Night falls

It is the 13th, Friday the 13th, and while I try so hard not to be superstitious about that date there is something about today that has made me sink into 13, indeed being an unlucky number (which I surmised upon Charlotte's birth and then attempted to dismiss upon Liam's birth).

The first set of broken hearts, my sweet sister in law and her husband, my darling brother in law who loves so deeply like my Greg, just found out today that their teeny-tiny, 12-week developing babe who would have been due in September is not to be... The doctor's visit which was supposed to be the big, and exciting visit ended in tragedy, and my heart broke for her when I answered the phone late this afternoon.
I had been thrilled that we would bond over a baby, and I am crushed to be bonding with her about this loss. I don't even have anything more to say about this. My heart is heavy.

The second set of broken hearts belong to my fierce, brave cousins who have been fighting with their infant son Andrew for so long: Andrew who has won the battle with cancer, who has accepted his bone marrow transplant and fought off graft-versus-host disease, and who is now suffering from severe neurological damage from the chemo and the drugs and all that his tiny little system has been exposed to in his fight. The palliative care team has been called, and they are preparing, in the next few weeks to take him home. What happens then? Perhaps a miracle? But perhaps not, and their hearts are broken, and I cry for them, too.

Such a dim day. Sometimes it just seems as if there is too much sadness in the world. I feel so grateful for my little darlings right now. And I'm so grateful that I have two of them. This is a good place to be in.

(Oh, and yes, somebody does have joy today... my dear Aimee (see Jan. 29th, I didn't title it so I can't link it!) has given birth to her new son, and has herself been reborn. About this I shall write some day, because this does fill me with incredible hope.)