I’ve been ruminating on death and rebirth and what it means to live fully with the robust knowledge of grief. With the robust knowledge that there is no tidy comfort of “it will be okay” - I mean, it IS okay, and always will be. This is reflected in the cycles of continuous life, with or without us. But there is no escaping the loss of those we love, the loss of our bodies in the end, the loss of people we once were, lovers, our children’s childhoods.
I lost my baby this past January at 28 weeks. I think in the whirlwind of grief and joy and birth I was disabused of a lot of fantasies I had about the “right” way to live. I think, in an Insta reality, I had thought there was some formula of how to eat, live, breathe, avoid that would lead to long life and good health. I think in losing a child, something that was so common to most of our female ancestors, I realized that there is no way to hack out of loss, illness, deterioration. I was initiated so fully and completely into maturity via this loss.
So I’m here now making sense, or rather realizing there is not always sense. Or reasons or rules. I realize my exquisite love for love and for my body - all that it offers me. The sun on my skin, the softness of my child’s kisses, the sweetness of being held by my husband in the morning. I think I fully realized in this that this is finite - this life in this body.
It’s hard to explain. I noticed something though. After my baby was born and then died, there was a centurion ice storm that took out our power for 10 days. Many tress were fatally damaged. My favorite very old oak fell over completely. But I noticed once spring came that even the branches that had completely detached from their tree would still bloom. I don’t know why I found it so gut wrenching but there was something about it.
I’ve been ruminating on death and rebirth and what it means to live fully with the robust knowledge of grief. With the robust knowledge that there is no tidy comfort of “it will be okay” - I mean, it IS okay, and always will be. This is reflected in the cycles of continuous life, with or without us. But there is no escaping the loss of those we love, the loss of our bodies in the end, the loss of people we once were, lovers, our children’s childhoods.
I lost my baby this past January at 28 weeks. I think in the whirlwind of grief and joy and birth I was disabused of a lot of fantasies I had about the “right” way to live. I think, in an Insta reality, I had thought there was some formula of how to eat, live, breathe, avoid that would lead to long life and good health. I think in losing a child, something that was so common to most of our female ancestors, I realized that there is no way to hack out of loss, illness, deterioration. I was initiated so fully and completely into maturity via this loss.
So I’m here now making sense, or rather realizing there is not always sense. Or reasons or rules. I realize my exquisite love for love and for my body - all that it offers me. The sun on my skin, the softness of my child’s kisses, the sweetness of being held by my husband in the morning. I think I fully realized in this that this is finite - this life in this body.
It’s hard to explain. I noticed something though. After my baby was born and then died, there was a centurion ice storm that took out our power for 10 days. Many tress were fatally damaged. My favorite very old oak fell over completely. But I noticed once spring came that even the branches that had completely detached from their tree would still bloom. I don’t know why I found it so gut wrenching but there was something about it.
Happy rebirth to you. I love all that you share.
yes, again and again and again.
All for Love.
thank you.
Happy All Things HER 🌷🪺