It has been a long sadness. It took me a while to recognize that--that the sunrises and the sunsets were tinged not only with the gentle clear and yellow light, and the royal purple, and the bold and cheerful peaches and pinks… but also with a white grief, pale and retiring.
Her name would have been Indigo. At least, I think of her as a she… although she might have been a tumbling boychild.
She sailed out of my keeping very very close to the end of the first trimester. It’s hard to explain the invisible grief of a miscarriage… the child that was cradled in your body suddenly gone. Never seen. Never heard. Never really quite real. But still lost. Still gone. Still missed.
Two days after I lost her, a mockingbird perched outside my bedroom window, and sang to me through the night. Bold and brave and not quite sane, but joyous. It was the love of the universe pouring out and over me, like a river. Comforting. Singing hope through the night that there would be joy again. “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” God couldn’t have done better if He had sent a host of angels to sing comfort to me.
A few months after I lost her, I told a friend who had also lost a baby that my heart just didn’t seem to be in things anymore. She was kind, and gave good advice: “Give yourself time.” So I allowed myself time. I allowed myself a spirit-winter, and a time to hide.
Recently, I caught myself relishing a thought: “There’s things to do.” I was actually relishing and looking forward to Work and Doing and Making With the Hands. It feels good. Spring is here, and the Warm Rain, and it’s time to be Up and Doing again. It feels good to feel strong and eager and hopeful again. And the mockingbird sings Joy.
Child of the mist and of the rose
Child of grass
Lunatic brave throat of the mockingbird--
Dreaming wildsong, whispering.
O darling twilight child,
I saw you dance last night,
Your feet wet with dew...
Dancing with the fireflies--
Glimmering like the stars.