Have you ever had a moment....

...When you've  found yourself transported by a word, a smell, a picture to a shockingly emotional place that you can't quite understand?

Transported to a memory that you thought was all taken care of.  Washed, dried, folded and put carefully away in a box to be placed in the attic where we store things we don't really need but can't quite get rid of?

Then, in an instant, it's there in front of you; the box is ripped open, contents strewn about.  Such a mess.  And you wonder, how did this happen.  It was put away.  Nice and Tidy.  Dealt with.

I know I can be emotional at times and moody even, but I am aware of it, kind of wallowing in it.  But to be unexpectedly thrust into deep emotion is gut-wrenching.

When I was 26 I lost a baby.  I know the formal term for losing a pregnancy at 13 weeks is miscarriage but at the time it felt like a lost baby.  And even though the pain truly is gone &  I can see the blessings of 3 years instead of 2 between Rachel and Jacob,  when I talk about it, I still usually say it that way; "I lost a baby".  Because miscarriage seems to simplify my experience, lessen the pain I felt in some way.

Carly and Rachel turned 4 and 2 the same month that it happened.  The pregnancy had been a struggle from the beginning.  I had felt weak and sick and that was unusual for me.   I was unhappy about the timing.  The Due date was Christmas day.  My birthday is December 29th and I've always hated having my birthday so close to Christmas.  The thought of possibly having a Christmas baby was not a happy thought to me.  As I told people the due date I got so much positive encouragement of how I could make it special, especially if it was a baby boy.  Helping this child identify with their savior by sharing the same "birthday".  I started to get excited, realizing that attitude is everything and it didn't matter.  I could MAKe it special no matter what day it was.  

Then it happened.  I had a great day.  I felt wonderful.  I made spaghetti and homemade bread sticks.  I hadn't cooked for weeks. I was euphoric to be feeling myself again.  Then I found blood.  I was terrified. I had to wait til the next day when an ultrasound technician would be in the office.  I laid on the table and watched the pinched, nervous face of the ultrasound tech.  She got up to leave saying "I'll get the doctor".  I wouldn't let her leave until she told me what she saw or didn't see, in my case.  She didn't want to and tried to avoid my questions but I was scared & alone and I knew she knew and I couldn't wait another moment to know what was going on.  She said quietly, "I can't find a heartbeat" and slipped out the doors as the tears came.  

The first month was very rough.  My mom took my 2 girls to California for 2 weeks to give me some time to cope.  Mark didn't' know how to help, honestly didn't know what to say, so he didn't say or do anything much.  To him it was a miscarriage.  To me it was a baby; lost.  

The second month was better.  I was sad.  Sometimes it was hard to breathe, but I was coping.  I was dealing.  

The 3rd month I was almost myself.  

The 4th month I WAS myself.  I had 2 beautiful girls.  There was no reason I couldn't get pregnant again if I wanted to.  I could smile again.   I felt like it was clean.  Folded.  Put away.  

Three months after that, we went to California for Christmas.  I hadn't been sad for a long time.  I hadn't thought about it in a long time.  One holiday evening I opened my parent's door to welcome my brother's best friend to the house.  He stood in the doorway with his beaming wife,  holding his newborn daughter in his arms.  I oohed and aahhed and exclaimed "oh how wonderful, a baby for Christmas!!!".  As the words left my mouth I started to crumble.  I made a quick excuse to leave the room, ran to the bathroom, locked the door and sat on the floor sobbing.  Not quiet tears but the loud racking  kind that heave your whole body and leave you spent. It was shocking to find myself in such pain when I thought it was all neatly put away.  

It happened again almost a year ago.  I was up late one night reading blogs.  I popped over to "The sunny little rain cloud" for a few laughs because she always makes me laugh and read this.

I couldn't understand my emotions.  I sat in the dark and cried and cried.  I commented as "mormon girl".   I couldn't even attach my name to it.  I didn't want it to be part of me anymore.  I hadn't thought about that in years.  I spent a lot of time/energy in my teens & early 20's dealing with the fall out of that relationship.  It really affected my subsequent dating relationships.  Even with Mark.  When I was dating him and had argued with him, my very wise sister observed to me that I made guys I was dating angry on purpose, pushed them to see how they would respond, to make sure they wouldn't hurt me. I hadn't realized that.  

The strange thing was, that the tears that night, the pain & the anger, weren't even about the boy... the jerk.  They were about the man, the grown-up, who was a local youth pastor & assistant football coach, who sat a 16 year old girl down and essentially told her it was her fault she was being abused because she wouldn't put out.  She just needed to be more understanding about this young man's frustrations.  WHAT IS UP WITH THAT??????  Even then, I knew he was wrong, I just didn't know how to say it out loud.  I want to go back to that 16 year old girl's body with my 37 year old understanding and say it out loud.  Scream it out loud.  For that girl.  For my daughters.  For your daughters.  

I have worked really hard to forgive the boy but I didn't realize I had so much anger & emotion boxed up and attached to the man, to that conversation that happened so many years ago.  I guess I have some more work to do in the forgiveness department. 

When I read my friend Amy's post tonight I started thinking about all this again.  That's all.