| Wisp of Life |
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Heart! ~ If you are not a subscriber and this has been passed on to you, join us by sending a blank e-mail to four_ears @ msn.com (remove spaces) with "subscribe" in the subject line. And get the love direct! Tour our web site: http://www.geocities.com/jenniferioliver2001 ________________________________________________________ "Happy people have a smile. Sad people have a frown. Though people who frown work more facial muscles, they work less in partnerships." - Kim Bozek ________________________________________________________ And now, folks, a special story for you from the heart of one of my most beloved writers, Lissa Lee... ________________________________________________________ WISP OF LIFE My excitement could barely be contained. I was going to be a mommy! Rushing home I plotted creative ways to inform my husband. Exactly how does one announce the approaching birth of your first child? None of my ideas matched the magnitude of the delight. Flustered I settled on preparing his favorite foods for dinner served on fine china with linen napkins and pastel balloons floating freely from braided crepe paper and a large poster congratulating his "swimmers" who gave their life to the cause. He was late for dinner. My surprise foiled. Oh, well. Now that everyone was aware, it was time to get down to the tedium of pregnancy. I read every book I could on the subject. Adorned myself in "Le Babe" maternity tops before there was any visible evidence and every meal was revisited, not just for the first trimester, but the entire pregnancy. My skin recoiled at the touch of fabric. I began to notice spidery stretch marks. My face glowed, my hair glistened, my feet never swelled and my acne cleared up – other than the "nausea" pregnancy was great! Then it happened. That first moment every expectant mothers experiences: the sacred flutter of new life from deep within. The gentle wisp of butterfly wings in the palms of your hands. Nothing is more divine. From that point, every thought and action revolves around that internal stirring. I would lie awake at night, barely breathing, perfectly still – waiting. Gradually my tummy began to bloom. Everything was fine. One night at a party I was floating, mixing and sharing my roundness with everyone. People would rub, stroke and caress my pouch as they too anxiously wait to feel the movement. But no one did that night. Leaning against a wall, sipping punch, two women were discussing my pregnancy behind my back. Unaware of my nearness they commented between themselves at how small my belly was and how they just knew something must be wrong, but neither of them wanted to alarm me. A tightness in my throat cut of my supply of oxygen. I suddenly felt flushed and ill. I wanted to go home. I wanted to erase what they had said, but I couldn't. It replayed over and over again in my head. That night in bed, for the very first time, I worried that something might be wrong. In my exuberant joy I had never entertained any thoughts of "what if." Now I couldn't push them aside. At my 7˝-month checkup, the doctor's grim face confirmed the women's suspicions. The fetus hadn't grown, and there was no heartbeat. His professional opinion was that my baby had died. Nothing prepared me for the news. Shock, denial, anger, fear, panic and sorrow were all I could feel. What had I done wrong? Why wasn't my baby healthy? Despite the doctor's negative report, I was convinced he must be wrong. I asked friends to pray. I courageously pronounced my faith in God and how everything was going to be fine. I refused to accept the possibility of anything less than a healthy baby. But the movement had ceased. The brutality of the doctor's diagnosis was beginning to seep in. I would have to continue to carry the fetus until my body "expelled" it. Now all I wanted to do was hide my pregnancy. I didn't want people to know I was carrying a dead baby in my womb. It was unbearable. People would still approach me and ask how the baby was, when I was due, if they could feel the baby move…all the normal chatter that fills an expectant mother's world. These "normalities" became pounding blows to my fragile spirit. There was nothing I could do. I couldn't reveal to strangers the awful truth. All of my friends avoided me. They were pregnant. Fear and complete helplessness was all they knew. My family wrestled with their own grief. I felt very alone. A couple, we'd known from college, stopped by on their way home from dinner with the folks. Nothing was said. They pulled out the Monopoly board and began to share our pain over the familiar competition for Boardwalk. It was a simple gesture of loving friendship. In the middle of the game I began having contractions. So with every roll of the dice, we counted down. First ten, then five and down to two minutes apart, but then everything stopped. My friends prayed with us, hugged us, and went home. We went to bed. I wept all night. November 27, 1976, was my eighth-month checkup. No change. I was trying to be brave. The doctor suggested I pre-register at the hospital, keep my bag packed, and walk as much as possible. Hopefully I wouldn't have to carry much longer. That afternoon it happened. In my labor room my mom and my husband stood by as I gave birth to my son. No doctor or nurse even bothered to attend to my labor – what was the point – my son was dead. We buzzed the nurse to come to the room. Realizing I had delivered, she immediately went about her routine to "deal" with the situation. She was very cold. My hospital room filled with visitors. Everyone was kind and compassionate. No one knew what to do or say. Neither did I. But I felt compelled to encourage everyone. Everyone said I was brave. I knew I wasn't. We made arrangements for the burial of my son from the hospital. The flowers that filled my room and the monetary gifts to help cover the unexpected burial cost were all I carried home. My empty arms went home to put away the crib, the clothes, and the plans. At home, lying on my couch, surrounded by flowers and concerned visitors, I listened to other women recount their own personal stories of loss. It was tender and tearful. Then Julie stopped by. An old college friend who had heard I was pregnant and wanted to see my "belly" on her way through town. Imagine her surprise when she opened my door. She looked around the room taking in the many floral arrangements, looked me straight in the eye, and innocently asked, "Who died?" All I could do was laugh! It hurt, but I laughed and laughed and laughed. Her guileless curiosity was the stone that shattered the stifling grief that had suffocated me for days. "What's so funny?" she questioned. "Sit down, girl, and I'll tell you all about it!" It wasn't much, but it was a start. It was the start of healing my broken heart. Lissa Lee dustbunny @ charter.net Copyright © 2002 by Lissa Lee. All rights reserved. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ About the author: Lissa Lee has spent her life bouncing below the Mason-Dixon Line to finally settle in Louisiana. Her high school graduation prophesy slated her for the New York Times' Best Seller List by their 10th reunion. A little off schedule due to surviving a divorce and raising 3 kids alone, she's now back on track and pursuing her life-long goal of writing. Her first story has been published in the latest Heartwarmers book, "Heartwarmers of Spirit: Overcoming Life's Challenges" by Azriela Jaffe. You can find it at Amazon.com or click on the book cover at http://geocities.com/jenniferioliver2001/. _________________________________________________________ QUOTE FROM LESSER KNOWN FOLKS Have you had this conversation before with your child about the judicious use of toilet paper? Barbie did with her six-year-old son, Taylor. "Taylor, you are using enough toilet paper to wipe King Kong's butt!" "I can't help it! Besides...King Kong isn't even real!" - Barbie James _________________________________________________________ FAMILY LOVE MOMENT Definition of empathy: All three boys were in time-out for an infraction. After a bit, I heard giggling. "What's so funny?" I demanded. And there she was. Madison standing with her head planted against the wall, staring solemnly at the floor like Charlie Brown. _________________________________________________________ FROM OUR FRIENDLY E-MAIL CARRIER Hi Jennifer, I think my favorite part of your e-zine is the family love moments, and the little things you write about your children. I had to laugh at today's, about the bra... it was too funny! It reminded me of something my three year old grandson Logan said recently. Patting his stout Grandpa on the stomach, he said, "Grandpa, you have a full tummy!" Truly, life with a child is never dull! - Love, Maria In regards to "Oliver" by Marjeana Martin (http://geocities.com/jenniferioliver2001/082002.htm) I loved the story from Marjeana about Twist. How special she is to have rescued Twist from the pit. And he became such a blessing to her, Isn't that the way it always is? We take on a particular problem to solve and it becomes the blessing to us. And yes, I do think that a stay here on earth would make anyone appreciate Heaven a whole lot more. In fact, I am looking forward to it. - Nanci Stroupe _________________________________________________________ ON THE HOMEFRONT Madison turned two on Saturday. Ethan made a pinata for her birthday by filling a plastic gallon-sized bag with toys and using a belt to cinch it. He handed her a toy mallet to bang the toys out of the bag. All three boys picked out a baby doll for their baby sister - her first "girlie" toy. And of course, they wanted to give away their own toys as gifts - a helicopter, race car, and motorcycle. So Madison was quite content, surrounded by toys, the happy birthday song, and lots of hugs. A trip to our favorite restaurant - China Buffet - rounded out the day with the boys making puppets out of crawdads for their little sister. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ On the second day of school, Stephen waited in the Suburban outside the school for the boys to exit. While Ethan approached Stephen-- "Ethan!" one little girl called out to him with her arms outstretched. "I need my hug!" Stephen said, "Hey, Ethan, she's asking for a hug!" "And I want one, too!" said her friend with her arms outstretched. His crimson blush and wide, goofy grin defined the perfect Kodak moment before turning to hug both girls. _________________________________________________________ LOVE, JENNIFER I. OLIVER AND FAMILY four_ears @ msn.com "To live that in thy last long sleep, Smiles my be thine wile all around thee weep." - Nellie L. Wallace, June 24, 1873 _________________________________________________________ This E-mail may be forwarded in its entirety, but first ask the writer for permission before forwarding. Thank you for doing the decent thing! Ü ________________________________________________________ SUBMIT STORY, QUOTE, OR FAMILY LOVE MOMENT: http://www.geocities.com/jenniferioliver2001/submission.htm FEEDBACK: four_ears @ msn.com ________________________________________________________ |
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