A Day for Everything…
National Taco Day. Pi Day. Earth Day. My personal favorite, National Donut Day.
And then there’s Pregnancy and Infant Loss Day. October 15th, as Facebook reminds me. Honestly, it’s a Day I’d rather not know about. But it’s a Day that I know a lot about.
It’s difficult to put into words what losing a baby is like— just like it’s hard to comfort someone who has just experienced a loss.
There are no words, just tears. There is frenetic working so you can bury it all under someone else’s problems.
There is watching hours of Food Network because you’re certain no show on there will trigger the next tsunami of tears. “because Guy Fieri makes me cry”...said no one ever.
There is blog-reading, Pinterest-pregnancy loss-quote-searching, endless-googling for answers. There are no satisfying ones.
Eventually, I think like all grief, it begins to dissipate a bit. The fog lifts just enough that you can see what’s in front of you. A loving family, wonderful friends, a hard-earned career. A roof over your head.
But like fog, it can roll in again. At any time. It can be so thick that you can’t see 10 steps ahead of you. You think....If I keep walking— I may just disappear and not come out. It’s disorienting, inconvenient, and exhausting. A path that was once clear becomes out of focus again.
So about this Day.
I hate that I know about it. But I’m glad it’s there.
It provides an emotional anchor. A reason to pause and grieve in the sun—and not the fog. And if we’re lucky; some time for gratitude.
This is my ode to the three souls we’ve lost. It’s the light I’m extending to the families who have the same PTSD moments that you can’t really ever forget. No flickering heartbeat on the screen, a flatline where there should be a rhythmic tick up and down.
Today is a reminder to breathe. To remember. The fog will lift. It always does.
The waiting room at my fertility clinic. It’s normally a pretty quiet place, so I spent a lot of time looking at the shoes.
What always struck me was that infertility doesn’t discriminate. There were expensive heels, casual sneakers, worn boots and sleek city flats— just as many different shoes as there are people.
If you or someone you know is struggling with infertility or has recently suffered loss— the Japanese practice of grieving with Jizo was a comfort to me.
I’ve linked a New York Times article, “The Japanese Art of Grieving a Miscarriage” that helped me process the trauma and sadness.
I took this picture in 2010 when I was visiting family in Japan. I didn’t know what these statues were or what the clothing represented … I just thought it was cute.
Little did I know what it really represented.
Rainbow baby
Photo by Audria Abney
Our happy ending… and deep, deep gratitude.
Photo by Heather Hackney