Acts

A year ago I was in the hospital, on strict bedrest, trying to keep the babies from being born. I remember it so vividly, each nurse's face, their grace (or lack of it -- one came in smelling of chocolate), their care, each of my visitors, each of the doctors and their oftentimes contradictory instructions. Yes, you can get up to pee. No, you are not to get up until the babies are born. Yes, you can have a vaginal delivery. No, I recommend a c-section. Eat. Stop eating right now.


In the end, I did everything in that damned bed for 10 days and the girls were born too early, by c-section. I have numbness 2 inches above the incision. I'm used to it, though it feels odd when I brush up against the kitchen counter or Kaleo bumps his nose against it. I still rub vitamin e oil on it after every shower, and somehow that has made me be ok with it.


I also vividly remember many of the kindnesses shown during my stay and in the aftermath. I've often complained of clueless remarks, family and friends not calling, FIL making a big deal of Father's Day and how he wasn't being properly revered by wannabe dad, yet hardly mentioned these lovely acts...

* my two girlfriends flying in from out of town to be with us on the girls' last day, plus my girlfriend and her hubby cancelling a post-Tgiving road trip, plus wannabe dad's brothers being there

*my chiropractor driving 80 minutes to adjust me, and only accepting lunch as payment (it was takeout from a mediterranean restaurant; when we pass it once in a blue moon I sigh and remember that day)

* my neighbor hitting up her friends, family, and hair clients for money to help us pay for the grave marker and other expenses

* my friend, a scrapbooking queen, helped me organize the pictures of the girls for the funeral in true scrapbooking style. I always thought scrapbooking meant giving in to the dark side, but well, there I was ear-deep in darkness.

* my college friend from another state sending money in place of her presence at the funeral

* my two former relocated co-workers who flew back to attend the funeral (from NJ and IL)

* our friends who drove 3 hours to attend the funeral

* my friend N, who was my suit of armor when I returned to the office, keeping people at a distance, monitoring my emotions, listening, crying with me

* grave marker guy who took great care in producing the marker (I won't mention cemetery lady who gave me a hard time about accommodating our wishes and wanting to add an upcharge to every non-standard item, like the babies' feet being added), although we found it odd that he showed us the stencil and the granite slab in his trunk in the parking lot of a burger joint, it turned out beautifully.

* and as if they had anything to do with it, our kitties finding us -- Moki in December, left in our attic by his crackhead mom, and Kika and Limu in July while wandering the 'burbs with their mom (Moki's sister). Thank you, pretty kitties!

* the grandparents of C, the baby boy buried next to Cerina and Nadia, who leave toys on all the babies' markers

* my friend who calls to check on us monthly, without fail, without excuses, even apologizing for calling so "often"

Lots of thanks go out to these folks, keeping us going, keeping us from going crazy, holding us in their thoughts, being present. These acts balance out the others that make us question the human race and its inability to show compassion without judgement.

There's a reason for everything. They're in a better place. God wanted them earlier. They were born because something was wrong and your health was in jeopardy.

Really? I don't believe that one fucking bit.