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Grandmother Mountain
I think it’s impossible to live in Calgary and not love the Rocky Mountains. I see them, blue in the distance, whenever I look west. I’ve camped and hiked and cycled in them all my life. There is awe in the size and strength of rocky peaks, wonder in glimpses of wildlife on the meadows, comfort in the gurgling of mountain streams….
Waiting
Many women would feel differently, but I knew immediately what I wanted: to wait for this baby to come naturally, to give her the dignity of a birth. To be perfectly frank, I liked giving birth to my children. Don’t get me wrong - it hurt like nothing has ever hurt before or since, I moaned and wailed and complained, I was scared before and slightly traumatized after each baby - but it was a joyful experience too. Those labors are precious memories for me, gifts to my children. Like I would eventually realize a name could be, a birth was a gift I could give to this child. . .
I’ve Been Listening
I reflected on my conversations of the last week with deep satisfaction. “I’ve been listening.”
Brief story from my single adult days. I had two friends - let’s call them Herbert and Mabel, since those most definitely aren’t their real names. I’d usually see both of them a couple of times a week at the university medical school library (I wasn’t in medical school, but the cool kids hung out there) or the “Institute” - a student center for my church just off campus. One week, I was bemused to realize that in our little snatches of conversation, both of these friends were telling me the same story.
On Monday, Herbert said, “I’ve got a big decision to make.”
Not ‘But’, But ‘And’
The secret to surviving and even thriving in tragedy is to recognize the positives shining alongside the grief.
I had a conversation with a friend the other day. She is going through the agony of watching her mother decline into severe dementia – bad enough already – and worse, doing it in this time of Covid when visitor access to the nursing home is seriously restricted. My friend said, “I got my once-a-week call from the nursing home today, but Mom was in distress and didn’t respond to me. I told her I love her and asked the nurse to turn on her favourite music.”
I told my friend, “You did some good, then.” I hope she knows I meant that as an ‘and’, not a ‘but.’ Let me explain.
Can’t!
What an overflowing grocery cart and calendar taught me about limits.
I’m going to share two stories, a quarter century apart, very different experiences that both taught me to respect my limits.
Story #1: I was “seventeen going on eighteen”, reveling in the adventure of living away from home and starting university. At school, I was a keener, and proud of it. My roommates were keeners too, apparently. The stereotypical student fridge, overflowing with leftover fast food and multiple milk jugs marked with their owner’s initials, would not do for us. We agreed to pool our grocery money and our food. We charted out responsibilities for cooking dinners, shopping, cleaning. We even (I blush to admit it) baked our own bread.
Between 2005 and 2008, I lost four tiny babies to miscarriage. In an effort to help others who may be experiencing similar losses, I want to share the story of that journey. If you click on the title above, and then follow the “Next in Miscarriage Journey” links at the bottom of each post, you can read through my story sequentially.