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A planning, a challenging —
another child,
timed and prepared to fit
our schedules.
Everything seemed to proceed easily.
But plans are that only
nothing more
Thanksgiving weekend
I bartered with God.
Please let this baby live.
We want it so much.
Give me a reason for giving thanks,
give me this child,
this bit of immortality.
But God had other plans.
Deep, immeasurable grief
years later, at Thanksgiving
the waves of loss —
of potential, of possibility,
of a soul connected to mine
gone.
Yet unexpected gifts
a community
of women
of friends
of love
shared my grief
Controls
plans
schedules
vastly overrated
ultimately self-deluding.
I opened up to possibilities.
My second son is special
as all children are
but also in miraculous recognition
without the miscarriage
he would not be.
In him
made manifest
God’s lesson in love and hope.
The cliche,
“What will be, will be”
profoundly comforts.
This child is what will be,
the other not.
Simple.
Difficult.
True.
(c) Lydia A. Schultz, 2009