My Lonely City

Today was very hard. For a few reasons. A cardinal flew full-tilt into the window at my grandmother’s house where we were visiting, breaking its neck. I watched it die, its wings quivering, its body convulsing and then, within a moment, growing still. My young cousins came over to gawk at it, looking through the glass like a television. I asked my grandma if she had a shovel to bury it with, but she said to throw it over the fence.

I did; it was her house. It fell awkwardly, hitting branches and landing with almost no sound. I hope it finds rest.

After leaving there – my family’s Thanksgiving – we went to my husband’s family’s. And the cousins were all there, with their endearing, hyperactive, generally delightful children running amok.

I miss my baby so much. We would have been parents by now. Tomorrow we have a final Thanksgiving meal, with another cousin (I seem to collect them the way other people collect teapots or ceramic roosters) who is pregnant. I am happy for her and her husband, but I don’t want to hear about her symptoms, or name ideas, or … anything, really. I just don’t want to hear it.

I rescued some starling chicks today! They had fallen from their nest into our backyard. I was so sad when I saw them on our lawn, looking small, lost, and scraggly.

I called WildCare yesterday evening, after giving them a day to try to get back on their own, and they told me what to do. (WildCare is an awesome animal hospital/facility in Noble that rehabilitates wild animals for re-release.) Since the nest is actually inside my neighbors’ dryer vent it was inaccessible; they had me put the babies in a cushioned basket near the nest to see if the parents would find them and move house. If it didn’t work, the woman I spoke with told me to bring them to their facility.

My husband helped me tie a basket to our fence, sheltered by a trumpet vine; I put on some gardening gloves (I’ve heard, but can’t verify, that parent birds will reject chicks who smell like humans) and placed them carefully in the basket. They were frightened and upset, but they knew they were in a nest again; they opened their yellow-envelope beaks wide and cheep-cheeped with gusto. I left them there, hoping for the best, and kept my distance the rest of the evening. I checked in the morning, and they were there; I hoped that by the evening the adults would have found and fed them.

When I arrived back home, they were still in the nest, but they barely moved and made no sound. They panted – I haven’t seen birds pant before (that’s what it looked like to me). I decided to take them to the animal hospital. As we drove, I watched the birds. They were afraid but curious, continually raising their heads to look out the window, huddling together, opening their beaks silently for food. One cheeped, once or twice, but that was all. They were not “adorable”. Their feathers are starting to grow, so they look rough and prickly; their quills look like straw wrappers with black fuzz poking out the top. Their yellow beaks looked too wide for their heads, opening and closing like folded paper. Their baby fuzz poofed like a halo around their heads. They were such small, perfect, beautifully strange things.

At the hospital, the interns were knowledgeable and kind; the babies are in good hands. Since WildCare’s objective is to release their animals into the wild at the appropriate time, I feel they will have a good life. I told the parents what I’d done, but – since I don’t speak Starling – they are probably, like me, still wondering, perhaps grieving, asking why their children were taken from them.

Have you read this?

It saddens me. Not because of the author’s misinformed tirade, but more because … I miss Pi. I know there’s not an answer to this, but why was their baby born only to be murdered by starvation and neglect, but my baby died before he was even born?

I wouldn’t have starved him to death; he would be loved and protected, cherished and adored. I wouldn’t have been a bad mama; Jared would have been a wonderful dad. We would have done everything we could to meet his needs and give him a safe, welcoming home here.

We will have other children, yes.

But I still miss this one.

I was going to send individual e-mails to everyone, but I realized I would just be writing the same thing over and over again. So how are you? Anything new and exciting? Keep me posted on what’s going on in your life. ~Christina (05/18/2007)

Hey Christina –

Things are pretty good. I miscarried our first baby three weeks ago, so they could be better, but there you go. I’ve just left one job (an administrative assistant for a Realtor in South Oklahoma City) and will be starting another – as a tech with Jared’s Dad’s telecommunications company, SKShemor – on Monday. I’m excited, but a little nervous, about that. Jared’s doing well & staying busy. His tag-printing business may be expanding later this year depending on how the state legislature rules on some pending temporary used car tag legislation. He’s not doing custom websites anymore, for the most part. We’re still on the board of CAM, helping prep for this year’s summer camps (the eighth year, can you believe?). I realized yesterday that I graduated high school six years ago. That was a jolt, rather; I’d thought I’d be … further along, you know? I’m not sure exactly what I expected from myself then, but I feel like I haven’t quite lived up to it, whatever it was. But things are good. I’ve become a vegan, which is something new and different (and I like new and different – I’m also finding that I like cooking, which is odder still). My closest friend since High School is moving to Texas with her fiance. And I’m thinking again, as I usually do when the weather starts warming up, about finding a hobby besides piddling on the internet and putting off doing dishes. How are things with you?

Yours,

Melissa

I got to hold a baby today. Cheryl, the morning receptionist at our office, just became a grandmother, and her daughter brought their five-day-old up to the office today. Cheryl brought him back to Deborah’s office and then – blow me away – asked if I wanted to hold him. If?!? Of course, I said I’d love to. And I did. Evan. He was beautiful. He would stretch a bit, put his mittenned hands over his eyes or ears, and wrinkle his face up. He’d purse his lips and bunch his chin, curl his toes under, arch his back against my arm. He’d relax, snuggled in my arms, his face toward my chest. I held him and hummed to him. I held him in our office for a few minutes, then carefully carried him up to the front, where I met his mother & father, who were lovely people. We talked, and I was able to keep holding him for another fifteen minutes or so, until my bottom arm’s wrist started to cramp and I thought I ought to give him back.

It helped.

In further news – news in the sense of sad – my in-laws had to put their dog Sadie to sleep today. Jared & I went over to their house last night to say goodbye; Jared had picked her out when she was a puppy.

Maybe she and Pi can look after each other while they wait for us.

There was a bird’s nest that was blown down from my in-laws’ tree in the storm last night. A dead baby bird and a broken blue egg lay beside it.

… but … still working out the details …

(Yes, Annette; I would like to talk this weekend.)

Matthew 5:4
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

Revelation 21:3
I heard a loud voice shout from the throne:
God’s home is now with his people. He will live with them, and they will be his own. Yes, God will make his home among his people. He will wipe all tears from their eyes, and there will be no more death, suffering, crying, or pain. These things of the past are gone forever.

Then the one sitting on the throne said:
I am making everything new. Write down what I have said. My words are true and can be trusted.

Can anyone really comfort me? If I have to say, “Yeah, I’m … okay,” one more time. I mean, what am I supposed to say? I feel like hell, but thanks for asking. I just lost my baby, how do you think I am? The baby I was just getting used to the thought of having. The baby I thanked God for. The baby I wanted. I don’t know how to comfort Jared with his pain – or even acknowledge the pain of my or Jared’s parents, which I’m sure they’re feeling as well – because I don’t know where to start with mine. I don’t know what to do. In some ways I don’t want to feel better yet.

I’m scheduled for a D&C (d-something-with-lots-of-syllables, c-something-with-lots-of-syllables, where they open your cervix and – literally – scrape out the inside of your uterus, like a menstrual period á la Jack the Ripper). Tomorrow. At eleven. I asked yesterday, when the nurse called to tell me about the test results, if it would hurt. Her response was “It’s a surgery.” I guess that’s a yes.

I think a lot of the people around me have an idea that when people “hurt too much” it’s bad for their faith. So they try to make those who mourn … feel better. Be encouraging, like. Rather than just “mourn[ing] with those who mourn” without trying to fix anything (Romans 12:15). I would like to be mourned with, not encouraged, right now. (But how do you mourn?)

There is no Pi. I’m not pregnant anymore. Yes, I’m okay. I’m sorry too.

I’d appreciate your prayers. I’m all right, really; I know that God’s plans are better, his thoughts are higher, than ours, and I’m at peace with His decision. I cry, but I’m okay with it.

That’s what the ultrasound title thing was, Possible Fetal Demise. I don’t know what the results of the test were yet. I should know by tomorrow. The technician is not allowed (despite the several thousand forms I’ve signed over the past few weeks, and the fact that I asked her) to give me the results, so I have to wait for the doctor to call. And she hasn’t yet.

So I’m waiting.