I meant to write last week about the grieving process. I meant to write about the baby we lost to miscarriage. I meant to write so much… but I couldn’t find the words. I couldn’t find the patience for words. I just wanted some silence… which ararely comes in a world filled with boys. Noise is a part of my daily function.
And that’s where I get confused.
The grieving I have done in my life, both with regard to placement and miscarriage, brings me to where I am today. It has made me who I am today: someone a bit more compassionate for those who have been hurt, wronged and generally stepped upon by society and a little less patient with the unethical, immoral nastiness of our world. Someone who continually works on finding happiness and peace but is told that she’s doing it wrong. Someone who wants the world for her children but acknowledges that she only plays a small part in that journey toward the world. Someone who can acknowledge grief … who, years back, wouldn’t for fear of hurting others.
It’s really only at this time of the year that I allow myself to miss the daughter that we lost to miscarriage. Part of me knows it’s not that healthy to deny the grief and part of me knows it is not healthy to dwell in the grief. I’ve tried to find a happy medium with this particular topic but, well, I don’t even have time for grief on some days.
But sometimes I wonder what it would have been like… what life would now be like with a two year old running amok instead of a fifteen month old. I try not to dwell on whether or not he would be here or not. I try to tell myself that children who were meant to be in our lives will be in our lives. But then I get emotional about the Munchkin. But then I tell myself that she was meant to be here… and she IS in my life in some way…
and the grief…
it mixes together. One to the other, one from the other. And I don’t know what to feel or how to express it.
And so, for two weeks in February, I’m stunted to silence as I imagine what might of been and give thanks for what it is instead.
I was recently involved in a discussion about the sadness involved in the Buffalo plane crash. The 9/11 widow who died in the crash was discussed and someone whom I thought I respected mentioned that he found it “odd” that the widow was still celebrating the late husband’s birthday seven years later.
You can imagine that the hair on my neck rose as I typed a retort something along the lines of, “Who are you to judge how she grieves?” Something dismissive along the lines of “I can have an opinon” was written back and I decided to let it drop. Mainly because I knew it would go nowhere. Those with balls enough to judge how someone grieves aren’t going to see an argument in which I point out how callous such a thing really is so I saved my breath.
It’s an especially touchy subject as we near the end of February.
The child that we miscarried would be turning two on February 20th. Two years ago, I was finally able to let go of some of the guilt and make the conscious effort to try to conceive the child who is currently cutting his upper molars. Last year, I was able to buy a little cake acknowledging how she changed my life simply by existing for such a short time. This year, I had been planning on getting some cupcakes and acknowledging her yet again.
But apparently I’m doing it wrong.
I hate that. I really, really hate that. What? When other people judge the way other people grieve. And I’m not talking solely about death. I’m also talking about how tired I am of how birth parents are told that they’ll just “magically” “get over” the pain at some point. And, if they don’t, they’re unstable or damaged or aren’t grateful enough for the things in their life. And when they voice their grief, necessary for the process of healing, they are told to be silent because they’re not doing anyone any good. You know, except themselves.
When are we as a society going to accept that grieving is not a bad thing. Furthermore, why is celebrating someone’s life a bad thing when it comes to grieving? When I bought cupcakes for the family on the Munchkin’s birthday, was that somehow wrong? Should I have instead spent time moping around because I couldn’t be with her on her birthday again? Should I have sat at home instead of singing in my Christmas concert? While a few tears were shed, as always, I think this was the healthiest birthday of hers that I have experience (and I have hopes that next year will be even better but also have enough of a realist side to note that it could be difficult as well). Celebrating her life instead of mourning the lack of presence in my life felt pretty darn awesome. Knowing that this widow was likely doing the same thing makes me angry on her behalf that her grieving process has been called “odd” or in any way judged in a negative light.
I’m sensitive to grief right now. I admit that. Right now I’m really deep in the consideration of how my grief has to balance my gratefulness. The process of finding that balance will be something I explore later this week. But I just want to say this out loud: those that can’t allow room for others to grieve will someday be forced to remember their judgment. And, being through what I have, that doesn’t give me a sense of happiness. It only breaks my heart even more to know that grief and the process of grieving are things that society won’t ever escape or evolve away from; they are with us forever.
I have had a secret bubbling underneath the surface for a few weeks now. I have shared it with a small group of people but have not taken it “live” on the blog for various reasons. First and foremost: I am not pregnant. (This said because any time I tell my mom to keep a secret, her first question is, “Are you pregnant?”) Anyway, now that we have that out of the way, some reasoning for the silence while I continue being vague. You love it.
At first, I couldn’t believe that what was going on was even a possibility. Then as that quickly sank in, I realized that I didn’t want to jinx it on a grand, public scale. Talking about something on a public blog before it is an actuality is almost a surefire way to make sure it doesn’t happen. And then I had to wait an extra week because something that needed to happen didn’t/couldn’t happen because of the insane amount of ice and snow thrust upon our region. That melted and, last week, everything came together.
What am I talking about?
I mentioned, at various times in the past few months, that I joined our local chorale. I did not have a solo at the Christmas concert because it was my first concert of my first season. Why would I have had a solo? I simply enjoyed the act of being on stage and singing once again. We’re now preparing for our spring show which has a theme of “Broadway Updated.” My director approached me a few weeks ago, pulled out one of the medleys and asked me if I “knew” one of the songs.
What a silly question! I’m a musical dork! To boot, the medley in question was the Miss Saigon medley. And I’m willing to bet lights just went on in several brains reading this post. That’s right, my director, without knowing my history, asked me if I knew the song “I’d Give My Life for You.” I simply smiled and said that, yes, I loved Miss Saigon. He then told me he’d want to hear me sing it and that he might turn it into the whole song instead of the eight measures it was in the medley. And then we were off for an entire week.
I practiced. And practiced. To and from the Poconos. For two weeks, I sang that song like it was the only song on the planet. My older son now asks me to sing it when we’re in the truck, calling it “Mommy’s song.” I practiced and practiced and, oh my goodness, I practiced.
And then at practice last Tuesday, everything paid off.
I am now not singing just that song (yes, stretched out to be most of the full song) but any part that Kim’s character in the Miss Saigon medley sings, well, I’m singing. That equals out to one other small solo in “The Heat is on in Saigon” and a duet with Chris’s character. I’m overwhelmed. And excited. And nervous. And happy. And scared. And proud. And a bunch of other emotions.
Including… amused. At the irony. Oh? You don’t know the song? You’re not familiar with the words? Do me a favor. Watch this YouTube video. No, really, do it. I’ll wait.
That’s right. I’m singing a song about putting my child’s needs before my own. True, the song is about a boy but, other than the one mention, that’s not the point of the song, now is it? Lines like “you didn’t ask me to be born” and “I’ll give you a million things I’ll never own, I’ll give you a world to conquer when you’re grown” and the main point of the song: “you will be who you want to be, you can choose whatever heaven grants, as long as you can have your chance, I swear I’ll give my life for you.”
Do you have a lump in your throat as well? Yeah.
I’m not particularly sure how I’ll be able to sing this song in front of a huge crowd… that includes my daughter’s mom. That’s right. They’re coming out for the performance. I don’t yet know how we’ll handle the kids so I don’t know if the Munchkin will be in attendance. There is that chance as she’s been to and is old enough to attend formal performances. So, we’ll see.
That aside, a friend of mine said that I should bring “something” to the song that no one else can. Yep. Raw emotion. In your face.
Raw emotion aside, I’m so very excited. My husband is very proud. We’ve made jokes about being typecast because of my eye shape. But it’s been years and years since I’ve been recognized, outside of church, for my vocal ability. This? This feels so very good.
