We brought our baby boy home yesterday. Not in the little car seat that we expected to but in a tiny box wrapped in red ribbon, a little bag inside containing all that is left behind. A small handful of dust. Nine and a half months of nurturing expectations, visualizing the joys and happiness of new life, a strong, beating heart, a whole life, full of potential. Only to be pronounced stillborn. A heartbeat lost and not found. A perfect 7 pound red head who was born with his eyes closed, still warm, and still born. Just sleeping.
I am generally a fairly keen participant of life. Not of late. Everything looks so different now. Getting through each day with a heaviness that seems impossible to lift, once again I find myself scrolling through the baby buy-and-sell pages, as if I am still expecting a small being to be in my arms, in need of something. This wouldn’t seem off, if I had a baby. But I don’t. So this is me, participating. I can’t seem to do much else. So through hot tears I push myself to type. All I know is that doing so has the potential to help mend back together a shattered heart. A recent reminder on Facebook pops up, in my very own words reminding me that a heart can’t truly be broken. Last week, another reminder from wise old me, that the universe knows the cycle of death perfectly and that everything revolves around divine timing. I silently curse my own wisdom, with a bittersweet knowing. Sometimes I hate knowing. It’s suddenly annoying, harsh, brutal and so, so sad. There is so much that we have control over. And so much we don’t.
For my whole life - and more so lately - people have told me how strong I am. They have also told me how I have brought them strength. Well, I’ve decided I am about ready to retire from that job. I am ready and quite willing to put down the deadlift and breathe in something much more raw. To be honest, I have never felt so fragile.
We ask why these things happen. I ask why do they happen twice? Twenty years ago, I came home with another small box. He too had left this plane, after a mere twelve-hour existence. A tiny little baby, perfectly still in my arms. It just doesn’t seem fair. For as long as I can remember I have believed we choose. We choose our life path, the lessons we need to learn, our parents, our families, even our experiences of loss. I can’t help but think what kind of person would choose this? What kind of person would choose this horrible pain? Who would elect to hold a tiny brand new life with no life inside? No one should ever have to hold a tiny breathless baby. Let alone twice. A strong person? Like I said. I quit this job. It’s official. And all of this spiritual shit? It doesn’t matter how much you know. Knowing does not allow you to by-pass the experiences that make us who we are. Wisdom is something best learned when applied. Strong? Maybe just human.
So very fragile.
The only strength I have right now is in my mind. My body is tired, my spirit is needing to soar beyond the emotions, but I am held. Held here by the love of others, sharing the space of something so hard to understand and so difficult to bear. An overwhelm of love from friends, family, and even strangers. We came home three weeks ago, so very empty. Our home full of flowers, we have been sent countless cards filled with words that hit deep in the heart, triggering the release of tears and heartache; we’ve been in touch with those we haven’t heard from in years, we have been fed by love with prepared food that we didn’t have to think about making, monetary donations, so much chocolate, and messages to lift us when there are no answers, and no energy to think or act on the day-to-day responsibilities. My mind has had enough practice in life experience to know the importance of gratitude, because when we dig deep enough there is always something to be thankful for. Our capacity to have compassion, to act on that compassion, to re-evaluate how fragile we truly are, to release, allow and accept help when we truly need it is astounding when forcefully applied. There is no doubt that we are all connected, here together on this crowded planet to go through the same things in different ways. We don’t escape pain and suffering by any means, but we help each other through it. I am grateful for so much love, support and compassion. I am grateful for a wonderful partner in my life, who is spiritually mature, sensitive and so very caring, who is also hurting deeply, yet is functional and able when all I want to do is sleep.
Right now there is simply a lot of empty space. None of the answers are good enough. This, apparently, is evolution on the fast track. Perhaps there are those souls out there who are wise enough to be the catalyst for our evolution in the physical realm. Maybe they solely elect a short existence in the comfort of the womb, or for a few short hours on the outside, and we who have lost the wee ones, on some strange and incomprehensible but higher level, agree. We agree to sacrifice for higher learning, to co-operate and exist in a bringing forward of awareness as a reminder that we are indeed human, and that life is indeed precious, painful, full of contrast, full of brilliant ups and downs, steep peaks and deep valleys, and many mountains to climb. One day I believe we will see the full view from our higher, non-physical perspective. In that place I trust that it will all make sense. Right now, not knowing has to be enough, because there is a card amongst the many decks, the one I never like to pull: the path of mystery.
What I do know, and without doubt because life has definitely proven it to me, is that there is an infinite amount of hope, compassion, love, and human potential which we must see in order to grow, to overcome, and to have the faith to try again. When there is a will, there is always a way. But first we must have the will to find the way. And the way is in our experiences - be they marked good or bad. We can only walk one step at a time.
If all of this makes me strong, then I will take it all, all of the classes, even the repeated ones, and I will hold that wisdom and share that with you, and take my diploma with grace and I will walk off of the stage in cap and gown, just a little more fragile, a little more open and a little more vulnerable. We will be strong enough. To try again.
When there is nothing else, there is hope.
Am I quitting my job?
To clarify, I am not quitting the work I do. I feel that we need spiritual strength the most when the world sees so many changes, and when life sucks and throws us these seemingly unbearable blows. Even though I haven’t been chatting with the angels as much lately, I know they are there doing what they can, and will be there as always when I am ready again. So when I say I quit, the job I am referring to is in the archetypal warrior sense of being “strong”. I love the archetypal goddesses who get through the worst of experiences and come out more fierce and more solid. I am just saying it out loud, or maybe screaming it to the universe, that I feel more than done with the hard ways of learning. I am willing to accept the ease of life and if anything, through these challenges, I will align with that ease. Suddenly I am more than okay to be transparent, vulnerable, and bleeding openly on these pages, even when hurting. It has been a long time since I have felt like writing, if I can do anything right now then this is it. Perhaps I can also find a patio with sunlight and oysters......
Thank you for sharing with us. Thank-you for your love, prayers and support. We feel it.