My Symbol Of Hope

Lucy? I glance up at the overhead trees. The sky has begun its transition. A symphony in colors, ranging from yellow to orange and red, play before the last of the clouds slowly fade off stage, making way for their nightly counterparts to shimmer across the sky. Everything seems to be standing still; the wind, the trees, and even my breathing.

Where are you, my friend?

I hear her eerie and raspy call.

Lucy?

I step forward and scan the nearby trees.

The first time, I had seen only small parts of her, but enough to tell by the spotting on her chest that she was female.

This time, nothing. No spotted breast, no gleaming eyes.

Lucy? I call again.

I read once that owls symbolize death, but they can also signal transformation and change. Lucy symbolizes both. She came to me the first time it happened - a reminder of my loss. And yet I also felt that she represented a new beginning for me.

I was distraught the evening I saw her. I came into the woods behind my home, still in my nightdress - the stain of tears still on my face. Her eerie call came out of nowhere. And then I glimpsed that feathered breast - a barn owl. I had somehow never noticed her calls. But after that night, her strange rasping voice lulled and soothed my sleeping.

After a while, she inspired me to paint again, so I painted a portrait of my new feathered friend and named her Lucy, after the child I had lost and named only in my imagination. I placed that avian portrait in the room that would have belonged to our daughter. And every time I walked into that space and stared at Lucy, the color of hope returned to my face.

Lucy?

I have come out here to tell her, to speak my happiness to the wind. Today, I woke at dawn, and I knew. The test confirmed it.

Lucy?

A new day. Fresh hopes. This morning as I drew back the curtains and the sunshine bathed my face, I felt energized. Joy bubbled inside me. It has been difficult to contain it. I feel like it's been overflowing, touching everyone around me.

I have told Brian, but no one else. At work, one of my colleagues said that I seemed happy - 'More like your old self,' she said. All I could do was laugh.

Lucy?

I am not ready to confide in my family and friends, but I would tell Lucy if I could find her.

Ah! There she is. I can see her speckled breast and the glint of moonlight in her eye.

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A sudden chill comes over me as the moonlight pierces through the velvet blanket of darkness that surrounds me like tiny arrows through the trees. It highlights parts of my abdomen - using it as a canvas and, along with the shadows from the trees, forms a one-of-a-kind abstract creation across my satin nightgown. My hand slides down my legs gently and slowly in the form of a lullaby while I sit. I can feel the coolness of the earth beneath me.

I close my eyes and listen intently.

I hear the screeching sounds of Lucy. It echoes in my head, tuning out all sounds– haunting yet soothing.

I open my eyes and scan the trees. 

Lucy? I yell out. Where are you?

I wrap my arms around my abdomen. A sharp, aching, and tightening sensation had awakened me earlier that day. While in the bathroom, I noticed a brown stain on the tissue. I spoke to the nurse on call.

"I'm sure it is nothing to worry about," she said, "but I will put you on the schedule to see Dr. Parker."

It was precisely 10:00 am when the words "I am sorry" left Dr. Parker's mouth. There was a tightness in my chest. My lungs felt squashed. I forced the air through my nostrils as her words lingered in the room.

This road is familiar. I'd hoped the road would lead to a beautiful destination - one that was smooth with fewer bumps and turns. The journey remains the same. Why does it end in a dead stop every time I choose this path?

Is that her in the distance? I get up.

Lucy?

Lucy, is that you?

I wait. I hear nothing–not a hiss, shriek, or a scream. I return to my seating spot on the ground.

I had sent Brian a text when it was confirmed.

"It happened again."

He tried to call, but I didn't answer. I listened to the familiar ringtone that I had attached to his name play in the background while a series of questions continued to bombard and dominate my mind.

He immediately texted me.

"Oh, no, honey. I am so sorry. I'm getting on the first flight back." He was away on a business trip.

Everything became distant, fuzzy, and occurring in slow motion. The portrait I had created in my mind of a beautiful family slowly disappeared. I watched as the colors faded one by one leaving behind a lifeless scene –an almost blank canvas. No words left my mouth. The tears did not fall.

"I am sorry," said the nurse too, as she handed me a small white Styrofoam cup half-filled with water. Why do people keep apologizing for something that they did not do?

Lucy?

I listen again - still nothing but the leaves whispering in the wind.

I need you, my friend.

I called Brian when I got home. Not sure how I managed as I had no recollection of the journey.

His voice was low and gentle when he answered. I was unable the speak at first. The silence palpated so firmly in the room that I felt I could cut through it with a knife.

"Hey, are you there? I am so sorry, honey. I don't think you should be alone. Should I call your sister? Maybe she can stop by until I get there."

The words left my mouth before my mind had processed a response. "We lost our baby." After I said it, a burning sensation in my chest spread to my throat, and it tasted sour like reflux.

I can still taste it, making me nauseous, just like I felt the first few weeks.

I spent the last few hours unable to cry. My throat feels constricted as I try to swallow the pain. I have been carrying the burden of guilt all day. It is hard to breathe, but my body is hungry for fresh air.

Lucy?

I am here again to talk to my friend. To release the burden that I feel. The trees and the wind are no substitute for my Lucy.

Lucy?

I wonder how many times my body will say no to motherhood. Who knows of the number of daughters and sons who never got the opportunity to live in this world. I add my two unborn children to this number that I am never going to mother.

Having children was always part of the plan. A home filled with laughter and faces to build and share memories with as one generation moved to the next. I know there are other options, but it doesn't erase my pain.

Lucy?

Her familiar call reverberates through the air. I stand up again and walk a few steps forward.

There you are, my friend.

Her broad wings glide slowly through the air. I watch her under the moonlight as she moves overhead. I hear a thump as she lands and perches herself on a nearby tree.

I stare into her button-shaped eyes; my body suddenly becomes too heavy to carry. I fall to my knees. It begins to rain heavily on my face as the tears flow down like a river that had been walled off, finally being set free. The wet spots on my nightdress cling to my skin. I ball my hands into a fist and lash out into the air, angry at the universe for allowing this to happen. My whole body trembles even though I am burning up inside. Why? Why did it have to happen to me?

I don't understand. Maybe it's for the better that it happened this way. My voice begins to crack. I can feel the drainage run out of my nose and down the back of my throat. I do not hear my wailing till Lucy's call matches it.

I bury my face in the ground in a sobbing heap at the base of the tree. As I return to quieter sounds, I concentrate on Lucy's hissing, which reminds me of an espresso machine when the steamer is on. I look up at Lucy and stare into her eyes again, the only pair of eyes I can make contact with today.

When my sister came to visit, I had buried my face into the darkness of her knitted sweater, never looking at her. When Brian came home, I felt his eyes as if they were burning a hole into my skin while he tried to caress my cheeks. I tried to look at him, but all I did was concentrate on his chin. There I hovered below his brown eyes, unable to make direct contact with them.

With Lucy, it is different. With her, I feel no shame. I can be vulnerable. She understands me in a way that no one else does. I never imagined sharing a strong bond with a wild animal.

The tears continue to fall until my eyes become sore and puffy. Lucy's hissing is consoling. I pull out an ultrasound picture we got a few weeks earlier from the pocket of my robe. I stare at what I believe to be hands and tiny fingers that look like buds.

A flashback of my earlier time in the woods with Lucy resurfaces. The moment when I shared the good news with her. For weeks I had conversations with this life growing inside of me. I grew accustomed to those daily talks. Now our discussions have been cut short. Tears blur my vision. I put the picture away and lay on the ground, exhausted, feeling the chilly night's air as it washes over the skin of my damp face.

Lucy's screech distracts my thoughts as it rings in the air, causing the leaves to join in with the wind humming a melody of comfort for me. I am so glad that she came. She is here to help me navigate this loss serving as a reminder to hold on to hope. She helped me then and I know she will again. All I need to do is believe.

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Thank you for reading. Your time is always appreciated.