Last night I found myself putting Ada to sleep in the same bed we were in the night my pregnancy ended. As I lay there, images of that night washing over and through me, I realized it was March 29. 8 months.

Waves of memory and emotion threatened to pull me under, pull me back into the past. I began to feel an ache in my side where my placenta – Ben’s life force – pulled away from its home. I saw myself in the bathroom, the clot the size of an orange, the bleeding that wouldn’t stop. I remembered getting in the car and wondering if I should call an ambulance, then deciding I would make it to the hospital alive. I remembered the flash of empty road and street lights against the dark as I called my husband, then the Labor & Delivery nurses to let them know I was coming. I remembered the security guard who thought my friend was my husband and smiled his congratulations as he held the door. My vision blurred and I remembered to breathe. I remembered the promise made to my daughter’s sleeping body, Mama will be back.

And I am. I am here for her, for my husband, for myself. I am here for life, in its totality, for as long as I can stay. I am older, wiser, more gray, more myself, and more grateful than I could have believed possible.

All moments are beautiful, only you have to be receptive and surrendering. All moments are blessings, only you have to be capable of seeing. All moments are benedictions. If you accept with a deep gratitude, nothing ever goes wrong. – Osho