We suffered a small tragedy in the backyard today. While mowing the lawn, Tim accidentally ran over a baby rabbit. I was getting ready for our friends to come over and was wondering what was taking him so long. When he finally came in the house, he shared the story with me, his heart obviously heavy with emotion. He hadn't seen the baby bunny lying in the tall grass.
I knew how guilty he felt, and told him that it really wasn't his fault. He couldn't have seen the bunny. Inside I was reflecting on how many times that he had shared that same message with me over the past 8 weeks. How daily I have inflicted wounds upon my soul feeling that somehow I might have caused Cara's death or been able to prevent it. To have my daughter die inside of me is by far the most painful thing I have ever had to deal with. There is always this sense that in some way I or my body failed her. Was it something I ate? Did I work too hard? Did my body attack the placenta? (One theory the doctors are investigating now.) Was she moving less? Should I have noticed something? I knew what Tim felt, but I also knew it was beyond his control.
The bunny had a sibling who survived and was still hiding in the yard, so we were able to see it and see that life was continuing. And although he was frightened by our very presence, we were joyed to see this small little life nestled in our backyard.
We were outside with our friends hours later when the mother returned in search of her bunnies. She found the one and for a moment appeared disoriented, confused. She jumped around frantically searching. The surviving bunny was trying to latch on and nurse, but she kept moving about. Finally she settled down, and it was able to nurse.
It was about this point that we realized there where two other babies in another part of the yard. She did not pay attention to them, so we wondered if they weren't from another litter. After the mother moved on to another yard, the lone bunny made his way to the other two. It was as if to say, I'm going to need you guys now.
After our friends left, Tim and I were sitting outside talking. I started relating this back to our own life. I asked Tim if possibly this wasn't an analogy for our own children. We have always desired to have more than two living children. We have lost our first child, but maybe we will able to have another. Maybe the other two we will adopt. Or maybe we end up having to adopt all three.
Whatever the final outcome, there was a hope instilled with these little tiny lives around us. It doesn't make this any less painful, but lately after the huge emotional tear fests, I sometimes smile and think at least we are close to trying it all again.
Here are some pictures of the bunnies:
The surviving sibling
The mother and baby nursing. See his little feet pressed up against her belly. I thought about how if we are able to have another child, that I will hopefully be nursing, but I'll also be grieving missing that experience with Cara. While we will embrace each moment with future children, there is a sense that we will also have to grieve through missing those experiences with Cara.The other two babies