So, I've been wanting to post something about my adventures with my cats and dog lately but I have not had the time. This week seems to have been full of appointments and other nuttiness. And today is December 10th so I need to talk about Asher.
When Sarah was a wee babe, I found myself pregnant again, unexpectedly. I was a bit astounded, seeing as Sarah was so young but there it was. About the time I started getting excited about it, I miscarried.
Thud. There's that word that just ends all sorts of sentences and makes people wonder what they should be doing in the situation. I've addressed that in the past and won't linger on it now.
I think it's necessary to this post to mention that the miscarriage precipitated a whole huge and horrible reaction on my part. It took quite some time to get to the point where I didn't dissolve into tears at the thought of it. It's taken me 16 years to get to the point where other babies don't make me cry over what I lost then.
Generally, I have two periods of time when my body remembers the baby that went to Heaven before I could meet it (I refer to him as Asher). One is May 10th, the day I actually miscarried. The other is December 10th, the day the baby was due. My body remembers Asher by becoming very vague. I spend a lot of time sleeping or being generally fuzzy-brained, even more than usual. It's different enough from how I normally am that I think, "What in the world is going on?" Then I remember. Oh, it's the 10th. Got it. It's almost as though my body or my subconscious or something remembers even when I don't, consciously. It doesn't make me sad to remember. It's sort of special. I was a special vessel meant to carry this tiny soul that didn't make it to live with us here. Sometimes I think I'm the only one who remembers (and I probably am).
This year, a few weeks ago, I was thinking about Asher and how things might have been different had he survived. (I'm, of course, assuming it was a boy, for various reasons I won't elaborate on now.) For one, Rachel would not have been born. And I got to thinking about that.
Now, I love my children, fiercely, deeply, fully. And they drive me completely batty at times. Rachel has been trying my patience for a good long while now. In my sordid little mind, I tried to think about the wonderful, Mother-loving boy my Asher surely would have been and compare it with the real-life young woman who Rachel is. And I found that I was not interested in entertaining that thought. It wasn't that I shied away from it, I just wasn't interested. I found then that I have finally let loose of "what might have been" with regard to Asher and have embraced the reality of the life I have now.
This is big, people. This is very big. It's a giant step forward for me, in my continuing quest to have a decent and more fulfilling life. It makes me feel more whole. Moreover, I realized how, deep deep down, I truly adore Rachel, with all her faults and follies. She's my baby and I'm thrilled that she's here, no matter what torture she perpetrates upon me daily. I would have loved the baby who was due in 1994 as well, I'm sure. But he is not here and I have finally come to terms with that, I think.
Happy birthday in Heaven, Solomon Benjamin Asher! Sleep tight in the arms of our Father until I can see you in our life to come.