I think I felt holy before he was born, when I was going through test after test and then through the induction and labor that, in spite of the days and effort we all put into it, ended up with me strapped to the cross of the operating table. I would have been the happiest of martyrs if he'd lived, and even though he didn't, I still look back at that time - that terrible and terrifying anticipation and fear - and I'm grateful for it. That I had those days with him. That I did everything I could. I hate whatever my human limitations are and were that prevented me from, somehow, saving him, but those holy days (still) allow me to live with myself now.
Maybe I'll someday feel more compassionate towards the rest of limited humanity. I like to think I've taken steps in that direction, and I do cry more now at other people's pain and loss. But I'm too practical to see these tears as an especially good thing. Hopefully my next steps toward (maybe not enlightenment, maybe just being who I want to be in the world) will involve more doing, more helping. Or I may just get more and more irritable at human foibles, which sadly seems to be the trend I'm riding now.
- desire to move toward greater sense of compassion and awareness of "holiness" of pregnancy and birth of child who died