We aren't doing much that is special for the day. You see, this is the day that my mind believed I would be having a baby.
I know that sounds silly. No one can know with certainty what day a child will be born, especially a child who is
now in Heaven. But each of my four children here on earth were born
exactly nine days after their due date. That includes the two who were "induced" and the two who weren't. Even the one who's due date was recalculated a couple of different times. Nine days exactly! So last spring, when the the
test turned pink, the first thing I did was calculate my due date and add nine days. And then I placed this picture of St. Juan Diego very prominently in my room and started saying the
Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
Today is that day and my body (or rather, my anxiety level) has been warning me all week of it's impending arrival. Unexplained crying, anxiousness, and restlessness heralded the nearing time. I was not surprised. The body and soul are separated only through death. When the soul hurts, the body responds no matter what activities are now scheduled on the calendar for the day.
I wasn't going to write this post. I've started and deleted it multiple times. There are so many others out there who have suffered through greater grief and in many ways I don't feel worthy to compare my suffering to theirs. But I just couldn't keep this pain secret because there might be someone else out there wondering if their expression of the same kind of pain is normal. Personally, I have tried to embrace that "normal" is only a setting on my dryer, but for lack of a better word, yes... it's normal... for me. It might be normal for you, too.
