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The doctor calls Adrian and me saying, â€śCongratulations! Youâ€™re pregnant!â€ť Adrian hugs me and we lift Helen up and kiss her little 16-month-old cheeks. â€śHelen! Helen!â€ť we cry, â€śHelen you are going to have a little brother or sister!â€ť Helen pushes our faces away not exactly understanding and gallops into the bedroom in search of her favorite stuffed animal, Senor Buho (Mr. Owl). Adrian and I are elated and we head out to our local kosher grocery store in search of kosher meat to cook as a celebration. Of course Adrian wants pork, but our home is kosher so celebrating is limited to all other delicacies.
On the Avenue, I feel lightness in my step and I whisper to Helen all day about how we are going to welcome a little bean into the family. I do everything right: I get my prenatal vitamins, buy Omega-3, stock the refrigerator with fruits and vegetables, rest and drink tea. I am five, maybe seven, weeks pregnant. Thatâ€™s when everything goes wrong.
One morning, I wake up early and see blood. Itâ€™s not a lot and itâ€™s not bright red, but I call the doctor anyway. â€śDonâ€™t worry,â€ť she assures me, â€śitâ€™s normal.â€ť Adrian also tells me not to worry, but I worry all day. I worry so much that by the evening, Iâ€™ve sweat through my clothes. Helen senses something is wrong and puts her head on my knee while Iâ€™m sitting on the couch. This calms me down a little, but only a little.
The next day I start to make promises. â€śHashem, God, if you make everything OK I will be the best person in the universe this year. I will do good deeds and feed the poor and work harder and pray more,â€ť I pray. Adrian thinks this is foolish and I ask him why he doesnâ€™t pray to the Virgin of Guadalupe, who is known to help in times of worry and distress.
â€śBebe,â€ť he says in a serious tone, â€śthatâ€™s not how God and the saints work.â€ť I laugh because even with our interfaith family, I obviously think I can trick myself into convincing God of something.
I do everything right. And then, everything goes wrong.
The next day, I wake up and there is a lot of blood. Itâ€™s not brown, but itâ€™s red. My body feels heavy like itâ€™s losing something. â€śBebe,â€ť Adrian says, â€ścall the doctor.â€ť The doctor tells me to go the hospital right away. I rush to Manhattan and am attended to at Beth Israel/Mount Sinai with the thought, Â â€śThis is a place of miracles.â€ť I am shaking in my seat in the waiting room and I clutch a small pink book called â€śTefillas Channahâ€ť meaning Prayers of Channah (my Hebrew name). When I am finally called in, the doctor does an examination and tells me sheâ€™s sorryâ€”I have had a miscarriage. She adds, â€śBut it was very early, which is good.â€ť
Loss of any kind is letting something go when you were never ready to part with it. â€śBebe,â€ť I say to Adrian on the phone, â€śI have some bad news.â€ť I bleed for days. The doctor tells me this is normal, but it doesnâ€™t feel normal. I have not cracked my Hebrew prayer book to defy my God the way I feel he has defied me. I realize that these thoughts are irrational, but this grief is overwhelming.
After one week on the couch, my daughter brings me a book. It is a book about animals and I flip the pages for her. â€śBubbles!â€ť she shouts and I laugh. There is a miracle before me that I havenâ€™t been able to pay attention to. By far, Helen is the grandest miracle that has been gifted to me. Over a year ago, Adrian and I, out of fear for her life, decided to put Helen on formula when she had dropped down to 4 pounds. I prayed to God then. Now, Helen is in the 90thÂ percentile for height, walks, babbles, speaks some words in Spanish and English, points to the Virgin of Guadalupe before bed and I sing her the prayer of Israel in Hebrew at night. As I get up to get the bubbles, my body feels like it has been crouching in a cave.
â€śBebe,â€ť Adrian says a week into his own grief, â€śwe will try again.â€ť
I reach for my Hebrew prayer book to try to find the right words for what Iâ€™m feeling. Somewhere in the middle of the book, I find it: â€śAnd so I come before you, Hashem, EternalÂ who reigns over rulers, and I cast my supplication before You. My eyes dependently look toward You until You will be gracious to me and hear my plea and grant me sons and daughters.â€ť I look at Helen as she plays on the rug and I understand that I have been granted a miracle. With the two faiths that shine brightly through my house, I will be granted another one when the time is right.