The Hardest Birth, The Hardest Stay

Photo Credit: Unsplash Kostenlose Bilder

At certain times in our lives it is easier to remain where we are. Even if it’s in acute sorrow, prolonged pain, a toxic relationship, a dead end job bringing us no joy.

I use the word, easier, very cautiously because there is nothing that is easy about it. Yet, the paradox around it, is if a slight move of just one-percent which I have spoken about previously occurs, something can and may shift and open up.

Often in early bereavement, and I use that term loosely, because truly, for myself and many I have had the privilege of working with, the first three years or so are often a blur. My representative is who I sent out to do my day to day bidding. Not being wholly there, because it is too painful, raw, to be anywhere for long wearing no flesh.

What happens when we realize that to remain where we are is too costly? It becomes a nest we’ve outgrown, there are uncomfortable sticks poking and prodding. A life force greater than ourselves is beckoning us forth.

Babies can only remain within the darkness of the womb where so much growth has been happening for nine months. Even if not ready to leave quite yet, we are thrust out of our cocoon. Into an unknown existence where our lives are dependent solely upon the hands that catch us, our caregivers.

It was precisely nine months for me before I felt ready to meet with another mother who had lost a child. Isn’t that fascinating? My timeline did not register until it did. It was uniquely mine, and no one can ever prescribe or pretend to know how it will be for another.

I craved to witness another mother closely who had lost her son falling off a mountainside five years prior to mine. She had a job, was breathing, ordering coffee, making plans, smiling, teary too, desiring for me to share about Douglas as I asked her all about her beloved. What did she notice in her relationship with her husband? Were they okay? How about her surviving son? What did she notice about those puzzle pieces being rearranged so abruptly? Having a sibling, to suddenly becoming an only child. My copious list felt endless. Did she even have time to sip her coffee before it became cold or taste her baked treat? Probably not. Being beyond generous with her heart and time to offer me what she could. Her presence.  These are gifts that are tucked softly and gently within the creases and folds of my being. Heart tethers, life lines, moorings to hold onto that are desperately needed in loss when everything quakes beneath one’s feet.   

I could not stay within the womb a moment longer. I was wrinkly, shriveling up, I had utilized all the healing time that I could while within my protective cocoon. I had to dwell within it, and then it was time. A force greater than myself began contracting, undulating, pushing me to emerge once again.

I was ready.

Yet, what I needed, were those caregivers who could be present as constant reminders whispering it was worth it to be reborn. Because that is what learning how to live without our favorite person in our lives becomes. A two steps forward, one back, yet still a step further along, than how we began.

It becomes our own heroes journey. Without glancing back we trust we must emerge out into the world.

May there be hands and hearts to catch us. We do not have to do this alone. There are others who are imagining with us, because they are us.

“Dearest Joanie, river of water, river of tears, open to everything. Through fear and shadow, move with grace. I love you, peace to your heart.” ~ Sarah Blondin

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