Greetings from the Land of Enchantment

The Flutter

In reflecting on 2014, I've tried to go back and make a timeline of all the things that we did. But none of it seemed to stick. Nothing seemed particularly newsworthy, at least as a year-end reflection anyway. When I went a bit deeper, I realized that the only thing that really had any import--to me--the undercurrent that informed much of my year ended, without ever having truly begun. Her name was Pilar. She came to me in a dream, a voice, little signs and symbols revealed over time, letting me know she was on her way. As a woman in my 40s, it's not unusual to want a child. A wish held over from younger years, a dream deferred by heartbreak after heartbreak, or perhaps just a cultural conditioning never quite left behind. Still, after marrying late in life, the idea began to knock on the door of the heart, again. But more than knock, she announced herself. And my husband and I, we listened. In fact, we welcomed her with prayers and songs and lots of fun trying. More than one person approached me asking if I was pregnant. One person even called out across a crowded room, "hey mama!" And Pilar herself, kept communicating, kept making contact. Meanwhile, we continued praying and singing and trying. Then the flutter. I felt it. I knew--over and over and over again. Every month. I knew I was pregnant; and then, I wasn't. Until finally in September, the flood. The flutter had been stronger than usual, that's true. But I was so accustomed to its monthly turning in my womb that I didn't really get my hopes up. Nothing had happened yet and Pilar's voice, once so insistent, had grown silent. Or had I simply grown too busy to listen? Anyway, one September evening, the flutter became the flood and I realized I must have had a miscarriage. Looking into that overwhelming red stain, seeing that edge of white membrane, I understood it was over. I knew it was done. We wouldn't keep trying. I would never be a mother. Pilar had simply been a whisper, a voice of pure love, an experience of deep healing. This isn't to say she wasn't real; it was all very real. And yet, there is nothing to point to and say, look, this is what happened to us, to me, this year. When I told my mom, she said, "Are you okay?" And I realized, maybe for the first time, that perhaps I'm not. I haven't been able to cry, really cry, for months. Like something inside me knows that if I start, I won't stop. And yet, at the end of the day, life is good, sweet even. It's just this ghost I'm living with.

posted by Sat Purkh Kaur Khalsa @ 10:02 AM