Coming to Terms with a Miscarriage (at Hobby Lobby)

This morning, I took William to Hobby Lobby to meet my friend Brandi. Both William and Brandi's son, Gideon, sat sweetly in the carts, munching on crackers and watching us discuss ribbon. The woman at the fabric counter joked with Brandi and said, "You'll have to keep having babies until you have your girl." Then she looked at me. "And you," she asked, "when are you having a girl?" 

I just smiled and kept rifling through the ribbon. I didn't feel like explaining that I already had her. That I had her and that the good Lord took her (because she belonged to him anyway, didn't she?) and I was left with a teeny tiny body to bury. My buried treasure in the Texas soil. I will see her again, one day.

My mother gave me a ring last week. Just to borrow for awhile, if not to keep. A very special ring. It belonged to my grandmother and it's a tiny violet. She pulled me aside at my sister's birthday party to give it to me, and I started crying (in my Jersey Shore outfit, no less...what a waste of eyeliner!). "Honey," she said, "I didn't mean to make you cry." "No no," I told her. "Mom, even when I'm 80, I will probably still cry for her sometimes." Not every day, but some days. 

I am an over-planner but a procrastinator. Even though I won't act on these plans until December, I've been thinking about making Christmas stockings for my boys, and it occurred to me that because she came between winters, Violet will not have a stocking. She will not have anything, really, save for a linen covered box with unworn baby clothes and cards from friends, congratulatory cards when we became pregnant and their condolences when she died. 

I want to say this: there aren't many physical reminders of Violet's brief weeks on earth, but I will ALWAYS carry her in my heart. And the next time someone asks me how many children I have, or if I'd like to have a girl, I will tell them the whole truth. It's the least I can do.

When I was pregnant, I showed William pictures of what our new baby looked like each day.