Tuesday, June 08, 2010

One Blinking Pixel

I'm working on putting the final touches on my new blog, so I hope you'll enjoy today's guest poster while I'm slaving away.


I don't even know how I "met" Nicole from The Mombshelter. But one day I clicked on her blog and it was love at first read. She's fabulous. She can make me laugh, she can make me cry,  she can make me want to stick a fork in my eye. 


Sorry. Couldn't resist the rhyme. But seriously? The woman can write. Maybe it's the cool air from Canada, where she lives (I'm SO international!). She also is someone I'd love to hang out with. Because I think we would laugh ourselves silly. Then we'd eat the leftover food that somehow landed in our bras. And? She has a son named Sawyer, which I happen to think is the Best Boy Name Ever. I might be biased. Whatevs. 


Here is the beautiful story of Nicole's Sawyer:

The story of my Sawyer's beginning is at the ending of another's. When the ache of motherhood was new in my heart, and the need to fill the emptiness left us feeling anxious and lost and wild.

And with the rising temperatures of that summer and the unforgiving sun beating down on us, we gave way to that wildness and maniac revelry in which it was easy to forget what was missing. Our irresponsibility, an abandonment and blatant disregard to the responsible, carried us through the months of long nights and left us, in the end, sunburned and tired and wanting.

The wanting was an uninvited guest which nagged and pestered and made its presence known in the wake of happy news from friends, we being at the age of happy news. Until the wanting, no longer content to stand behind wavering smiles and choked congratulations, found its way into my frenzied thoughts, driving me towards a preoccupation with recapturing what I had lost. Leaving me bewildered with my own inability, my failure.

The wanting had made permanent residence within, its consumptive nature peering out from behind my eyes. Until he, pained too, took my sullen face in his hands, looked into the green depth of where the wanting lay and said, Stop.

And I stopped.

In that airy, light time, leaves blew across our path and the coolness on our skin felt better. We felt better. And we laughed and embraced in the face of our new-found betterment. Betterment being a more welcome companion to the wanting.

So that our own happy news didn't seem news at all, on that cold November night; its arrival just being delayed. We forgave it its tardiness and waited.

We waited for things to take. For it to be okay. To get past the point where it had ended before. When things had gone awry.

We were hopeful, filled with cautious anticipation, singing Beatles songs. Pleading with it to hold on. To stay.

But then there was blood. Its familiarity allowing me a sense of composure, a numbness.

And this composure carried me on wooden legs, into a darkened ultrasound room where I explained to the woman technician that this was not the first and that I expected the worst.  And because of the numbness my words were wooden, too. Hollow.

Maybe it was that hollowness in my voice or the glassiness of my eyes or maybe it was just that she was a mom. But whatever her reasoning, she broke protocol and turned the screen so that both she and I would see the silvery images there.

Her voice was soothing and murmuring as she moved the wand across my still flat belly, searching. She held her breath when she stopped and I did, too.

"There," she said quietly, with warmth, pointing to the screen.

One blinking pixel.

One blinking pixel, until I am no more, will be the single most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes upon.

And many months later, in the glow of a summer heat, my Sawyer was placed in my arms. Where I marvelled at the miracle of him and how I thought he had been lost save for the hope I'd found in that one blinking pixel.

19 comments:

Ma What's 4 dinner said...

Oh I love her. I'm going to go check her out right now. Thanks for sharing an awesome blogger. You know you're an awesome blogger too, right? A lot of us feel just that same way about you!

Lots of yummy love,
Alex aka Ma, What's For Dinner
www.mawhats4dinner.com

The Empress said...

Oh,yeah, I love mombshelter. For so many reasons, one of which how ferociously she loves being a mother.

Thank you for this.

And it is the cool canadian air, cuz I love canadian bloggers!

Jen C said...

I'm sorry that it began in heartbreak. This is a beautiful story and tale of true bravery.

Thank you for sharing your journey.

Amber Page Writes said...

That was just plain beautiful. I can see why you're in love with her...I'm in love with this post!

KLZ said...

Jesus, I could have written this moment for moment. Except not so eloquently. That ultrasound was the single best thing I've seen in my life. I had more relief and excitement than....ever. Best thing I've ever seen.

Bibliomama said...

Oh fantastic, now I have to go for my haircut with red buggy eyes and sounding all snotty. WAY to go, Nicole. (You know I mean that lovingly, right?)

Cheryl said...

Aw, thanks, Alex! And Nicole? She's amazing!

Empress - She does, doesn't she? And Canada has some awesome bloggers!

Jen C - It IS beautiful, isn't it?

Amber - Definitely check out her blog!

KLZ - It's a miracle every time. Every time.

Biblio - Nicole's like that, isn't she? Not caring about anyone else's eyes/nose.. ;)

Mom vs. the boys said...

Nicole your an ass, thanks for making me get all teary and sad, don't do it again! lol

Missy said...

Great... now I have another blog to read. ;) Thanks for introducing me to The Mombshelter and giving me one more happy distraction in my day!

Cheryl said...

MvB - Nicole is kind of an ass! HA!

Missy - Nicole should be one of those Power Bloggers. The girl has mad skillz!

Aging Mommy said...

Oh my! This is so very similar to my own story of loss, then again thinking it had happened again only to see as you describe it so well, that tiny little blink of a heart that had just started to beat. I am very glad you have your Sawyer as I know just how much my own daughter's arrival has meant to us.

Beautifully written post

Aging Mommy said...

Oh my! This is so very similar to my own story of loss, then again thinking it had happened again only to see as you describe it so well, that tiny little blink of a heart that had just started to beat. I am very glad you have your Sawyer as I know just how much my own daughter's arrival has meant to us.

Beautifully written post

Pamela said...

Beautiful! I read it at work, but was too choked up to comment. BTW I think both you ladies are da bomb;)

The Mayor! said...

Achingly familiar....poignantly written! :-)

Marit said...

thanks for introducing me to yet another powerhouse blogging mama, cheryl!

oh, and nicole, you sure have a way of making this dutch mama all teary eyed during her vacation. so glad you got your sawyer. such joy and so beautifully put. you're leaving me hungry for more of your magic, wisdom and words & i've got to admit that your prose made me think a bit of woolf's kew garden.

Mom of the Perpetually Grounded said...

That was simply beautiful. And I need to head back over and say it there too.

the mombshell said...

Holy snap did someone just think of me and the big V (Virginia Woolf) in the same thought! Alright world I am done with you, having become completely content with my existence!

the mombshell said...

I wanted to say holy shit, but that wouldn't have been very Woolfish of me!

Natalie said...

(With tears) so beautiful! I love mombshelter...and I'll read her wherever she is!! I happen to love Cheryl too, so this works out nicely!

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