It Doesn't Feel Right Calling It Her Birthday
March 10, 2012
It's been a year now since we lost Robin. I guess it's supposed to be her birthday or something, but she wasn't alive and I don't feel comfortable saying it's her birthday. It's more like an anniversary of a traumatic event, like Pearl Harbor. Not really something to be celebrated like a holiday, but definitely a time to stop and remember and think.
I think about things so much more with her gone. I try to create meaning, real meaning, not just a religious recitation of why things are what they are. My conclusions sometimes contradict each other, or they go along with some Divine Plan that I want to condemn as nonexistant. What I've generally decided is that people don't leave us until they're ready. Our mission is to teach others everything we can and when we've done that to the extent we're capable, it's time to return to whatever plane we come from and be complete for a time until the chance comes to do it all over again. Even in the event of some sudden catastrophe, like a young person is killed in a car accident and people are lamenting how their life was cut short and they still have so much to give, maybe there is some Fate that says we're wrong and they had already made their mark on the world. I also recently came across an amazing quote, although it was meant to comfort those that had recently lost a pet. The gist of it was that a dog doesn't live as long as us because they don't need to walk as long a karmic path. Why couldn't that be applied to people? Only the good die young, right?
What this mean to how I feel about Robin? I'm not afraid of labor and delivery. I'm determined to show people and especially my family how amazing life is, how beautiful it is to be human even though it's often pretty painful. I know I'm capable of a fierce love that can't be compromised. I love being pregnant, and even if I let a complaint slip I'm still grateful for the reason to complain. In four incredibly short months of existing, my little girl taught me what being a mom could be and just how much I want it.
I think about things so much more with her gone. I try to create meaning, real meaning, not just a religious recitation of why things are what they are. My conclusions sometimes contradict each other, or they go along with some Divine Plan that I want to condemn as nonexistant. What I've generally decided is that people don't leave us until they're ready. Our mission is to teach others everything we can and when we've done that to the extent we're capable, it's time to return to whatever plane we come from and be complete for a time until the chance comes to do it all over again. Even in the event of some sudden catastrophe, like a young person is killed in a car accident and people are lamenting how their life was cut short and they still have so much to give, maybe there is some Fate that says we're wrong and they had already made their mark on the world. I also recently came across an amazing quote, although it was meant to comfort those that had recently lost a pet. The gist of it was that a dog doesn't live as long as us because they don't need to walk as long a karmic path. Why couldn't that be applied to people? Only the good die young, right?
What this mean to how I feel about Robin? I'm not afraid of labor and delivery. I'm determined to show people and especially my family how amazing life is, how beautiful it is to be human even though it's often pretty painful. I know I'm capable of a fierce love that can't be compromised. I love being pregnant, and even if I let a complaint slip I'm still grateful for the reason to complain. In four incredibly short months of existing, my little girl taught me what being a mom could be and just how much I want it.
Posted by Amanda Hill. Posted In : Spiritual