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So, Thursday was quite an emotional day.  It started off with a text from my friend JT telling me she was cramping and had passed a clot.   I quickly called her and she told me she was soon seeing the Dr. and things were not going well.  I was a wreck the rest of the morning waiting for news and cried quietly a few times over my own previous loss.  The news did come later and it was not good.  Her dream had been taken from her at just 7 short weeks along.  I called to check on her and we chatted about what the plan was now and she was ok with everything.  I am sure she will mourn in her own way.

Later that evening, while out shopping, I got a text again.  This time, announcing the birth of the newest family member!  He arrived at 6:06pm!  I will have to post stats when we get them.  One dream was lost today while a whole new dream has just begun!

I have to ask though-Why is it, no matter how much time passes, some things still hurt just as bad as the day they happened?  Odd thing, for whatever reason, early the same morning I had just had a really good cry while lying in bed unable to sleep over the death of my mother.  It will be 19 years on June 26th that she passed away, but for some reason, it was fresh in my mind that morning.  The pain of my neighbor sitting in front of me holding my head against her, telling me not to look as they wheeled her out of the house into the ambulance, with little hope left, is still so fresh and painful.  And the news from the Dr. gathered with many, many people who raced to the hospital when they heard.  I looked at my dad and he and I were in the middle of the room and just hugged.  People then took turns going in to say their good-byes.  I sat alone in a dark waiting room, with a nun bringing me a wet wash cloth, checking on me, and explaining that I did not have to go in there and see her like that.  I never cried that night.  Plenty of that came later, for the next 19 years.  From wondering if she was proud of things I did, or not so proud of others.  It was really hard when Princess was born and her not being there.  Replacement mother (birth mother I met at 30 years old) just was never able to fill my void, mostly because I never wanted her to.  I did feel like I knew she was with me when Princess was about 3 months old and would lay on the bed after a middle of the night feeding and coo to the air.  Once, the smell of my mother’s rose perfume lofted across the room.  It was then that I knew that she was really with me.  Then, I started finding dimes.  And now I know when I find a dime in an odd place, it is her.

Last night, before bed, I stayed awake to get some laundry done.  I was emotionally exhausted and as I pulled the last piece of clothing from the washer, there was a dime in the bottom of the tub.  It seemed the perfect way to end this kind of day.

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