When I was pregnant with Cora, I used to play the song I’m Yours by Jason Mraz for her. It was loaded on my ipod, so I’d put one headphone in my ear and the other in my belly button and turn it on. No other song would make her jump around in there or turn somersaults or kick up a storm, but I’m Yours did all of those things and then some. I even have video of her dancing away in utero while the song plays. Every day, Greg would come home from work and we’d turn on Cora’s song and laugh as she bounced around inside me, groovin’ to the beat, breakdancing. It is one of my only fond memories of a pregnancy that was nightmarish at best and one of the memories that, for months after she died, could reduce me to a sobbing heap if I so much as thought about that song or what it meant to me.
Up until Monday, I hadn’t heard the song. I’d actually removed it from my ipod the day she died, so it wouldn’t accidentally come on while I was listening to music and I’d avoided any radio stations that might have played it as well. When I woke up on Monday morning, my heart was racing and I was extremely agitated because I had an appointment with my OB. We were finally going to find out a bit more about Cora’s autopsy results and get some answers to our pressing questions about her care at the hospital. I was dreading the visit – wigging out, as they say – and my hands were shaking as I sat down in the waiting room. I was wondering if Cora was around me at that moment and I made a silent request that if she was there with me that she send me a sign to let me know and help me to breathe a little easier. About a minute after my thoughts about her finished, I’m Yours came on the radio.
I sat there, stunned at her timing and choice of sign, but instead of crying or feeling sad when I heard the music, a feeling of calm expectation washed over me. My heart slowed down, my hands stopped shaking and my thoughts quieted. By the time the song was finished, I was completely ready to see the doctor and accept whatever answers we were given. The best part was that, once again, when I asked her to let me know she was with me, she once again delivered in the form of an unexpected and perfect sign.
It’s been eight months since we lost her and she still teaches me something valuable every day. I am eternally grateful for her and all that she continues to teach me.