missing something

It's a beautiful afternoon in Chilliwack.  The sun is shining through the clouds, the robins are playing in the trees, and a hummingbird just flew by the window stopping briefly to look in and say hello.  Spring is on the way, and the trees are beginning to bud.  We are back from Cuba, and had an absolutely lovely time.  I flew in two planes, and survived two very long flights.  Our resort was nice and quiet, and the beach was stunning.  Blue clear water, sandy beach, and continuous waves to dive into and carry you back to the shore.  We spent countless hours in the sun, swimming in the water, walking the length of the beach and relaxing with each other.  We had an overnight adventure in Havana, and experienced the local culture, the poverty, the music, and the way the Cubans live.  It was eye opening and surreal, and I will always be grateful that we live in Canada;  a country where we are free to speak our mind and have access to pretty much everything we want.  It was a vacation well deserved and for one week I was able to forget about school and teaching, and just spend time with Michael, the love of my life.  Today, Michael and I walked along the Vedder river in the cool spring air and as we reflected on our trip,  I realized something was missing.  Not Luka, because she was with us the entire trip.  She was in the wind, the waves, the flight of the birds and in the trees.  I felt her deep presence wherever we went.  What I'm missing now, is a baby.  A family.  There were so many families in Cuba.  Mothers and fathers with their little ones playing in the sand, and teenagers hanging out with their moms and dads.  There was even a baby with two dads.  Being in Cuba,  I didn't really think about these things, until I came back to my life here.  I feel empty without a living child.  And I am worried that I will be childless the rest of my life.  I know it's silly, because I can get pregnant, and have carried a baby to term.  But my biggest fear is that it won't happen.  Our window is now open to begin the process again.  Which is exciting but scary, and a new journey full of hope.  When the time is right, I know my body will allow a little soul to develop and enter this world.  But the impatient part of me wants it right away.  Michael keeps on reminding me that I just have to let it be the way it needs to unfold, and to trust that the next child we have will have the recipe for life.  In Havana, there were so many children playing baseball in the street and making do with no green space to play.  These children are so poor, yet they find joy in the swinging of a stick to hit a ball. We gave them suckers, and their faces lit up with thanks.  I shouldn't complain.  I have a wonderful life, an amazing husband, a job that pays me well, and the money to travel, eat, drink and buy new possessions.  I have it all.  Except the one thing that I so desire.  As I played in the waves of the ocean,  I thought how much fun it would have been to have Luka with us, to experience the water as a family.  In the evening we drew her name in the sand, and in my heart I thanked her for bringing Michael and I so much closer together.  As I watched the waves wash away her name,  I thought about how short a time we had with our precious daughter, but how grateful I am for her gracing us with her beauiful presence.  Cuba was a milestone.  For months we have been waiting for this time to arrive. And now, on the nine month anniversary of Luka's life and death, I need to remember to live as much as I can in the moment and to ask the universe for strength, patience and trust on my continued journey to have a healthy child.