What if God shows up?

A co-worker lost their premature daughter a few weeks ago.

Baby girl was making it one day to the next.  Each day a requirement was set and she met it:  she will do this, or it will be the end.  She left her family after a three week fight.

I told anyone who would listen: don't send flowers, flowers die.

What comes next for them.  They went to the support group.  It turns out they were the freak show of the group, just like I was once upon a time.  The story that everyone secretly gives thanks that at least they are not YOU.  He hated group and I hated group too.  I walked out on the second session and never went back.

I remember so many daffodils.  I hated daffodils.  She came and she went April 23 in 2007, four years ago.  I hate your fucking daffodils.

Anger comes throughout.  He told me he couldn't finish his son's prayers last week.  What does he have to say to God?  How can he reconcile the anger with the simple good night prayers of his toddler?

I delivered Mannie after she had been gone for almost a day.  The doctors were deliberate to occupy my full attention before I met her.  I needed to be prepared, they told me.  Her head shape was unique.  Her skin was delicate.  Her coloring was different.  This was going to be difficult and I needed to stop and prepare.

She looked beautiful to me.  She had a full, wide mouth which I am certain is a distinct sign of beauty.  We spent our time with her.  My story, still sitting in my heart.

Time passed and I lost a lot of blood.  Perception is everything, but it sure seemed like I was going to die.  Doctors were running in the hallway.  My mother came back into the room when she saw our doctor and others charging into my delivery suite.

The head of maternal fetal medicine was brought in.  Again, taking my full attention.  Look at me.  I need you to listen to me.  We need to operate.  I need your permission.  The placenta has not passed and you have lost a lot of blood.  You are still losing blood.  We need to do this now.  There is no alternative.

I told him I knew what this was about.  This is the surgery that can damage your uterus and prevent you from having children in the future.  Go ahead, doctor.  The future belongs to someone else.  I have nothing to lose.

This is when my fight broke out.




Really, God.  This is it?

You are going to kill me now?  That is your plan?

I dare you.  I fucking dare you.



I lived.  Anger faded and quietly turned to distance.  I didn't have time for God in my life, but frankly never noticed.  I was too busy trying to survive all on my own.

I asked the support group leader why she managed such a grim group.  How could she bear the weight of all these destroyed lives.  She said she did it because people get better.

I told my co-worker this, that somehow, some way, it manages to get better.  I don't know how or when, but it does get better.  One day, I stopped wishing for death.  Some time later, I was feeling the edge of happiness.  And so it went.

He tells me he understands this.  It makes me sad to see him waste his time with the anger and separation from God.  I am only learning how to tinker with rebuilding it myself, but it has pulled me through a lot this last cycle.  It doesn't feel like riding a bike, but it is getting better.