My sister did not survive an ill-advised pregnancy. She died at 32 along with her seven month baby girl. She was discovered by her four year old son, still, on the couch at a retreat near Lake Chelan in Washington state. Her doctor was concerned about her and suggested that she take some time off to relax.
My sister Molly had what we were told was a "heart murmur." She was a respiratory therapist and a sweet innocent person. Her husband would tease her because she still liked to order macaroni and cheese when she went to a restaurant. She was the "baby" of my parents' seven children and still the only one who has died.
My family was 'strictly Catholic' in the days before abortion became the single issue that Catholics seem to get exercised about. Though my siblings and I tend to have relatively large families, when I was growing up, the families were very large. I had 51 first cousins. Having a big family was what life was supposed to be all about. My sister thought so too.
It was only after her death that we found out from her husband that her doctor had recommended against another pregnancy. She took the risk. It was the saddest time of my life. Her son is in high school now. Her husband has remarried. My parents have filled their house with images, figurines and ornaments of angels holding babies.
I cannot say she should have not taken the risk, though I doubt she really imagined dying, really, and I doubt she had any idea how sad so many people would be when she died.
Since then, I have an unusual view of life and conception. We have a huge maple tree in our front yard. Each year, it creates hundreds of thousands of "helicopter" seeds. Most, the vast majority do not germanate or die shortly after; some do take root, but we do our best to pull them out or mow them down without thinking. A few (three or four) have taken root in odd corners of our yard, under the protection of other plants while their roots reach down far enough to make it almost impossible to tug out even if we try. I tend to leave them alone at that point. It takes a long time for a tree to grow to maturity and fullness of life.
Nature/creation exudes life, so rich and generous that it is impossible to truly fathom it. The narrative of nature is continuous. It does not start or stop with anything, not with the generation of sperm or egg, not with conception, not at 20 weeks gestation, not birth, not puberty, not fecundity, not age 65, not even death. All these are just markers we place along our path of life. Life itself exists in a broader context of fellow beings, environments, worlds passing by or encompassing us. Surrender and openness to these matter most, not our markers, which we mistake, sadly at times, for life itself.
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Consider reading the book Biocentrism; it's a good read.