Today, I went into the bathroom-where I had held our tiny son-and saw, in the mirror, grief personified. I have even sat at my best friend’s kitchen table as music played and light slanted through her farmhouse windows and said, “I am okay.”īut again, today, the plates shifted and the grief demanded to be felt.įive weeks after the loss of our child, I began to feel the phantom cramping as my womb once again started the physiological process that filled my heart with such terror the night my miscarriage began. I have again carried books, wiped milk spots, pushed the stroller down the graveled lane beside which our miscarried child’s body rests. Carrying a twenty-seven pound box of books, wiping up milk spots on the kitchen floor, pushing the stroller down our graveled lane – something happened at some point in my earth’s rotation and that separation between mother and child-my son’s body and his spirit-began.ĭespite it all, I have felt strong, even supernaturally graced. My spirit yearned to communicate with my body the great loss of such a small being.
That for a few days-possibly a week-I blissfully toted my toddler on my hip, marveling at the fact that my small body could carry two offspring at once. I don’t know the day, the second, the exhalation of my breath that my baby died, and there is grace in the fact that I do not know. Is it truly better, then, to have so fiercely loved and lost when I will never get to look into my child’s eyes that were forming right up until the day, the second, the exhalation of my breath during which God knew this unborn child would never take a breath of his own?ĭid my own heart skip, as it searched to find the matching beat of his? Did I let the plate float down into the iridescent water and look out at the bruised fall sky, sensing a tectonic shift in the plates of my world? This is what makes my spirit weak, as it longs to eternally commune with his. I do not get to watch my womb expand as his flesh and bone expands. My own spirit believes that I will see him again I will hold him again, in whatever form that may take.
That spirit just left its temporal shell the night he slipped from my body. I believe there is more to this world than mere flesh and bone, and that our miscarried child-since conception-became an eternal being with a spirit of his own.
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