When I started Life After Benjamin my intention was to write daily for a year, to record the moments of horror and grace that happen so quickly, so intensely, then are gone. This past week of travel I have missed days of writing. The Alana that existed before this pregnancy, before Ben’s death, would have held on to the failure, the unmet expectation and used it as a stick with which to batter my already grief-stricken spirit. The Alana that lives now, in this weakened body and more connected soul, is learning compassion and acceptance. Though there is an ache when I don’t write, I am able to acknowledge the reasons (time with friends I rarely see, exhaustion), forgive myself and return to the page with love at the next opportunity.
I can feel the old habits begin to surface, the should’s and supposed to’s. I’ve lived with them a long time and they are familiar companions. But I know they no longer serve me and I am learning to reach for the better thought, the better feeling. The warmth of forgiveness helps chase them away.
In other news our newest niece has not made her appearance yet though she might decide to come today. I am hoping she is born before we board our plane in the wee hours of the morning. I am anxious to meet her, to experience whatever feelings come, to love her and welcome her to our family.
If I hadn’t miscarried in January I would be giving birth now too. If Ben hadn’t died I would be almost 30 weeks pregnant. The thought hit me again this morning as I watched Ada sleep, maybe if I wait a year or two, maybe if I get really healthy and see my acupuncturist through the pregnancy, maybe I could have another child. Despite the ache of it, the sense of impossibility that accompanies it, I’m not quite ready to let the hope go.