Moving mountains

September 29, 2009

I had another adoption dream last night. I woke up kind of laughing at how obvious some of it was. It started off with Jeremy and me deciding that we wanted to go this lookout point to see if we could spot a whale. Of course, the journey to the lookout point was dangerous. It was nighttime and we were navigating our way through fog and flooding, down huge hills, trying to get to this lookout spot. I grabbed a hold of his arm, my heart racing, "Jeremy, I don't know if I can do this!" I was so scared. And so we decided to turn around. And then there was a little girl coming towards us. Her parents (who were from India) said that she was only two months old, but she had already started taking steps and was interacting with Jeremy and me like a much older baby. I thought to myself in my dream, She looks just like Jeremy and me! She snuggled up to me. Jeremy held her and laughed at her. I felt like she belonged to us, but her parents wanted her back. And so I woke up.

Oh yeah, it's in my psyche. There's no going back now. All day long, thoughts, questions, fantasies of my baby. Hmmm . . . my baby. Could it be possible? My heart is opening up. The longing is there. Patience Abby. Patience.

And still there are thoughts of Harper. I wondered how the thoughts of her would intermix with the fantasies of a baby. I have a friend in CA who is pregnant. In fact, she's 24 weeks pregnant right now. She just experienced one of the most horrific losses a person can have 11 weeks ago - the loss of a child. Deep in my soul I am grateful that she is pregnant. I am grateful that life gives us mixtures of grief and joy, loss and hope. How else could we survive? The grief alone would be unbearable.

I was reading her blog about her pregnancy. There was a picture of her at 24 weeks. 24 weeks. That's how far along I was when I delivered Harper. (Hmmm . . . I delivered Harper.) She wrote about how she could feel the baby move. I felt Harper move all the time. I was sick, in the hospital, in pain, barely holding on, and yet you would see a smile come across my face out of nowhere. "I just felt her move," explaining my smile, my hope to those who witnessed. She was the smile in my sadness. And then the movement stopped. I didn't know. Was it because of the edema? Maybe I couldn't feel her through the 100 pounds of fluid I was carrying. Maybe that was it. But no. And now, now she's the sadness when I smile.

Oh, my heavy heart. I'll be taking it with me today. Quiet reflection. That's where I'll be. Tragedy and tenderness, forming these shapes in who I am. Harper's tiny spirit, still moving mountains inside me.