Saturday, September 26, 2009

Joy Comes in the Morning

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.

Indigo child
Moon child
Meadow child

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.


Robin M. said...

Oh my Friend. My heart goes out to you. I'm glad that morning has broken for you again.

Cat Chapin-Bishop said...

I am sorry.

And glad that there is healing after the pain.


John Michael Keba said...

I am sorry for your winter. If you are feeling the Spring, then all shall indeed be well. Hold to that.

Mary Ellen said...

Such tenderness in your grieving. May you continue to heal and find peace and relief from suffering.

Hystery said...

I miscarried my first pregnancy. He would have been our Jonathan. The tree outside my window is his tree, a sapling around which my family stood crying in...what?...not remembrance but longing for the child we will always love but can never have. The tree is tall now as I'm sure he would have been. I have not stopped crying over this loss although the pain has mellowed over the years into a sense of presence and blessing. May God bless you and keep you. You are in my thoughts.

Shawna said...

Thank you everyone. Even when I was grieving acutely, I knew that things would get better... and that was a very comforting thought. Now that things are getting better, it's very good to be alive. (Poor Kevin sat down to read this blogpost without knowing what it was about, and got a bit throaty and said, "You're going to make me cry," which takes some doing for him. My apologies to anyone else who got a bit throaty... it felt good to write though!)

Hystery, thank you for sharing about your Jonathan. Yes, the grief isn't for the remembrance... it's for the promise that will remain always unfulfilled. I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers.

Michelle-ozark crafter said...

God bless you! My husband and I miscarried 4 wee ones. All very, very early but it hurts no less. My prayers, heart and thoughts are with you.

Rhonda Jean said...

Kevin sent me here to read and I'm so pleased I came. I'm sorry you lost Indigo. I can't imagine what that must feel like. {{Hugs}} You seem, both of you, to have such optimistic and friendly personalities. I will be back again to read more.

kevin roberts said...

She beats me to make me say those things.

Shawna said...

Michelle, thank you. Losing 4 babies would be very very difficult. You are in my prayers now, too.

Rhonda Jean, thank you. ((Hugs)) back to you too! Drop by anytime!

Kevin, I love you....