Most of the time, I’m pretty good with not having a religion. I’m just not sure what I believe. I generally would like to think that things are not random and that the “universe” has some kind of plan. I don’t know if there’s some entity at the controls or not. After my first bleed, feeling so completely helpless, I prayed. And I continued to pray everyday for “god” to please keep my baby safe and healthy and make everything okay. Clearly, “god” was busy in the month of January or just wasn’t all that interested in listening. Perhaps a religious person (or at least someone with more faith than I) would say that god was listening and that this was the plan. And in some moments, I’m able to believe that there was a greater plan at play. What if Abby had been born after viability but with severe disabilities? What if whatever caused this situation did something really bad to my health? Most of the time, I still want to stomp my feet and scream “why me”?!! , don’t get me wrong. I don’t know why I am being made to walk this path — to suffer this pain — but I do believe that it has changed me for the better. I am, ultimately, a better person for the experiences I have lived — I have to believe that. And hopefully, that will make me a better mother… if I ever get the chance again.
Further to this whole lack of religion business is this: what happens to us when we die? Heaven? Reincarnation? Nothingness? I know that no one really knows what happens, but it might be nice to have a belief about this. When I was lying in emerg after losing Abby, I said to my husband “I feel like she’s with Barb”. Barb was a friend of mine that I worked with when we lived up north for a spell. She died after a quick and dirty battle with cancer in November 2010. I don’t know where Barb is either, but in that moment , I just felt Abby was wherever she was. My sandtray friend said something to me about meeting Abby again one day but she’ll be all grown up. I can’t really wrap my head around that concept/belief but later that night, I had this flash in my thinking of a little girl (2 or 3 years old) with curly pigtails, holding Barb’s hand (the healthy, full of life and laughter version of Barb) and being led away. It may sound completely crazy, and maybe it’s all made up in an attempt to make myself feel better, but somehow it gave me comfort. If she can’t be with me, I know that Barb will take good care of her.