More Alive

Running at Cannon Beach, OR

Lately, I’ve been obsessed with the BBC show, “Call the Midwife”. I’ve been watching at least an episode a day, inevitably moved to tears each time. Perhaps I’m obsessed with the program because midwives delivered all three of my children. Or perhaps I’m touched by the heartfelt stories, with their themes of compassion, loss, women’s relationships, or grief. Or maybe I love watching the births, with the hopeful promise that each new life brings, offering up a clean slate and countless possibilities. I know that every soul who is born into this world has a path to follow, some part of their story pre-written, the other part left to individual choice or chance.

I wish Hannah’s path had been different. I wish I could turn back time and rewrite Hannah’s story, so it wouldn’t end so tragically. Yet, the ending wasn’t up to me. But I played a part in her beginning, willing Hannah into being when I felt I heard a soul calling to be born to me.

I believe that children choose their parents. I believe we are born into the families that may teach us what our souls have come to learn or heal us from our past. As I listened to astrologer, Steve Forrest, read Hannah’s natal chart, it was clear to me that she chose our family. Clues were left in her chart suggesting that she had been damaged or hurt previously – in past lives, in past families, or in past inherited behaviors. In this lifetime, she needed to be enfolded into trusting, loving arms, under the most horrendous circumstances, with parents that would be utterly honest with her. I believe she got what she came for in this life. But it’s sad that she missed out on so much after only twelve years.

Hannah has missed so much here with her family and friends. Two of her best friends got married this year, while another had her first child. Her closest cousin, Caroline, is getting married in September, while another cousin, Chris, is marrying his sweetheart in December. I know Hannah will be present in spirit, but I’ll sure miss her at the weddings. When Adam married Alexis, nine months before she died, Hannah was part of the ceremony. I knew then that it would be her last wedding.

Adam and Alexis’s oldest child finished the 7th grade this year. She went further in school than Hannah was able to. Penelope was born the year after Hannah died. How they would have loved each other! Their fourth child, Genevieve, is as spunky and independent as her Aunt Hannah. I know my daughter would have adored this little one.

Hannah would have also loved having her dad nearby. Since Bill’s been retired for four years, he’s around home like he never was when the kids were growing up. She would have cherished having him close by to talk with him, ask his advice, and give him a hard time!

These days, I don’t get caught up very often in all that Hannah is missing. I know she is quietly watching from the place where she resides, nudging and blessing and whispering in our ears.

But I do miss Hannah the most in August. Today would have been her 27th birthday. The month of August is bookended by Hannah’s birthday and her death on the 30th. Although there are many family birthdays to commemorate in this month, including mine, this late summer season continues to be a cause of dread. Even so, birthdays are easier to acknowledge than death anniversaries.

When Hannah had been gone for ten years, it seemed unimaginable. Now as we approach the fifteenth year of her absence, it feels unreal and unbelievable. But I am more alive than I was when she died. A big part of me wanted to leave with her when she did. Today, my life is full of people and activities that give me joy and purpose. Not every day is stellar. Some days I can be a real Debbie Downer. Other days, I’m only as happy as my unhappiest son. But for the most part, life is good.

Even without Hannah’s physical presence, I won’t miss out on these things… I can look forward to Caroline’s and Chris’s weddings. I can cheer on the sidelines of our grandkids’ sporting events. I can work in my garden and arrange the flowers that I grow. I can meet weekly with my friends, some of whom had the same midwives that brought our children into the world. I can listen to those in grief, which sounds rather dark, but offers much joy and gratitude. And at the age of nearly 66, I can still run.

I credit my absence of athletic activities when I was younger for my current good joints. Running makes me feel alive, something that I didn’t feel 15 years ago. And I know Hannah is smiling watching me run and seeing that I’m doing my best to take care of myself.

In a recent “Call the Midwife” episode, a grieving midwife was consoled by an older woman who had lived through the Holocaust. Her words resonated with me: You will feel better than this…Maybe not yet. But you will…You just keep living until you are alive again.

I am more alive today than I was fifteen years ago. But I will never stop missing my daughter.