First Step

I decided that I need to face some of the things that cause me pain. Face up to them in a manly way, look 'em straight in the eye, and say, "I can survive you."

So I went to my friend Robin's baby shower. She's due in two weeks. She's had her own troubles with pregnancy in the past, and now more than ever I'm pulling for her. She's almost at the finish line, she almost has her little boy safe and snug in her arms.

I wasn't sure if I could actually go through with it, so I kept my RSVP at "Maybe" on the E-vite. But Saturday morning, I woke up and thought, I just have to do this. For my sake as much as for Robin's. It felt exactly like the first phone call I made a few days after the miscarriage. Ross had been making all of the calls for me because I just couldn't hear my own voice talking about it with anyone but Ross and the doctors. I didn't know what to say or what people should say to me. I couldn't bear the thought of the finality of those conversations.

This was like that. I had a dread of the shower, but the conviction that I had to go. I had to affirm the goodness of life in the midst of my own pain by sharing in this celebration of the coming of a much-wanted and long-hoped-for child.

And it was good. I got to play with Lance and Lauren's beautiful little baby daughter for a good long time. I ate food and played games and chatted and laughed with all of my girlfriends. I gave Robin a lovely gift that I was happy to offer to her. She looked beautiful and calm and peaceful and composed and radiant. I hope I look that way one day.

The afternoon wasn't perfect. I had a couple of hard moments. The first was when my friend Laurelyn got up to leave. Her due date is one week after what mine would have been. We had many times joked about how we would get pregnant together, and then we did, and then Rebecca died. I can never take my eyes off of her when I see her because I should look like her right now. Anyway - she got up to leave and Robin stood to hug her. Everyone squealed and scrambled for the cameras and shouted, "Get the bumps touching! This will never happen again in our group!" I couldn't look. I stared at the carpet and blinked back the tears and wished it had been the three of us.

The second moment was when we played a game in which we were supposed to guess the size of Robin's belly by cutting off a piece of ribbon to measure it. I thought we would pass them to her or something, but they had us line up and measure it ourselves. I wanted to be a good sport and not make anyone uncomfortable, so I lined up with the rest. I put my arms around Robin and measured quickly, never looking her in the eye, and got away to dash the few tears from my cheeks.

But it's a first step. And first steps are usually shaky in some way. And they usually get better the more you take. So I'm going to take some more.