When the loved one of a pregnant woman dies, the baby within her womb becomes more sacred. In my 21 years of practicing obstetrics, I have witnessed this over and over again.
While interviewing a patient the other day I had to pause and reflect. The nurse’s note stated that she had been feeling depressed and I asked her the reason why. I discovered that her boyfriend had died the week before in his sleep. He was only 25 years old. There was no recent illness, however two years before his death, he had been mugged and stabbed repeatedly in his chest. This was their first baby.
The very next day, another patient was wailing at our receptionist’s desk demanding to be seen. Her husband had died over the weekend unexpectedly. She was also carrying their first child.
To the uninitiated, this might be discounted as mere coincidences but those of us with a heightened awareness know there is a far deeper connection. We all know of a grandmother who passes when her granddaughter becomes pregnant; or a daughter who unexpectedly becomes pregnant after the transition of her parent. Pregnancy is not simply “having a baby” but a profound metaphysical experience.
It makes me cringe when I hear people describe pregnancy as something crude and distasteful. Being pregnant is not synonymous with being fat and having a baby does not involve “dropping a load.” In her profound essay, If I Had My Life to Live Over, the late Erma Bombeck said “Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I’d have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.”
Cherish each pregnancy as a sacred event because there’s always a chance encounter of an unexpected goodbye.