Wednesday, 20 April 2011

The experience of misscarriage

Three years ago, in the blossom of Spring, my other little boy-to-be died. If he had lived, he would now be two and a half years old. He would be running after his sisters and no doubt, would be creating mischief with our neighbour's boy, who alas, at the moment is the only boy amongst the wild crowd of girls. And I don't know if our now-oh-so-fully present baby boy would have ever come to us had the first one not died. 

Here is what I wrote to Valentin three months after he ceased to be. 

My dear Valentin

I hold you close to me, close to my belly, close to my heart. I hug you and hold you – I don’t want to let you go. It’s now three months and nine days since you have left my body. My body is still expectant, a hollow cave, empty and confused – what role am I to play now that you are gone? I am lost for words.

You were such a delicate and beautiful creature, fully formed yet still very small, almost the size of my hand. You couldn’t live without me. What is that bond between you and me? How is it that one creature is so dependant on the nourishment of an other?  What nourishment did you give me?

Carrying you was a special time. I felt connected to the world, as if the umbilical cord that connected us was also connecting us to the universe. We were larger than life, as we know it. The miracle of growth within me in preparation of the world is a gift to carry.

Your conception was a special time. It was a creative time. You coincided with me allowing my creativity to reach others – to be seen and to be heard – together with your father. We were creative together, and you were created in the process. One day before my birthday. You were my creativity baby.

You responded to me calling you. From day one your presence was so powerful, other people sensed your miniscule existence. Whenever I put my sacred music on you fluttered, as if in recognition. When I started bleeding and called you you came swimming towards me saying ‘it’s ok, I’m here, I’m ok’.

And when it was time to let go, to surrender as your daddy said, I said to you “it’s ok, we can stop the battle now, it’s ok you can go now”. And you did. You slipped out of me, effortlessly. You even took a last breath and then you smiled. 

Despite your size and tender age you were such an individual already, so uniquely you. And there was something about you that we recognized. You were at peace, you looked as if you had fallen from the sky into a deep deep sleep. You were beautiful. And you looked like your daddy looks when he sleeps.

What have I lost? Why does it hurt so much? What hurts so much? The loss of a creation? The loss of being heard and seen? The invisibility of pain? The emptiness? The loneliness? Through you I felt connected -  I was connected. Without you, with the separation of the baby from the womb………

I struggle to be.
I struggle to meet.
I struggle.
It is Life on Earth.

Sunday, 17 April 2011

Treading the path of change

I am going crazy. I am struggling with anger, fury, desperation, exhaustion, fear, and jittering anxiety. I am thinking, ten million times over, I can't do this anymore and my suffering increases.  With every negative thought and attachment I feel more anxious and gloomy. Endless sleepless nights have been turning me into a monster and my bed has become a place where I am tortured out of my slumber with only one thought in my head - sleep baby sleep, please baby sleep, I NEED SLEEP! Oh how this process beats down my ego, my resistance, my illusions, my desire to be on top of things, organized, in control and calm and breezy. But alas, the part in me that wants to hang onto the state of no change and be in control is surprisingly tenacious....This state of affairs, made worse my raging premenstrual hormones,  was the prime thing that worried me when I was pregnant, how will I cope this time round with this monstrous process of sleeplessness, of being required all round when I am overtired? And whenever I feel I am on the floor the twin girls seem to want even more of me. There is much to learn. The challenge, and I know, the only salvation is staying in the moment. I also know that I am in the tunnel at the moment, the light at the end is glimmering, but very faintly, and it's not only a process to be overcome and then next! but a true path of change. I know it. I am treading on this path and I will reach another plane of consciousness of motherhood, of mothering, of taking care and LOVE. Not just for my children, my partner, my fellow human beings but most importantly for myself. The true seed of the anger lies herein. The absence of mothering towards myself. The harsh judgment and the expectation for perfection. Let the gentle hand, the caress and the soothing words come my way too, brush away my bruises and appease the fury, the sadness, and the pain. For I am baby, I am child, I am daughter, as much as my children are. And unless I learn to be as gentle towards myself as I am most of the times, as humanly possible, towards my children, I will not be at peace. May the Gods help me.