My plan

I asked how I was to mourn and hope at the same time. Late last night, I remembered infamous Ecclesiastes…

3:1 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

3:2 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

3:3 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

3:4 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

3:5 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

3:6 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

3:7 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

3:8 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

There is a time to mourn. There is a time to dance. There is nothing about a time of dancing and mourning at once. So for now I am not going to mourn, I am going to dance for my little one who is still inside, alive. I am not going to be break-dancing, doing the Macarena, or even the Charleston. I will be slow dancing with hubby, shuffling my feet from side-to-side. Maybe we will twirl a little, he’ll dip me, but we won’t let go of each other’s hands.

It doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten, or want to forget. But what better way to honor my lost baby than to cheer on his or her brother or sister with everything in me?

I am not going to write any more about the pregnancy until Thursday.