9 days after

I sat in a cafe today and laughed with a woman about the absurdity of keeping our babies in the fridge and freezer respectively.  We cried and we laughed and I felt the ache subside in my chest.  I felt the possibility of happiness alight on my shoulders as the warmth of the November sun shone through the windows on two women joined in loss and love, our bodies having birthed babies alive and dead.

She knows what it is like to hold her baby in her hands and to bury that baby in the earth, to feel the dirt in her fingers.  And I thought how crazy we must seem, how witchy and macabre to speak of blood and death and birth and dirt with laughter and tears. She with her long dark hair and me with my red rimmed eyes and long, black coat.

I wrote this 9 days after my miscarriage. I dreaded running into the other parents at Little Bear’s school and having to tell them of our loss, so I got in touch with one of the mothers who is very warm and extroverted.  I figured I could count on her to be kind and perhaps share with others what had happened. 

It was awkward: I had to look up her email and then email to ask if I had the correct address and if she minded me emailing her. She responded immediately and so I wrote to her and told her about the miscarriage.  She wrote back and said she had experienced a similar loss, offering to meet and talk with me in the next few days. 

I was stunned by her generosity and vulnerability.  She left her two children with her husband and showed up with flowers.  I will never forget that meeting. 


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s