jenny rebecca sweet after difficulties

our beautiful thing

 

So...this song. I played it a lot after our last miscarriage. Which was about last week, 6 years ago. It was the 5th one, and the hardest. We were going for weekly ultrasounds where we watched things go from iffy, to promising, and then watched and listened as the heartbeat of another hoped for brother or sister for Parker, slowed, became irregular, and faded away. I had a Well Woman check up this morning, and those appointments are always some level of painful as I sit in the waiting room, remembering all the times I had to come get blood drawn for weeks, to check hormonally whether my babies were all the way gone before we could think about maybe trying again. I treated myself to some Chick-n-Minis for surviving the visit, and as I sat there, this song came on. This song. Parker is our Beautiful Thing. She was number 2 out of 6, and is apparently a miracle child. Our rainbow baby.

 

 

You Are My Wild Week 8

You Are My Wild Week 7

You Are My Wild Week 6

You Are My Wild Week 5

You Are My Wild Week 4

You Are My Wild Week 3

You Are My Wild Week 2

You Are My Wild Week 1

Uncle Kirby

I got sad news this morning from my Dad that my uncle Kirby, his younger brother, died of a massive heart attack yesterday. I didn't know him that well but I am sad. I remember when he came to visit us in Gainesville, I imagine I was 5 or 6 - I remember his beard and that he left a copy of The Tao of Pooh behind. I remember riding with him on some sort of 6 wheeled ATV-type vehicle on the country roads in Pennsylvania when we visited my Grandparents' farm one winter. I remember after my Grandma Langford's funeral in 2000, the last time we were all together with my Dad's side of the family, as we sat around the table learning what she had wanted us to have and gently divvying up the rest, how my Grandma Langford left me her engagement ring, at a time when I was convinced I would never get married. And my Uncle Kirby, whom I barely knew, came straight over and gave me a heartfelt hug. I have never forgotten that moment.

I have a beat up, well-loved, wooden rocking chair on our porch that lived on my grandparents' porch in Susquehanna. At some point during his rowdy childhood my Uncle Kirby carved his initials in the arm, which makes me cherish it even more - a bit of visible family history. I love that rocking chair with his initials carved into it. And I am so sad.