I keep starting to write the story of all that transpired on Tuesday. I always quit.

There is a part of me that wants to go back there, that has needed to go back there.

There's also a part of me that wants to put it in the past and move forward.

A woman who deals with women who have had traumatic births at this hospital told me that the emotion will probably hit me at really odd times and catch me off guard.

The whole time they were working on me, the only thing I could focus on was a 3 month outfit my mother in law had given Phoebe. "Please, God, let me be there the day she fits into that. Don't let it just be Scott and Lucy trying to figure out how to button it up. I can't leave them yet."

As the doctors ran me down the hallway, yelling at each other, practically using their scalpels before I was asleep, I kept feeling this pervading, peaceful calm. I gave up trying.

You hear that?

I gave up trying.

I knew that I would either wake up looking at the face of God, or I would wake up in a recovery room. And either way, I had to let it go.

Scott was sobbing and leaning over me and his tears were falling down my cheeks and the only thing I could think to do was to lead him in a prayer.

The last thing I remember was losing my vision and a nurse saying, "She's coding."

I don't know if I expected God to answer my prayer and let me live, or not. In much the same way that after 4 years of pregnancy loss I can't believe that the little girl with the profile just like her big sister's and the squeaky noises was given to me, perfectly healthy and whole - lying in her bassinett, and I can pick her sweet little body up any time I want.

She doesn't care about pregnancy tests, or ultrasounds, or what month which miscarriage happened. She doesn't care about anything other than the fact that she gets hungry, and she needs me to feed her. She gets lonely, and she needs me to cuddle her up.

I guess I'll write the stories down, sometime, but I keep getting this nudge that it's time for my heart to rest, to reconcile, to move forward.

It is sweet.