Images From Today at UCSF

I saw a lot today at UCSF, a little more than I needed, really.
As I waited on a low wall for Dave, I noticed a sign that said that UCSF is a safe haven spot where babies can safely be surrendered, I assume by those who feel they cannot care for them.
Then as I looked across the street, I watched two policemen in kaki uniforms accompanying an unassuming, short, chubby and shackled man in an orange prison uniform into the hospital.
I could see the self-consciousness with which he looked down as he walked, handcuffed, and I felt for him.
They care for everyone there, no matter what, I could feel that deeply.

We had some time before my weekly antenatal testing appointment so we went up to the ICN on the 15th floor to see if we could visit Hunter and possibly his parents.
The ICN receptionist told us that Hunter was no longer there...

I don't want or need to visit the ICN anymore until Tikva is born.

My heart sank and tears welled up in my eyes.
Dave reminded me that we don't know what happened to him.
But what could have happened?
Could he have gotten so much better in just a week that he was no longer in the ICN?
Could he have died?

Do I need to know?
Is it even for me to know?

We went back down the 15 floors on the elevator and Dave's incredible intuition led us to a meditation room off the lobby.
We sat there in silence along with two other women who looked like they were sleeping.
I gazed at the assortment of bibles of many faiths and languages on a counter as images swirled through my mind.
I cried for Hunter's parents, wondered how one gets a coffin from San Francisco to the very northern border of California.
I thought about where my grandmother is buried just south of San Francisco and wondered if there would be room next to her.
I wondered if the Jewish funeral home makes people pay for their services who have lost a child.

You know what is the hardest thing about all of this?
How totally gut-wrenchingly heart-wrenchingly sad it can feel.
For the last two days I felt fine, and actually had pretty good productive days where I took care of a bunch of stuff on my list and felt my sense of humor and lightness, my patience with my four year old amid her tempests.
Then *WHAM!* Out of nowhere I wake up feeling pissy and weepy and I yell at Dahlia because she's pissy and weepy and it's hard for me right now to be the one to balance us out, and I get so mad at myself for taking out my stress on her, and that makes me even more sad.

Then I had a moment in antenatal testing where something told me Tikva is going to make it.
That she is going to be that miracle baby who makes it against the odds.
And I allowed that to flow through me because it is as big and important and meaningful as the rest.
And afterwards I went to the SF Women, Infants and Children office to pick up an application for their program so that I can borrow a free breast pump after Tikva is born.
Holding that possibility, that hope, too.

It's hard, though, all the not knowing.
It's hard to see the smiling healthy babies on the walls of the antenatal testing office, even while it is inspiring to see that they, too, overcame different kinds of odds (because you don't go to weekly testing if you are having a "normal" pregnancy).
It's hard to go to UCSF so often while trying not to take it all in.
It's hard not to be afraid of the unknowns, afraid of the scary possibilities.
And it's especially hard when I'm trying to do so feeling hormonal, on not enough sleep, and having woken up not at my best or most patient this morning.

As much as I have my good days, as much as I feel so held, as strong as I might be, THIS IS HARD.

Dave reminds me that all I need to do now is love Tikva.
He's right - it's all I can do, and it's all I want to do.
I love her so much, so profoundly, so completely.

He reminds me that everything we set out to create when we returned here from Israel has manifested beautifully.
He's right - so I hold that with the feeling that Tikva will be the one to make it.

When I was carrying Dahlia, I had this idea that motherhood would begin when she was born.
But this time I already feel like Tikva's mother, and I have for many months.
My mothering of her has already begun - she is already very much my child.
I pray that I get to watch her grow up and have her own children one day.