The Shed

Written in 2016- Round Rock, Texas (10 Years ago)

Story One: Motherhood, Loss + finding god

I dreamt about you last night. I did not realize it until this very moment, but I did dream of you.

I am sitting in my doctor’s office, unsure how to process the news.

“There is no more heartbeat,” she said.

“This can happen from time to time, but it is no fault of yours. Sometimes…”

Her voice gently fades away. My husband is silent and not sure how to respond. I can’t blame him. I did not quite have the words either.

We were so scared to take this next step of our lives, and when God answered our prayers, we felt all emotions — excitement, fear, nervousness, worry, humility, luck. You name it, we felt it.

We stayed up every night talking about you. Wondering what you might look like. Would you be a boy or girl? What color would your hair be? Would you have your dad’s eyes and talents or my silly quirks? Would we be good parents?

My doctor is still talking about our next steps and what to expect, and although I heard her, I don’t think I truly listened. My mind went elsewhere. My mind came back to you.

Just this morning, I woke up from the strangest dream. I was in the middle of a pine and oak forest. It was not a sunny day but slightly cloudy. “It could rain,” I thought. Although the day looked a tad gloomy, I could not quite let go of how peaceful it was. I heard birds chirping, the air warm but crisp like a summer morning in the country.

I looked up and saw a seasoned yellow gravel path leading to a small weathered shed to my right. A woman appeared in the doorway and waved. She signaled for me to come to her. I looked around to see if she was talking to someone else, but there was no one in sight. I felt secluded but not uncomfortable. Those who know me understand that I love a good beach vacation, but the forest has always been my sanctuary. There is something about the hidden beauty from one tree to the next, a place to think and truly be yourself. I felt safe.

I walked forward and noticed how beautiful she was. She was an older woman, maybe in her 70s, tall, lean, with long grey-blonde hair — more grey than blonde. You could tell she had once had bright white-blonde hair when she was young. Her eyes were a kind shade of midnight blue. She wore white capri pants, beige sandals, and a lilac-colored knit top that went to her elbows. Her posture showed sophistication and confidence, feminine yet unafraid to work hard. She seemed wise — someone I could learn from.

Before I could speak, she said, “I am so glad you are here. I have been waiting for you. I could tell you were enjoying today’s beauty.”

“You were?” I replied.

“Yes,” she said. “Won’t you come in? I made us some herbal tea from my garden.”

“Umm… okay?” I replied quietly, confused.

Inside the shed was a small table coming out from the wall and two old wooden chairs. A worn-out shelf behind her held a basket with her kettle of tea inside. She poured us each a cup in dark green pottery mugs. It smelled and tasted of lavender and chamomile with a hint of honey and spice. Warm, comforting, and needed on a day like this. It felt like home. My home.

She sat with both hands on her mug, leaning forward to show interest while holding back enough not to scare me. She smiled and placed one hand on mine. “I am so happy you are here. I have been waiting to meet you.”

I stared at her, confused. It took me a long moment to speak.

“Who are you?” I asked.

She chuckled and held both of my hands. She took a deep breath and gently said, “I am your daughter.”

“Wait… what do you mean you are my daughter?” I asked with a little authority.

“We have all been waiting to meet you,” she said. “I am the oldest, but there are more of us. We are all excited to meet you one day. Today, it is just me.”

I could not respond. She stood and came over to my chair, placing her hand on my belly.

“Now is not your time, but we will meet again soon. Very soon.”

I did not understand what she meant. I looked at her closely — gentle, angelic. She hugged me, and it felt familiar. I began to tear up, overwhelmed by a love I cannot describe. She was mine, and I was hers.

I woke in my bed that morning crying. Happy, yet sad. What did the dream mean? I had never felt a love like that before. It was strong, indescribable — like I could read her thoughts without words. Colors were vivid, sounds amplified, emotions heightened. I felt alive and free — yet back in my room, my ordinary life awaiting.

My husband’s alarm went off, and he proceeded to get ready for work. I thought about telling him the dream, but I wasn’t sure what to say. We had a busy day, so I brushed it off, telling myself I would share it later.

My doctor’s voice echoed back, “It might take a few weeks for you to pass, but we can proceed with a procedure called a D&C or you can wait for things to take the natural course.”

I did not need much time to think. I robotically replied, “I will wait for things to take course naturally if that is okay?”

She said of course it was.

We had a very rough few days, and tears were shed. I did not realize how much I wanted to be a mom until I realized I no longer was. It was a pain many cannot describe. I was never someone who knew motherhood was for me. I always thought if I became a mom, it was meant to be — if not, that was okay. It wasn’t until I met her that I knew I wanted it so badly. I got a taste of it, and I wanted that for life.

The day I came home from the doctor’s office, we had agreed to meet at my husband’s parents’ house for dinner. We had already told them the news, but I decided to walk outside and make a quick call to my dad. I told him the story and he helped me process my dream.

He asked, “Do you think that was her?”

I said, “I know it was. I know she was a girl, and I met her. She knew me and knew the things I loved, giving me comfort when I needed it most. I know I will meet her again one day.”

My dad reminded me of something I had forgotten: throughout the years, I have run into older women and men who have sought me out of the blue and shared wisdom. On airplanes, in stores, at random benches or trails — these sweet souls answered prayers I had whispered the night before. They offered guidance or clarity in ways I could understand. My dad and grandma call them my Angels. I realize now these older souls are how God speaks to me.

My niece, three years old, ran out the back door to tell me dinner was ready. She hopped closer on stepping stones, and I let my dad go.

She reached up and gently placed her hand on my belly.

“Where did she go?”

I froze. She had no idea we were expecting. No one had told her. She could not have known.

It wasn’t dramatic or loud. It was quiet, certain. The same kind of certain I felt in the forest. God was not distant. He was all around me, in the air, in this child, in the ordinary evening light. I was open to that love, and it surrounded me. I felt comfort, and I knew everything would be okay.

I wiped my tears and walked to the house.

“I can’t wait to meet you again, sweetheart. I love you, and I will see you soon.”

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To the young mom reading this — or longing to be one — whose heart has known loss and feels empty, confused, or forgotten:

I promise you this — God is nearer than you think.

He is present in the waiting.

He is present in the loss.

He will show up in the ways you need in order to find Him.

Sometimes what feels like an ending is only a delay.

Sometimes the love we experience for a brief moment is exactly what we needed — to awaken us, to ground us, to remind us that this life is sacred and worth holding onto.

Hold onto hope.

God wastes nothing — not even our tears.