Monday, January 25, 2010

Four Words and Tomorrow

We're firming up our cemetery plans. Although we are not scattering Calla's ashes at Forest Lawn, we did purchase a plot and a marker in a beautiful spot. If you're familiar with Forest Lawn in Buffalo, you might know the spot. There's a hill towards the Main Street side, the highest spot in the cemetery. There's a white, abstract-ish statue of an angel pulling a person skyward at the top of the hill. That's where. On the hill, amid some young trees.

I like that spot--as much as I can like any spot there. We've spent countless hours running through the cemetery, training for race after race. We live practically across the street. Several times while walking through with Eliot, we've seen children playing on the hill. That makes me smile---to know there will be kids there, playing, keeping Calla company.

I know she's not really there. But it will be a place where I, we, can go and remember.

We chose a marker, and on it we could put four words. Four words--aside from Calla Valentina Scott, aside from her birthday. How can I sum up everything she means to us in four measly words? I can't scratch the surface of how much I love her, miss her, want her here with us. I can't begin to explain the hopes and dreams I held in my heart. Four words? May as well be zero.

In the end we chose these: "Beloved daughter, sister, friend." Not nearly enough--a metaphor for the time she was inside me, with me, living.

On a different note, we go to my doctor tomorrow. I'm awaiting this visit with equal parts excitement and dread. We may leave there tomorrow with no more resolution than we have today. But at least I can touch base with someone who was there, to remind me that, no, this wasn't all a dream--rather, it wasn't just a nightmare. It was, indeed, real.

I'm scared. When Calla was born, there were no apparent cord issues, no placenta issues. I'm scared it was something more--something genetic, something really, really bad--something that will make the doctor look at me and tell me what I fear most: don't even think of trying again, girl.

Because right now, that hope of moving forward, of--of what?! Certainly not a replacement, or a quick fix. But of a possible number Three--this one with a different outcome--that's what's keeping me going. I need that hope--you don't know how much I need it. And I'm really, really afraid of getting it yanked away yet again.


  1. *hugs* I'm hoping she has some answers for you. Sometimes a 'cord accident' can happen and leave no trace. All it takes is for it to be compressed for long enough to cut off the oxygen. Did you guys end up having an autopsy?
    Remember, a lot of genetic issues can be treated if the problem is known in advance, so try not to psych yourself out too much.
    That first doctor's visit for me was very was just hard even waiting in the waiting room with the pregos and women with infants. It was just not fair. It still isn't. You should have Calla here.

    The words on the marker are beautiful. She is loved, so very loved. *hugs*

  2. We did go for the autopsy--could be quick, or it could be up to 9 months for results. That's unacceptable--obviously--so we are going to pester until we get something.

    Thanks for the encouragement! Having a glass of wine to relax :)

  3. I took some photos of the beautiful angel sculpture you describe in your blog a few years ago. Here's the flickr link:

  4. I am hoping so hard for you today as you head to the Doctors. Hoping that something is said, or seen, or felt that helps you in whatever way you need. You are amazing Mary Beth...truly. Love, Jessica Ulmer