After posting about my little world, I poked my head out to see what's going on with others. I've taken up reading c jane's blog for two reasons. First, I find her blog to be heartwarming, funny, interesting and often inspirational. Secondly, because the family that she's connected to through her brother-in-law inspires me. I work with her brother-in-law's sister, Elizabeth, and count myself among her biggest fans. Elizabeth and her family make me regret not having siblings growing up. I find them fascinating.
So anyway, back to my poking around. In today's post, c jane referred to her theory regarding the soul. Jotting off to read it might put the rest of my blog into perspective.
I still think about the baby I lost almost two years ago, not often, but sometimes. After reading c jane's theory today, it got me thinking again. Angelina had a name and I'd dreamt of her for more than two years before she made an entrance into this world. After a year and a half of trying, we finally got pregnant. At 7 weeks I started to bleed and we finally discovered I had a tubal pregnancy. Oddly, I had almost expected it. I had dubbed the baby "peanut" and losing it had broken my heart. For weeks afterwards I would cry and tell my husband that I was broken.
Amazingly, six weeks later I was pregnant again. I swear I held my breath for the entire pregnancy, just praying she'd be born healthy and whole. So, what difference would six short weeks make in Angelina's, or my body's or God's plans? The timing of Angie's birth is really incredible, and c jane's story pointed out something I hadn't even thought of before. Waiting just six weeks longer may have saved my life.
I was 36 weeks pregnant when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. As it was, I almost didn't tell my doctor about the lump I found one morning in the shower. If I'd been nursing a four week old, there's a pretty good chance I wouldn't even have found it. Milk-engorged, sore breasts don't inspire self-exams.
I'm not really sure if Angie was sent to save my life, or if the cancer was sent to save hers. It doesn't really matter, it worked out both ways and I'm thankful.
Realizing what those six weeks might have meant helps me put the residual sadness about "peanut" behind me.
Maybe the answer to the question about when life begins is as simple as a children's story. Perhaps we're not real until someone loves us, just like in the Velveteen Rabbit.
So anyway, back to my poking around. In today's post, c jane referred to her theory regarding the soul. Jotting off to read it might put the rest of my blog into perspective.
I still think about the baby I lost almost two years ago, not often, but sometimes. After reading c jane's theory today, it got me thinking again. Angelina had a name and I'd dreamt of her for more than two years before she made an entrance into this world. After a year and a half of trying, we finally got pregnant. At 7 weeks I started to bleed and we finally discovered I had a tubal pregnancy. Oddly, I had almost expected it. I had dubbed the baby "peanut" and losing it had broken my heart. For weeks afterwards I would cry and tell my husband that I was broken.
Amazingly, six weeks later I was pregnant again. I swear I held my breath for the entire pregnancy, just praying she'd be born healthy and whole. So, what difference would six short weeks make in Angelina's, or my body's or God's plans? The timing of Angie's birth is really incredible, and c jane's story pointed out something I hadn't even thought of before. Waiting just six weeks longer may have saved my life.
I was 36 weeks pregnant when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. As it was, I almost didn't tell my doctor about the lump I found one morning in the shower. If I'd been nursing a four week old, there's a pretty good chance I wouldn't even have found it. Milk-engorged, sore breasts don't inspire self-exams.
I'm not really sure if Angie was sent to save my life, or if the cancer was sent to save hers. It doesn't really matter, it worked out both ways and I'm thankful.
Realizing what those six weeks might have meant helps me put the residual sadness about "peanut" behind me.
Maybe the answer to the question about when life begins is as simple as a children's story. Perhaps we're not real until someone loves us, just like in the Velveteen Rabbit.
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