I was reading a book last week, and I had tears in my eyes as I read the following entry- so touching and as a Mom- brought back some sweet memories.
This is a conversation between mother and daughter- the daughter is pregnant for the first time- the Mom has been pregnant twice (first was stillborn). The daughter is speaking first.
She laid a hand over her stomach, long fingers gently curved.
“Yeah. Well. It isn’t an it, to me. I don’t know who it is, but–” She stopped suddenly and glanced at me, looking suddenly shy.
“I don’t know if this sounds–well…” She shrugged abruptly, dismissing doubt. “I had this sharp pain that woke me up in the middle of the night, a few days…after. Quick, like somebody had stabbed me with a hatpin, but deep.” Her fingers curled inward, her fist pressing just above her pubic bone, on the right side.
“Implantation,” I said softly. “When the zygote takes root in the womb.” When that first, eternal link is formed between mother and child. When the small blind entity, unique in its union of egg and sperm, comes to anchor from the perilous voyaage of beginning, home from its brief, free-floating existence in the body, and settles to its busy work of division, drawing sustenance from the flesh in which it embeds itself, in a connection that belongs to neither side, but to both. That link, which cannot be severed, either by birth or by death.
She nodded. “It was the strangest feeling. I was still half asleep, but I…well, I just knew all of a sudden that I wasn’t alone.” Her lips curved in a faint smile, reminiscent of wonder. “And I said to…it…” Her eyes rested on mine, still lit by the smile, “I said, ‘Oh, it’s you.’ And then I went back to sleep.”
Her other hand crossed the first, a barricade across her belly.
“I thought is was a dream. That was a long time before I knew. But I remember. It wasn’t a dream. I remember.”
I remembered, too.
I looked down and saw beneath my hands not the wooden tabletop nor gleaming blade, but the opal skin and perfect sleeping face of my first child, Faith, with slanted eyes that never opened on the light of earth.
Looked up into the same eyes, open now and filled with knowledge. I saw that baby, too, my second daughter, filled with bloody life, pink and crumpled, flushed with fury at the indignities of birth, so different from the calm stillness of the first– and just as magnificent in her perfection.
Two miracles I had been given, carried beneath my heart, born of my body, held in my arms, separated from me and part of me forever. I knew much too well that neither death nor time nor distance ever altered such a bond–because I had been altered by it, once and forever changed by that mysterious connection.
Quote from Drums of Autumn by: Diana Gabaldon- page 685.