Today is 9 months since my baby boy was born.
9 months since I held him in my arms and sobbed and wailed.
I still remember his slight weight in my arms.
I remember his fuzzy black hair, and his miniature version of his daddy's nose.
I remember his tiny feet and hands, and his subtle grin.
And yet the world keeps turning...the good, the bad.
So many challenges thrown our way these last 9 months...
First one parent's illness, and now another.
Losing so many of our friends and family relationships.
I try to focus on the positive...
Our deepened love for each other.
The friends and family who have held us in love on this journey.
Our heightened compassion and connection to the world.
And somehow I still have hope.
Most days I don't even know why.
Hope that we will survive this.
Hope that times will be better.
Hope that we will one day be parents to a living child.
I'm struck lately by the intensity of the ebbs and flows of life.
How frequently bad things happen to good people,
How often good things happen to bad people,
And everything in between.
As the lovely and amazing Gal wrote on Mother's Day:
In the past week,
I learned that Ann was living her final days.
I learned that she died.
I learned that someone very special to me is pregnant.
I learned that a good friend has lymphoma.
I learned that another good friend is engaged to be married.
I am starting to understand that this is how it is
And always will be...
They exist together, the dark and the light,
The sorrows and the blessings,
The arrivals and the departures.
And as usual, my wise friend Gal is right.
Because these last 9 months,
I have become singularly aware of these contrasts
The immense joy of my pregnancy, followed by the crushing grief of losing my son.
The love of family, coupled with the immense fear of our parents' illnesses.
The way I'm able to laugh, even when the tears are just beneath the surface.
So many healthy babies born alive to family and friends since Ezra died.
And yet each new babylost mama who contacts me breaks my heart all over again.
My dad has recovered well.
My sister-in-law's mother died.
David's dad is in the hospital recovering from a broken hip.
There will always be dark,
There will always be light,
It is all part of the universe.
A few weeks ago, a Hebrew song that was part of my childhood popped into my head.
I have not been able to stop singing it since.
It was written by Hannah Senesh, a Jewish resistance fighter during World War II.
And it just sums up so much.
Oh God, my God
I pray that these things never end.
The sand and the sea.
The rush of the waters.
The crash of the heavens.
The prayers of the heart.
Here's a link so you can hear it sung in Hebrew: