Mothers of angels
mothers of rainbows
mothers of butterflies
mothers of sorrow…
Last week felt stressful for several reasons, but this week we turned some kind of corner and I’m in a great mood, feeling really optimistic, excited, hopeful and pleased. So, it is difficult to switch gears and write a post about grief today. I challenged myself to do a post a day during the 30 Days of Brigid course though and I’m committed to seeing it through. It has been a really beautiful experience to look around me each day and find something to photograph in response to the prompt and I often find myself thinking about the lessons throughout the day as I go about my other tasks. Today, on the way back from feeding the chickens, feeling light and optimistic, my eyes were drawn through the woods to the Jizo sculpture beneath the tree where we buried our third baby five years ago. As I wrote in the post I linked to above, I thought the rawness of this experience would never fade and now I have to consciously reach back in time to touch that onslaught of emotion and experience. I thought about how cold, isolating, and lonely grief feels and then how you gradually peek your way back up from below the surface, but it remains a part of you forever, woven into the fabric of your life’s story. The wheel continues to turn. When I drummed in the woods today, the lines from the little poem-song I quote above came floating back to my mind and I sang them again, in memory and respect.
The top selling item in our etsy shop is unfortunately our miscarriage memorial charms. We don’t actually make any money from these, but instead I see them as an outreach effort or a “ministry” of sorts. Each time we sell one, I know it represents the heartache and fresh grief of another and I pause to hold the person and their experience in my heart. I mail them away with respect, love, and tenderness for the intense feelings and experiences they represent and also in the hope that these raw feelings will soften with time and care.