The day after Christmas, and all seems well. This was the second year of my life that I spent Christmas Eve only with my husband. It was quiet and uneventful...except for one moment. My sweet daughter came over with a bottle of wine and homemade cookies. She wanted us to know that we really weren't alone, she was thinking of us. It was a touching moment that very clearly shows her beautiful heart.
We were only married a few months, living in England in a neighborhood that was less than avereage, but I loved everything about our old grey street. It was 1976, and I thought that all the kids walking home from school with their hair tied neatly on top of their heads, were girls. I quickly learned they were Sikhs. Little boys.
When I learned I was pregnant, I just thought it was the flu hanging on too long, a surprise indeed! My husband rode his bike to and from his job where he worked on a golf course. That evening, after I learned the news, I waited anxiously for Phil to come home. He was barely in our little back door that led to our tiny kitchen, when I meekly told him the news. I was pregnant. The look on his face was actually a look I had never seen before, or since; surprise, resignation, speechless, with only a sweet smile on his lips, and an innocent humility in his eyes.
We were having a baby! This child in my womb was a huge surprise because it wasn't in our life plan. A few things in my so called plan had already fallen to the wayside. The main one was that I would be accepted into nursing school, in England shortly after we were married. I had already been accepted to a nursing school in the US after trying very hard to prove that this former hippy could be responsible, learn, and be an empathetic, efficient care giver. The plan was, we would have a baby four years after marriage, but instead it was four months, and the hope of school was just a memory.
After much thought, and seven months of pregnancy, we flew back to the States. Flew "back" for me, and first time in the States for my husband, Phil. I remember so many wonderful details about that adventure; the flight over the ocean with so few people that I was able to lie across three empty seats and sleep comfortably most of the way, the drunk American in New York that gave us $10, and Phil looking out of the airport window in childlike awe of the giant cars we drove.
We lived with my parents, in my old bedroom for a few months before we found a place of our own. There was a baby shower with wonderful gifts for our new little one and lots of love and support from family and friends. We had everything we needed to begin our journey of parenting. Then, two months later, it was clearly time to go to the hospital and meet the beautiful infant. However, after twenty-four hours of labor, and pushing as hard as I could, it was decided I'd have a C-Section. She was stuck inside my body!
In those days, forty-seven years ago, the mother was put under general anesthetic when having a C-Section. When I woke, I was being wheeled to a recovery room when I saw there, in the hospital hallway, next to me, in something that looked like a fish tank, was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen. Wide, dark eyes, and lips that truly looked like a tiny rosebud. My baby girl. Shauna Michelle was born, July 25th, 1977.
The joy, love and incredible promise she has brought me is undescribible. Forty-seven years later, just her existence in this world has changed so many for the better, including myself, and her own children.
This year, for me, has been one of change, loss, and letting go. It's been hard. Shauna has supported me without judgment or trying to help or control. Honestly, I've been a little calloused, but desperately seeking something to wake me from negativity, something to bring me faith and hope again. So the other night I asked God for some sign, or miracle, to thaw my cold heart. I wanted something big, bright, shiny and obvious; a flame of firey proof that there was still good on earth. And of course the answer was quite the opposite, but nevertheless, it seemed like the only, obvious truth: listen to that still small voice deep inside that moves towards love.
But wait! There's more! Not long after my answer, which I succumbed to, my daughter called and said she'd be over in a few minutes to drop something by. When that happened, I knew there was so much more in her heart, so much love, for me; for Phil and me.
That was MY Christmas miracle.
And as the very nature of a miracle is, it radiates through your entire life, IF you're willing to listen with your metaphorical heart.
My miracle baby girl has given so much love and good in this grey old world, that to those in which her path has crossed, there is sweet light. And to me, she is a warm glow of joy!
Right now, that's miracle enough for me.
"This is plenty of a miracle for me to rest in now." Anne Lamott
