As I witnessed two of my friends lose a child a year and a half ago, as an observer, I had the privilege to see the detrimental [lack of] knowledge of how to handle grief. With all the empathy in my heart, I struggled every day to find words to express my condolences. Words failed me. A part of me knew undeniably that I could NOT understand DEEP DOWN what loss really was.
Fast forward. March 2014.
After an unassisted miscarriage of Eden, my 10 week pregnancy, in my private bathroom, it hit me. I was beginning to understand what loss is. First, physically. Then, emotionally... and perhaps finally, spiritually.
The physicality of absence was not the hardest: I could hold in my hand my perfect placenta, amniotic sac and baby in my hand. I could leave him/her in my private bathroom, with a candle on, unable to separate fully from my sweet smallest creation. The thought of burying my child was unconceivable - especially in four feet of snow. I had an excuse to keep him/her nearby. Eventually... I knew I'd have to do something. Babies don't keep forever in this way. I thus decided to create my own ritual with salt and flowers, and essential oils, in hopes of drying what was left of my pregnancy. Hard times where my heart could have imploded. Then, we had a funeral. As we couldn't bury our child, we put him/her in a pouch [which still sits under my pillow - an improvement from carrying it around everywhere.]
The emotional [also hormonal] aspect of loss is misunderstood. Almost a month after, I still have good days - and I have days of feeling lost. My biggest fear is that Eden will be forgotten. Or that [we] will pretend it never happened. I cannot bear that thought - I want him/her in my blood, womb, in my skin. I want it written all over me: Eden was here, and will be forever missed. Not a day goes by without a thought for Eden - and for the possibilities of Eden on earth.
I am not sure I can grasp the spiritual aspect of loss. There is a presence that hovers over me, with me at all times, yet there is a lack of in my heart. Those days, I just want to be held - and be aloud to cry on your shoulder. One never heals this loss - one just lives with it. Forever.
