Theological Landmines . . . or . . . Questions I Hadn't Anticipated

"How come we all get to get resurrected but not babies in tummies?"

Yes, I got that question today. Eden was serious and I had no answer.

It snuck up on me. She started with, "When will your baby get resurrected?"
"Well, I don't think she gets resurrected. . . . I mean, she wasn't all the way a baby. I think. But, I did see her arms and legs moving. . .  I have no idea."

And, then I can see that "no fair" look on her face, and she slams me with, "How come we all get to get resurrected but not babies in tummies?" Ahhh, the old familiar slap of theological ambivalence. (It cracks me up when I hear non-believers accuse religious people of being "so black and white." I wish!)

I swear children are born understanding the concept of resurrection. Nothing makes more sense to them than the notion that whatever/whoever has died will one day wake up and be alive again. What they can't understand is why it's taking so long.

Nancy was only four when I heard her tell a cousin, "When Grandma Nonie gets resurrected, we're going to get a dog." A long string of very rational, inductive reasoning brought her to this verity (I'll fill in another time), but what matters is, I could tell by her tone of voice that this event was absolutely secure and just around the corner in her mind.

So, I should not have been surprised that Eden wanted to nail down exactly how this resurrection business would work for our family now.

After a couple of false starts at answering, I had to end with, "We just don't know--would you like a taco?"

(I'm a coward.)

"I have chemo tomorrow. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help you."

Seriously, I got an email from a friend with those exact words. And she meant it.

After three weeks of bed rest and much jubilation that I had finally stopped bleeding, I found out on Tuesday that my baby (12 weeks) no longer had a heart beat.

The pregnancy was tenuous, so it hadn't made facebook yet, but my heart had already shifted from "MOE" (mother of eight) to "MON" (mother of nine). And the kids' had done the same.

I have my few baby girl clothes in the baby slot in my closet. (Just what's left from a box that got lost and never used. Everything else I gave away.) I need to put those somewhere. And put the Pack n Play deep in the fruit room. And, the double stroller. . .

I need to adjust my plans. No baby November 30th. (David could have registered to teach at AutoDesk University that week.) No redo of the family nativity picture with a new baby. A thousand very small, almost imperceptible adjustments--together they make a wave that rolls over me and back again, an invisible tide.

As a counterwave, I have my life: too many children (read: interruptions) to keep up grief for more than a minute or two.  I also have my gift for procrastination that even reaches into grieving: just like laundry, I can actually put off my grief until I'm "in the mood" to be sad. I've been doing that fabulously while I've waited for the miscarriage to start.

I decided to lay my anxiety to rest and finally had a D&C this morning. I'm relieved. And sad. It's over. She's really gone.

On my way to bed, I ruminate on how much sadness I'll allow myself to feel when I lie down. And, then my last look at email . . . and there's that line: "I have chemo tomorrow. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help you." Oh, the blessed irony of it! It's part of a very sweet note of consolation from someone who really has reasons to complain. And, because I know the life she leads, I know she means it. She threw in the chemo comment just to explain that she'd be tied up in the morning. And, suddenly, I'm laughing and crying. . . and thinking . . .

 . . . maybe I can blog about this after all.

Thank you, Deanne, and all my D6 friends and ResponsibleWomen, and family for the many comforting words,  dinners and banana breads, watching my kids during the bed rest even though it came to nothing. You're all part of my counterwave, the sine for the cosine of my grief.

Friendship is a rich and priceless gift . . . a kind of baby. I feel wealthy!

Thank you!

(Davie, please notice: I used a math metaphor there. I'd like credit for that. Thanks.)

My Girls' Lax

We had a great game yesterday. The girls played hard. 

Fun write up here. 

Opening lines were my favorite: 

"Junior attack Nancy Linford registered a game-high five points on four goals and one assist to lead No. 17 Alta to a 17-2 victory over Park City in a Utah Lacrosse Association Division I semifinal Tuesday night at Juan Diego Catholic High School. . .

The Hawks have outscored their opponents, 269-46.

Tuesday’s game was more of the same for a team that is playing a different level than the rest of the state." 

State game on Saturday in Bountiful.