In Every Season

"Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them." - Leo Tolstoy

In the time I began writing this blog, I have been touched & saddened to know the amount of women I know who have suffered a miscarriage. Our lives don't connect on a daily basis, other than a quick encounter on Facebook, as we watch each other's lives unfold. I have been awed & humbled at the depth that has been shared because I shared my grief & pain. I do not feel worthy of carrying others burdens, but I certainly feel honored to be told such things in confidence. 

I have people ask frequently how long I grieved or what to expect in their time of grieving their loss. The answer is that there is no answer. You can expect to feel deeply. You can expect waves of emotion to hit you like a rogue wave every once in a while. You can be standing on stage at church, watch your friend walk in with her round belly, & suddenly feel like your legs are going to give out. 

Depending on who are you in your daily life, who you are in your thought life & who you are behind closed doors, is who you can expect to be in moments like these. I'm an extrovert. I write when I feel strongly. I externally process. So, when tragedy strikes, I do my best processing in the dark room of our office with a little Sia on in the background (which is what is currently playing) & the blinking cursor flying across the page. 

You can also expect that your spouse will process the opposite of you. For the mamas, you feel connected the second that pink line begins to appear. This isn't the case for men. So, don't push. They won't feel the depth of this. Maybe there are exceptions to this rule, but I can think of only one man I know who took it harder than his wife. 

I also have people tell me that they feel condemned or condescended to by others about the process of grieving. Just typing that sentence made me feel angry. How dare anyone, whether closely connected or some random ass person on the street, make you feel any differently than you do? How dare we put time limits or restraints on other's pain or grief, when we have NEVER been in their position? There is a time to mourn & a time to dance. That time is relative to each person. Some grieve a short time, they process quickly, accept the reality that their baby was not meant for this world. That's their prerogative. Others take longer to process, struggle to understand the greater picture & can't imagine how this ended up being their journey & their story. Both ways are correct. There is no wrong answer when it comes to grief. 

The greatest revelation to me in the last 3 years is in knowing how so not alone we are. Nearly every woman I have talked to privately about miscarriage & loss tells me how terribly alone they feel. I know that aloneness. Laying in that hospital bed, no one can comfort you really. Coming home from the hospital, knowing that you are no longer full of your baby's life is one of the loneliest moments. But how much better would the world be if we took our experiences & comforted, sent flowers, sent cards, offered deep, loving words to those we know who are brokenhearted? 

Could you touch someone with your personal story of loss? Could you in some way show them that they aren't alone? Are you willing to share your story? Are you brave enough to guest blog? Submit your stories & I'll pick 2 stories to share. 

a.