The Season of Mira
I call it “my season.” It arrives at the end of April, just as winter sheds its final chill and ends mid-summer, where the days are long and kissed by the sun.
If you have been following our story over the past few years, you might remember April 28th as the day we found out that our second baby would not be like our first. Our girls would have identical hazel eyes, great hair and all of my expressions, but the rollercoaster ride that began that day felt worlds apart from anything I had ever known. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the last quarter of my second pregnancy would have a profound effect on my life.
This is the fourth spin around the sun since that first “season” and this year in particular, feels like the Earth has been catapulted off of its axis.
I had a lot of thoughts bottlenecking in my mind, so I turned to my cousin, a lifelong confidant and professional writer, for some advice. I spoke with her about Mira, about how I am feeling right now, and how I can’t seem to collect my thoughts or make any sense of them.
“On some level, I suspect you never really thought you’d get this far with her, because that is what you were thinking during that season,” she said. She went on to say that Mira is more “dimensional” to me now because, in some way, the way she came into the world made her a “story.” That story is altogether a long and beautiful one, but now that Mira is on the brink of turning 4, there is more of a humanity to her story. She has broken free from the narrative I have created with my words and is beginning to forge one of her very own.
Four years ago, before I even got to hold her in my arms, Mira became a “questionable diagnosis” instead of a long-awaited addition to our family. She became a series of “below average measurements, unusual images and a bell-shaped chest that was incompatible with life.”
I wish I could go back to that broken-hearted version of myself and scream at the top of my lungs that everything was going to be OK! That I would soon meet this small being who would change my world in the biggest of ways. I wish I could go back and tell myself that this child would capture the hearts of so many, and that no matter how massive the obstacles in front of her, she would find a way to overcome them in her own way and on her own time.
The story of Mira has shifted. Knowing her, it will change again and again as she continues to change directions and perceptions and evolve into the person she was meant to be all along. I no longer see her as a diagnosis. I no longer see her as unfamiliar medical language or a cause for concern. I no longer see Mira as anything less than my greatest challenge and my biggest adventure.
As the seasons change, Mira’s story will too.
It is really just the beginning, and I am so grateful that I get to be a part of it.
