Piper Lynn

 As I began going down a dark, uncertain path of my grief journey and was contemplating leaving my job, a family member asked me, “Claire, do you think that you might have too high of an expectation of others[in your healing process]?”. Great question. I had returned to work 6 weeks after losing Piper half-way through our pregnancy and I was hurting, depressed and I was angry at a lot of people. First, it was my doctor, then society, then other happy pregnant people, and now my village of co-workers and friends. I just couldn’t believe that I would be subject to insensitive people in such an awful and raw time in my life. I had been told by others in the loss community that people would say insensitive things, I was told that people wouldn’t know what to say and would be more likely to be silent. I knew about the stigma around pregnancy and infant loss. But, I hadn’t  believed it all until going back to work, wow, it REALLY EXISTED. It exists because in the minds of most, well-intentio

I want to know, are you not here because of me? Did you think I wasn't ready? Are you disappointed, hurt, mad? Or do you believe in me, that I can do something with your life? I am selfish and want to hold you, knowing I never can.  I am sorry if I caused you to leave the world. Or is this your plan?  How do I know you wanted this and how do I make sure to carry it out right.  I need to know that you feel my heart opening to loving you.  I need to know how to be there for you  I need to know you are ok.  I just want to tell you I love you. 

Staring blankly. Thinking clouded. Nowhere to be, but nothing to do. I am scared. Chest heavy.  Eyes drowsy. I am going somewhere, Nowhere to be known. I am leaving somewhere, I don't understand. Thoughts unable to stop, like bleeding from an unopened, uncared for wound.  My scream is silent.  My world isn't listening.

The world sees us through a black and white lense allowing them comfort. They have reasons, meaning,blame,ideas about our loss. It isolates me.  It dehumanizes you. It divides us. Our experience does not fit into their box, made up of only two tones. We are full of colors. Our feelings Our hurt Our dreams My tears are mine, created within me, by me, for me. You may see them, but you may not offer to wipe them or stop them. You may not judge the why or when. However, You may love me. You may love my child.

You look weathered. Your face sunken and sagging. Your heart shriveled. You reach towards me, barely held back by the invisible rope made of what is left of your values and morals.  I hold you in my hands cupped together, barely holding all the loose pieces.  Some mean slowly being poured into my heart against my will, the rest waiting to be released.  You are the hate that creates the hurt.  

I see a tree and my arms reach for it-driven by my maternal love and empty arms. Reaching for all, small,helpless, quiet, living beings. My body full of new maternal love searching for a place to put it, let it go.  Searching for that soft, wet, heavy feeling I wanted to have with you, the day your life was placed on my chest. Screaming and needy. I am empty and aching. I am NOWHERE.  

What Defines Birth?: The reality and confusion of miscarriage.    A physical being emerges. Eyes, ears, nose, toes. Heart beating or heart stopped.  Society's need to define life and death in specific terms is a pathetic attempt to minimize the hurt experienced after loss. The need to medically define life, death, and viable, can easily deny women the privelage of being able to acknowledge the birth of their child. Unless of course the physical being is breathing and living as if garunteeing that life is permanent and then only worthy of celebration...when neither are indeed the truth.  The truth is that breathing life is not forever, and breathing life is not the only reason to celebrate.  Miscarriage by basic definition is when a woman loses her baby before 20 weeks gestation. By real,maternal definition it is when a woman looses her hopes, dreams and identity. The process of a miscarriage can occur at home, in the hospital. The reality is that the process is painful, traumatic,

Day 75 Di de los Angelitos The day I realized I may not be ok.  The darkness and beauty.  Fear lurks, embarrassment hides. Clouds have covered me, but they now part, shining light on the truth.  The water flows The blossoms grow The air changes The world orbits I am still. Scared, lonely, overwhelmed.  Where shock was, the calm before the storm, deep sadness now exists, the eye of the storm. I feel sick. dirty. lonely. The ground I feel under my feet is no longer reassuring and trustworthy. The tree branches, a possibly enemy. A butterfly a possibly symbol I may have missed.  The wind more powerful than I am, capable of sweeping me off my feet.  I just need shelter. Warm, safe shelter.