The following piece touches on the topics of miscarriage and grief.
The June sun was high with days long and bright, but from my point of view it was as if all the shades had been pulled down tight. The outside light was denied permission to enter by the thick, confusing darkness enveloping my heart. All the new, brilliant colors of summer seemed far out of reach with dimmed hues of beige standing in their place.
I had just endured two losses in a row – two babies who were supposed to be held in the safekeeping of my womb had not survived. Two separate and very painful goodbyes. While the first loss was terribly crushing, the second threatened to sweep away all the little bits of joy and hope that remained.
I spent days on end hidden in bed with my pillow soaking up a bountiful well of tears as if it were a sponge. And while my body began its healing process, my heart felt a million miles behind. I felt so small, forgotten, wounded; and was left wondering how I could ever begin to truly live again in the wake of such great pain.
As I continued to shield myself in my cocoon of grief I was awoken on a Tuesday afternoon to the sound of the doorbell piercing the silence. I shuffled to the window to see my dear friend and her mother waiting on the doorstep, irises and daisies filling their arms to overflowing. As I pulled open the door I was quickly wrapped in simple, kind words as they covered me in their familiar embrace. The two pots of flowers, they explained, were to be planted in honor of my two babies gone too soon. A colorful, living memory of the little lives they agreed to never forget.
The next day my husband gently wooed me out into the sunshine, and as I laid in the grass he began to till the soil of a new flowerbed. I stared up at the cobalt blue sky as he considerately planted the irises and daisies among dozens of the brightest flowers that could be found. Later, as he helped me to my feet to survey the finished garden, I felt something shift deep inside my heart – almost as if a new perspective was introducing itself.
As I stared at the bright petals and felt their softness with my fingertips I felt the healing power of kindness begin to intermingle with sadness and pierce the hard shell of grief. While I knew the fresh blooms themselves could neither change the past nor fix the hurt embedded deep in my soul, I could see so much loving kindness planted among them.
The flowers served as not only a tribute to my babies’ lives, but also as a representation of the caring support found in loved ones. They gently reminded me I wasn’t alone when standing face to face with difficulty, and perhaps hope and joy were not completely a lost cause. On that clear, sunny summer day I felt the simplicity and purity of kindness extended. I felt seen and loved. I knew I was not alone.
As time went on and months and years marched by, I experienced three additional miscarriages. While an ever expanding stretch of time separates those events from my current life, the sting can still be felt. Some days the pain is fresh and sharp, and other days the ache is dulled, edges worn smooth by the tides of time.
Through it all I have learned so many lessons. I have been taught to release control and find joy in the smallest of measures. I have learned to embrace the amazing, terrible and mundane parts of life equally and have seen how the dark moments of our lives can be the most fertile soil in which meaningful growth can take place. But most of all, I have learned how deeply important it is to love each other fully. I may not have made it through my crushing losses in one piece had it not been for the kindness of those who live life alongside me.
I often think back to that bold, beautiful garden of flowers and I am reminded to extend the same kindness to others. As a result of my loved ones bravely walking me through this pain, my eyes are opened more widely and I am sensitive to people’s needs with an increased awareness. While I know I cannot heal their difficult situations on my own, I can offer gentle, ever-present compassion.
The irises and daisies meant so much to my fragile heart, but it was kindness behind the gift that truly allowed for healing. Life will not always be perfectly easy and sunny skies may turn confusingly dim from time to time; however, those are the times friendship can illuminate the dark corners of our hurting souls. And in time, we can help each other to fully bloom once again.
