The Club.

I think we are all part of a club to some degree. Might be a scrap booking club. Perhaps a book club. A squash club (PS. I seriously want to play squash. Looks so intense!). A yoga club (The husband and I went to "hot yoga" last night. Amazing!). There are all sorts of clubs, and generally we get a choice in the clubs we join.

But sometimes in life, we are all of a sudden a part of a club that we never even knew about, let alone one we wanted to join. But we have no choice. This club in my life is the "heart kid club." I've been in the club for over four years now. Don't get me wrong, the people are nice and supportive, and hey, there are a few perks (free weekend in Jasper, anyone?), but for the most part, its not a club I ever wanted to join.

Nor is it like the country club where you try to get all of your friends into the club. Nope, I would never wish what we have gone through on anyone, and our story is rather mild compared to many that I have heard. So when I heard the news today that someone who has been a part of my life for over 10 years and who has been a faithful, true, beautiful, friend to me, is "joining the club," it broke my heart.

She is due any day now and just learned this information yesterday. In the months leading up to this time, we had many long phone conversations all about pregnancy, and of course, birth. I shared the knitty gritty secrets that we don't share with our friends until they are officially in the club (eg. In their last trimester. Don't want to scare the poor things off!). I shared this information freely, as it truly is a beautiful, albeit a fairly painful, experience.

So tonight when we talked on the phone, I had few words. I don't want to share these secrets. Partially because it isn't all beautiful. And partially because each story is different. Its so easy to say "this is how it happened for me" and in the saying of those words, I feel like you take a small piece away of the other's experience. Of course, I did share a few things that I wish we would have know before embarking on our heart journey, but beyond that, I was often lost for words.

I still am.

Please join me in being mindful of this friend in the days and weeks to come.

This poem often helps me find perspective.

WELCOME TO HOLLAND by Emily Perl Kingsley.

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.