walking back and forth behind me. That lost night of sleep was well worth it, and I know that it was a tender mercy given to me by a loving Father who knew what I needed more than I did.]
My Missing Puzzle Piece
As wakefulness began to come upon
me, I willed myself to go back to sleep. I was not ready to face this
day. The hollow pit of despair was heavy in my chest, and I knew today
there would be words to confirm what I already knew to be true. The signs
were all there, but more than any physical implications was the unshakable
feeling deep inside that I knew too well—the little heart beating inside of me
wasn’t beating anymore.
I flipped my autopilot
switch. There were lunches to be made, spelling words to review,
backpacks to be packed, tiny teeth to brush, and goodbye hugs and kisses to be
given. I tacked a smile to my face and commanded the simmering pot of
emotions to be still. After calling the doctors office and learning it
would be hours before I could be seen, I told Aaron to take me away to anywhere
I could escape my thoughts. That place didn’t exist, but there was a
mountain bike trail with a promise of blue skies, cool air, and a beautiful
view of the city.
My bike met the trail, and I felt
the burn in my legs as we started to climb. My tires spun round and
round, but my mind spun faster. The emotions were like a carousel going
in a circle—usually too fast to focus on one object, but every so often, you
catch one and focus until it disappears out of sight. I let the emotions
of the past ten weeks flood through me, and the pot boiled over. First,
there was total shock; this baby wasn’t planned or expected. There was
the shame and the guilt as I laid, sobbing on the cold, tile outside of the
shower, angry at myself for feeling that way. How many times had I
begged, pleaded even, for a baby? This was new. There was fear and
dread of Aaron’s reaction. There was clarity and understanding of my
emotional state for that past few weeks. All of those emotions soon made
way for another set: acceptance, anticipation, excitement, and joy.
We had given the boys their best Christmas present ever when we told them we
were going to have a baby. Then there had been the humor in finding out
it was another boy. Of course there was some disappointment when the
doctors office called with the results of the blood test. After all, I
knew with certainty it was a girl. The three different varieties of
saltine crackers stashed in my bedroom and my car were signs of that; I had
never experienced morning sickness before. It took me all of five minutes
to laugh it off and realize that boys are what we do. In the middle of a
noisy basketball game a few weeks later, there was anticipation and hope as we
talked about names and pictured another little blond-haired boy. The
carousel kept spinning, and I was quickly right back on that red, dirt trail,
engulfed with sadness.
The day seemed to go on forever, but
it was only a few short hours later I laid in the dark room on the hard
table. The ultrasound gel was cold and sticky, and I closed my eyes and
listened. Nothing. Total silence. “Please, please let me be
wrong,” I pleaded, longing to hear that little “whoosh, whoosh, whoosh”.
I opened my eyes and looked up at the screen. Just thirteen days before,
I had seen that exact little gummy bear body. Those little arms and legs
had been moving all over, and now they were so still. Up over his little
head, his hands close together as if he was praying. My eyes filled, and
a single tear escaped, but I took a deep breath and vowed to feel all my
feelings when I was alone.
Over the next week, there was a
hospital room and needles and anesthesia. There was going home with empty
arms—again. There were many thoughts. Never will I do this again. Never will I walk away from the
hospital with empty arms again. There were unanswered phone calls,
unread text messages and the cocoon of my dark quiet bedroom. Most of all
there was The Question. Why? Why,
why, why? Our hands were too full and life was already too crazy.
We couldn’t handle anymore. We were done. Why was I given this gift
I didn’t know I needed? And WHY was it taken away? So many
questions spun through my mind. Mental chaos unsettled me, and I craved
peace. Although I didn’t know if there would be answers, I knew there
would be peace in the temple. I went with anticipation and breathed
deeply as I let the serenity surge through every part of me. I reflected
on the past couple of months, and I asked all of my questions. I felt the
importance of eternal perspective. I took time to pray for each of my
family members, and I expressed gratitude for my eternal family. And
then, the words came with such force into my mind I could almost reach out and
hold them, “NOW your family is complete.”
Just like that, I understood why.
I visualize my life like a giant
jigsaw puzzle. I see images and colors that bring a smile to my face and
fill my heart with joy. Every day, a new piece is placed, and as time
goes on, the picture becomes more complete. Time is supposed to heal, but
for now, there remains a hole in my picture that I cannot fill. A few
months ago I was at the doctor just for a routine check-up, and I was thinking
of everything I needed to get from the grocery store. My mind busy while
I waited, I heard something from the room down the hall . . . “whoosh, whoosh,
whoosh” . . . a little heartbeat beating so fast and so strong. I felt
like all the air was punched out of me, and I wept. I saw and felt that
hole in my picture, that missing piece of my puzzle. Just as before, The
Question crept into my injured heart, but I quickly remembered the answer. I know that in a different place and time
that missing puzzle piece will be there. My picture will be
complete. But for now, my arms remain empty and longing.
[November 2014-January 2015]
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