God Bless The Child
Trigger warning:
a vivid description of miscarriage
God Bless The child who decided to stay in heaven.
The child who decided to bless the earth.
The child who came, saw, and returned.
The child who spoke through utero, “Mommy, I'll come back later when you feel better.”
I'd never imagined in any amount of space or time that I would experience a miscarriage. Certainly not the day after; actually, I don't want to talk about supreme courts and laws. Yet most certainly not a few days before mothers day.
Throughout the years, so many women had approached me to talk about their miscarriages and what I thought was causing them. I was always halfway confused as to why that question so frequently came my way, as I had never personally experienced it at the time. Yet, I knew they were aware of my intuitive knowing and how I use it in my art, work, and life, even sometimes to my detriment.
I had always assumed that it was a product of thought and that if a baby didn't feel the parents or environment or circumstances were right or ready for them, they'd come back when it was. POV: If two people were not truly happy with their relationship and didn't fully know how to proceed and often met in disharmony, then a baby may choose to come back at a better time, maybe. Since we are all flesh and spirit, perhaps the spirit decides to part from the fetus' flesh and return to heaven until a later date. Maybe.
Almost 20 months into my first postpartum period, I've been struggling mentally and spiritually for some time, from the lessons of life to the circumstances that come with free will, to adjusting to motherhood, being someone's partner and co-parent, while working to maintain a sense of self, peace of mind, and grip on my identity and passion for life. It's been hard, and I've had more sad days than happy ones. Part of me feels there is a doctor out there waiting on the opportunity to diagnose what I'm going through, yet I'll still have to come back to my life, and they'll go onto theirs. There's no community in that.
Community is something that feels foreign most days—like the day after miscarrying, exhausted, waiting on my mom, who is my daughter’s only consistent sitter, to come over after leaving her job, feeling very weird about needing support so badly yet not knowing how to ask or who and how to even speak about what I just experienced. It's even more challenging because people know that my co-parent and I’s relationship has been very rocky. Empathy for miscarriages only seems appropriate if you're married and trying for a baby or something more “socially acceptable.” There's so much shame, grief, guilt, and pure sadness behind not knowing how to ask that I allowed myself to sink even deeper into a pit while my daughter ate her lunch, and I drank hot tea to calm my womb and wandered off into my mind.
A community should be available to show up through intuitive nature and spirit.
If my daughter's uncle and my neighbor hadn't been outside when they had, no one would've known I was in the bathroom crying to God, losing blood and iron, and needing dire help. If he hadn't walked in when he had, my daughter would've had to witness her mother go through a significant amount of trauma that her 1-year-old self was just too joyous to deserve.
She's so God-sent too. There was a point where I needed a pad but couldn't move. I asked her, “Can you please get mommy a pad. The thing you were playing with, can you bring that to mommy please, baby?” She went off and came back less than a minute later with three pads, and I cried relief and gratitude for such a brilliant child. She sat down next to me on her training pot and tried to open one for me. We were, having our first lesson on pads at 19 months.
I owe her so much. She was my doula during such a horrific experience, and she stayed light the entire time. Offering hugs and “I love yous” and gathering my needs and breastfeeding to help regulate the flow of what had to pass through my body. I am beyond grateful to God for Yariel.
I am beyond grateful to God for grace and mercy and being ever-present.
There was a time when the pain was so excruciating that I had no choice but to call on God for help. “GOD, please, I want to live. Please lift this pain off of me. God, please, help me through the pain.” And it was, just like that. For a moment, of course, because I was still passing blood clots, yet the simple proof that God is real.
God, Bless the child that is a living witness to your power.
I cannot neglect to mention that I did reach out to one birth-working sister who came to me as soon as she could, Aisaba, with herbs and soup and cleansing tools. Another loved one, Jordan, who reached out to me in a pleasant time, was able to hold space, wash dishes, and feed Yariel some soup.
Crazy enough, right before the miscarriage began, I was about to order food and bring Yariel to see her grandparents and have some fun in the pool. Another sister, Asia, texted me to ask if I could pick her up food from the same place I was already going to, as she was having car trouble. We were on our way out the door; then, suddenly, I was going in circles. My body told me to sit down before the pain came, but I didn't listen quickly enough. The next thing I knew, I couldn't move, and my daughter asked if ‘mommy’ was okay.
Asia’s car started working, and she was able to bring the food to me instead, which I again thanked God. The mango hibiscus juice came in handy when I was in the bathroom, freezing, as I could feel my iron levels drop. God.
Even as the blood clots (or sacs, I later learned), two the size of grapefruits, passed through me, I had my mind on God and wondered if I had twin fetuses inside of me. I was so confused and scared and numb yet in so much pain. I knew that the stress, and worries, and fears that I allowed taking over me from my relationship, life, work, finances, and the future (if I was to give birth to another baby) created an unhealthy environment for a baby or babies to grow in, unlike the healthy one that Yariel thrived in. All of my babies deserve excellent health, wealth, harmony, and abundance. I allowed my lows to make me forget to embody that, so I missed the chance to carry new life again.
I'm sadder for me than them.
God is blessing the child who chooses to return and stay in heaven. I'm still here, healing.
God, bless me too.
Bless all mothers who are grieving and mourning their children and parts of themselves that they may never feel again.
May we remember your will is perfect, God.
I hope that this offered resonance to someone on a holiday that is completely disrespectful and deserves to be recreated to an everyday and every hour blessing.
God, bless the closest creator next to you.
Bless the mamas who endure.
Here’s a musical offering for those who may be grieving, whatever it may be:
Good Grief enjoy and breathe <3
