Happy Anniversary to Me
Every year, we get close to the date that my world fell apart – and I regress a little. The pain of postpartum depression (if that’s what we want to call it) returns. Because once you hold a dying baby in you arms… everything changes… and nothing changes, all at the very same time. You see, you change. Your perspective, your patience, your face, your body, your hair (mine turned white) – it all changes. But nothing around you changes. People think you are the same woman that walked into the experience. They either flock to be by your side, knowing you need help – and not knowing that the help you need is to fit into this brand new being that you’ve become – or they don’t. They go into hiding. Then, friends and family return to you months or years later, wondering why you aren’t the same person from before. The quiet one. The doormat. The lost child.
Well, you see, after holding a dying baby who survives – and depends wholly on you for that survival – you can’t be lost anymore. It doesn’t work. God handed you a gift. God handed me a gift, and while I cry at times over the years I struggled to remain lost (because once you’re found, you must let go of the sadness at least most of the time), that experience of almost losing the child – that I made and was given by Our Creator – is an awesome one. Four years later, I can say that. Because after many years of pushing my child and God away, I’ve let them both back in. And it’s amazing.