Monday, January 08, 2007

the shroud

today i stayed home. my first sick day in eight months. it was a good day to be at home. the morning started off with wind and i was able to appreciate the sounds it bore all around me: the house creaking a bit from impact, the scratch of small branches scuttling across the roof, chimes, the roar of the hawk's nest pine, all leafy trees jangling.

despite my ill feeling, i was able to move about the house and experience it in solitude, a rare delight.

i found myself staring with surprise at titles of books not yet cracked, while blowing dust off others i'd abandoned mid way. i purged old weekly newspapers and holiday catalogs, and wondered, does it signify middle age when your shopping becomes predominantly mail order? i commiserated with house plants who suffer ailing leaves. i had lengthy petting sessions with cats who respond with purest bliss.

i was able to appreciate daylight falling through windows, corners where things of significance are housed, cups, peeling paint, this old macintosh. i listened to songs that once stirred me. i picked up and touched things. i spent time on my bed staring out the window at a tree choked with ivy. i felt awakened.

all the while, the veil between life and death, lifted.

this weekend the package i found at the threshold held a life lesson. it has been delivered before. the gate to the moon is in my very home. the cats guard it like sentry. the life which passes, passes through all. its presence surrounds me. the blossoming heartbeat within me has found stillness. my body has refused to sustain it.

because the goddess insists i learn about miscarriage, i feel that in some way i must do something "productive" with the experience. perhaps i must aid, in some way, other women who suffer it. this the lesson i am learning as i journey through my fifth pregnancy loss. i am writing now, so candidly in this blog, which is mostly light hearted and about loving life, because i know too well the loneliness of miscarriage and that only through sharing will the lonely find some small degree of comfort.

so i begin here, now. to the left you will find links as i gather them. perhaps i will dedicate another blog to it. but for now this is my first step. may those who seek information, solace and support, find it. may i somehow be of help.


Anonymous said...

om mani padme hum

Molly said...

Zoe, sweetie. Thank you for so beautifully sharing your experience. I am so sorry for your loss.

Lots of hugs your way...

unaffiliated said...

I'm sorry for this loss of life and potential. My ritual for miscarriage is to knit a tiny hat. When it was for my own tiny boy who would never be I took the hat to the giant burr oak tree in Wurster Park and left it there, on the tree, asking the tree to help take care of his spirit with me.
He would have been 12 next month.
Take care of yourself, as you are, and I hope the healing and mourning goes well for you.
-Linda Diane

suzanne said...

oh, darling. my thoughts are with you. i am so sorry.

om mani padme hung.