It's the first week of November 2016. I'm illuminated by my phone screen and the news that Donald Trump has been elected President of the U.S.A. In the dark of our one bedroom basement suite it would be so simple to succumb to the bleakness of the moment. The threat of a border wall. The increased polarization. The fact of an apparent fool in a seat of great power. Yet I am not overcome. I don't give into this feeling because in that dreary light I can see my newborn babe. Fresh. Full of life. Innocent and uncorrupted. He is all of these things to me. He is light in the darkness. He is hope. Fast forward to March 2020. Coronavirus is officially a pandemic and gatherings of 250 or more are banned. People are buying toilet paper like its going out of style. Extreme precautions. Extreme panic. Extreme fear. It's harder to hope now. I'm 37 weeks pregnant with our third baby. Technically, this baby could come any day. More than likely it will still be a couple of weeks, but that increases my own feelings of fear. The "What if's" of factors out of my control cascade through my mind like a menace. Social media snow-balls these fears as I hear of over-run hospitals, difficult deaths and the consequences of not erring on the side of caution. Though I sit in the sun while I ponder, my faith feels shrouded and beyond my reach. Hope is veiled. While I know there is a sweet healthy little one growing inside of me, I can't guarantee his health when he enters this world. My outlook is dire and I could easily plunge myself into the depths of despair. I have no control. I have no choice either. I must hope. This baby is going to arrive no matter what in the world is going on. I can't control what *may* happen; yet, I can control my reaction and mindset. I will choose to see this time as a special time to share in the closeness of our little family. I will choose to reflect. Now it is March 2021, almost a year after writing that small piece. It is so strange to hold up a mirror to a time of unknowns, whilst knowing what is to come. As I write presently I am more aware of my privilege in the above section. It does not invalidate my feelings to recognize that in a difficult season, my largest struggle was whether I could bring myself to hope or not. Now I realize that I had the luxury of assuming I was carrying a healthy baby, the ability to be pregnant at all, and the knowledge that the price of my healthcare was covered. It has almost been a year since that baby arrived and I've been trying to decide what kind of cake I should make for his first birthday. Blooms are starting to tinge the air with a floral scent, and when it rains I can smell the winter grime washing away. Hope has turned to face me now. The first week of April 2020.
It starts with belly cramps while I am out walking that night. I don't really notice them, but its nice to think it could be a sign that something might happen soon, that I am one step closer to meeting this little one I've carried for months. As it turns out it is the first domino in the sequence and after a night of going to the hospital and back, sitting in the shower to manage pain while my husband sleeps, and getting the grandparents to watch the older two children while we get ready to go. Once we are admitted it takes a good while for baby to make his entrance, so we watch Brooklyn 99 between contractions. This time they don't offer laughing gas for the pain because of Coronavirus protocols. Once I am tired and feel like I can't go on anymore, I request an epidural. Our third son arrives about 30 min later, at around 7 in the evening. My parents, who are watching our kids, bring us dinner at this time and receive the news that the baby has arrived, just as they begin doing to emergency service vehicle drive by to celebrate our healthcare workers on the frontline of this pandemic. My mom says she feels like they are celebrating his arrival. He weighs 9 lbs. and 9 oz. There are no visitors to the birthing suite. No breakfast smoothies brought by adoring friends and relatives. Me and my husband watch more Brooklyn 99 and enjoy a peaceful day till we are released to go home. I wish I could tell this story to my son without having to mention the pandemic, but that wouldn't fit within my value of honesty. I will tell him how I tried to embrace hope, and how I realized through an unexpected year that I cannot banish grief in exchange for hope. Rather, I will share that I learned to walk forward with hope in one hand and grief the other.
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Jordan is...A mother, artist, designer and loyal friend. May this blog bring you hope and a normalization of both emotion and logic. Archives
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