So many questions, so few answers. We have, thanks to the gift of technological ingenuity, much more information than we did when the bleeding began on Thursday morning. We know that I was pregnant, and that now I am not. We know that there is a mass near my right ovary (not a good sign since that's the fallopian tube in which my first pregnancy implanted). We know that I am in less physical pain now than I was three days ago (didn't need technology to figure that one out, though). We do not know if the mass near my ovary is scar tissue from the first ectopic, embryonic tissue from a second ectopic, or merely an ovarian cyst. We don't know what caused the loss of this pregnancy. We don't know if something was wrong with the baby or with me, its environment. We don't know how to proceed except one breath at a time.
But breathing itself can become difficult. On "doctor's orders" to rest, I find myself idle. I'm knitting, I'm reading, I'm watching Pride and Prejudice for the umpteenth time and, lately, sneaking in a bit of laundry folding. But the idleness makes me restless, and the restlessness makes me feel even more of a wreck. I breath in and out and, suddenly, in the blink of an eye I can't breath at all. Not at all. I am sobbing, I am gasping for air, grasping for Grace.
We who mourn go through stages, as any psych 101 college student can tell you. To actually go through it, though, especially under similar circumstances as the first major-mourning experience, is not like in the books. It isn't a smooth transition from one phase to the next. I fall back, and fall apart, just when I thought things were getting a bit better.
Some say that that which does not kill us makes us stronger. The idea, I suppose, is that life offers us breaking down moments so that we may be re-built stronger than before. I am waiting with baited breath for my re-building, Lord. I am broken, I am in pieces. I want so much to be re-built in Your image, to feel Your strength and presence, Your Light coarsing through me. I am keenly aware that I cannot make this re-building happen. I trust that You are my architect, foreman, and construction crew. I believe (but would certainly love a little clarity on this matter) that my job in this is to get out of Your way...please help me do that.
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