I have written this post twice now, then deleted it. I wrote it by hand once, then trashed it. Because, the truth is, there really aren’t words for the grief in this space. I didn’t record a podcast this week. Not because I have a cold from hell, which I do, but because this week marks the first REALLY BIG date in my stillbirth with our baby Oak. This Saturday would have been my due date and instead it’s a work day of putting together a trampoline and sewing patches on cub scout uniforms.
Everything about the podcast is meant to be truly authentic, not forced, not a job, just me sharing my heart with anyone willing to listen, but I’m not ready to share every dark corner of the day I delivered Oak. I will. It will come, but right now I can’t fake being cheerful this week. I can’t seem to think about anything else, it is completely consuming all of my thoughts and instead of fighting it and eventually resenting the podcast; I am
Holding Space for myself and my grief.
There was no urgency about the process of moving into our house by anyone but me. Now that I am sitting in my favorite chair, more unpacked than not, I now recognize that I was treating this unpack as if I was still 38 weeks pregnant. See, when you have a home birth, you are supposed to have your home ready to birth in by 36 weeks. I felt this overwhelming sense of needing to get into the house and get unpacked. Today, it became clear, that I knew I would need to hold this space this week, on Saturday. I knew that if all I could do on Saturday was cry, the house would be put together enough for the family to function in.
In a great effort of self-preservation I’m going to say something I HAVE NEVER IN MY LIFE said. The next few days I am off limits for your needs. I have always found great self worth in helping others, but I can’t. I am saving my mental and emotional energy for me. I’m not over committing myself, I’m not saying yes to anything that doesn’t feel exponentially better than whatever state I’m in and I am Holding My Space because I can’t hold my baby.
This weekend if you find yourself with a solitude moment or two join me silently in that space. I will feel you. I know I am deeply cared about and you are welcome to hold me and love me in that space, but please don’t reach out. Because you will ask how I am and I just am not. My fall equinox was supposed to bring me a baby. This month was supposed to complete our family. Everything about this September is different than it was intended to be and unfortunately I am now Holding this Space for my own grief.
Someday, in a book I imagine, the details of April 2019 will come to surface, but for now it’s very important to me that people understand that our baby wasn’t born of tissue and bones alone.
He looked just like his big brother Lux. So much so that you could almost see glimpses of his future freckle covered face. A cleft chin that each of our boys has had and a huge grin on his face. As I finish this, my wind chime is going crazy and I know I am completely surrounded by his spirit all the time.
Though, everyone tells me that the grieving changes and becomes more bearable, I don’t believe that there will ever be a day when I don’t look at our boys and see the space he should be holding amongst the group. So please, hold my mama heart in yours this weekend. Occasionally, I need to pull from other’s strength as well.
