Parallel Universe
I have thought to myself so many
times over the past year, that I have entered into a parallel universe.
One where babies die and the world is
a cold and fearful place.
One where I huddle together with
other babyloss moms and where I cry and laugh and create and heal.
I didn’t ever think about this
universe before or imagine there was such as thing, a community of babyloss
parents, a subculture of society that has created a niche all on its own.
One with rituals and special dates
and symbols and common sayings. A place
of spirituality and hope. Hope for one
day understanding why it all happened this way.
I wish I never had to walk into this
universe. But now that I am here, I
thank our angels for showing the way.
An
excerpt from Still Life with Circles:
I had this imaginary conversation
with an imaginary person which is the conglomeration of a bunch of shit said to
me by different people over the years when I tell people what I write about and
do since my daughter died.
It must be sad to talk to so many grieving women.
No. It's not so sad.
But isn't your grief enough?
My grief doesn't feel as bad when I'm talking to someone else about their grief.
I don't understand.
I have compassion for other grieving people. Their grief might get ugly, or mean, or angry, but it never seems unwarranted. Eventually, I forgive myself for my own ugly grief emotions. I develop compassion for myself.
But still, why keep talking about babies dying? Surely, you have forgiven yourself already. How can you listen to sad stories over and over? It seems depressing.
Forgiveness is not a sudden landing. It is a journey. I have to keep forgiving myself. The stories aren't sad to me. They are just birth stories, parenting stories, living stories. The story I hear is not about death. It is about how to live. But some people I know take breaks from the babylost stories to get through times when they need to focus on their own grief or joy.
See, that is what I mean.
Sometimes when you feel unlovable, you have to love someone else. I feel like I need to give back, because someone wrote about grief when they had three years, someone started a website, and wrote and made poetry and I cried and I missed a stranger's baby.
What do you get out of it, though?
Everything.
It must be sad to talk to so many grieving women.
No. It's not so sad.
But isn't your grief enough?
My grief doesn't feel as bad when I'm talking to someone else about their grief.
I don't understand.
I have compassion for other grieving people. Their grief might get ugly, or mean, or angry, but it never seems unwarranted. Eventually, I forgive myself for my own ugly grief emotions. I develop compassion for myself.
But still, why keep talking about babies dying? Surely, you have forgiven yourself already. How can you listen to sad stories over and over? It seems depressing.
Forgiveness is not a sudden landing. It is a journey. I have to keep forgiving myself. The stories aren't sad to me. They are just birth stories, parenting stories, living stories. The story I hear is not about death. It is about how to live. But some people I know take breaks from the babylost stories to get through times when they need to focus on their own grief or joy.
See, that is what I mean.
Sometimes when you feel unlovable, you have to love someone else. I feel like I need to give back, because someone wrote about grief when they had three years, someone started a website, and wrote and made poetry and I cried and I missed a stranger's baby.
What do you get out of it, though?
Everything.
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