The Sacred Wrong

I wanted to write a post about how I feel better.  About how now that I have birthed a breathing, screaming rainbow baby boy, things feel different.  About how when I look back on this pregnancy, I can see that I was an anxious, crazy, hormonal, emotional, grieving mess.  That I was not myself. That I am so relieved to no longer be living in a place of such deep anxiety.

I wanted to write about how I am myself again, but that it is a new self than one year ago, before my daughter died.  About how I feel okay with that.  Glad, even.

But I've come to know many other mothers who have also had babies die, and I still read their stories.  And here's the thing -- I feel better, there has been healing . . . but there is a missing part.  An aching hole in my heart, and in the universe.  It's a hole of absence -- and not just of my daughter, but of all the daughters and all the sons that just barely were and now aren't in this world.  A hole of gasping grief for those babies that are gone.

I am feeling that emptiness today.  I am not even necessarily expressly sad, but there is a yearning within me, a sort of communal keening of my heart in tune with all the other hearts that have lost.

If I didn't believe in God before, death would make me believe.  Because there is nothing more unnatural, nothing more sacredly wrong feeling, than death.

That is what I am feeling today, I think -- the vacuum of the sweet and beautiful souls taken by the ugliness of death.  Just as I was writing this post, I learned of yet one more woman who has recently experienced the trauma of babyloss, the hurt that just shouldn't be.  

We are living in a beautiful world broken  by ugliness and death.  I have become much more sensitive to, much more aware of that brokenness since becoming a bereaved mother. How could I never before see how much pain people and animals are carrying? And while I do have hope, a very real and living hope in a vibrant, dynamic, and loving God . . . the void created by that pain, and especially by my daughter's death, still yawns wide within me.

This will never feel okay.

on Eve's first birthday

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