Blessed be the longing that brought you here

and that quickens your soul with wonder.

May you succumb to the danger of growth.

May you receive great encouragement when new frontiers beckon.

May you respond to the call of your gift

and find the courage to follow its path.

May there be kindness in your gaze when you look within.

May you know tender shelter and healing blessing

when you are called to stand in the place of pain.

May your outer dignity mirror an inner dignity of the soul.

May you become the gracious and passionate subject of your own life.

– John O’Donohue, Irishman

I found this recently in the packing and sorting, ripped from a wedding program several years ago. A scrap of paper that called to me then and reappears now, at the time I most need its blessing.

I’ve been thinking about legacy lately. I read what Chris Guillebeau wrote last month and it’s been hanging out in the fog, rearing its head on occasion and adding to my questions about who I am and what I want to contribute to the world.

Many baby lost mamas find that after their child dies, they want to find a greater purpose and a way to honor baby’s too-brief life. Some start businesses creating memorial jewelry or keepsakes for other BLM’s. Some write books, launch websites like Faces of Loss, Faces of Hope or organize and fundraise to help new parents starting this journey of grief. Writing about Benjamin is part of my journey of remembering and honoring his life, and I’d like to do something more.

There will be no Christmas gifts or birthday presents for my son but I would like to begin a tradition of giving. Every  year on Christmas and his birthday (do I call it birthday? anniversary of his death?) I have decided to give a gift in his name. I haven’t made a final decision where the money will go this year so please, if you have an opinion on the list below, weigh in – gently.

The following organizations are dedicated to helping women and children in various parts of the world. I invite you to visit their websites and learn more about what all of us can do – and if you haven’t read Half the Sky yet, do that too.

Save the Children

Edna Adan Maternity Hospital in Somaliland.

Fistula Foundation supporting the Addis Ababa Fistula Hospital in Ethiopia.

Heal Africa in Goma, Congo

White Ribbon Alliance for Safe Motherhood

I’m finally going to set up my account at www.kiva.org too. There are many paths to legacy. It’s time to walk a few more.

I love you Ben. Thank you for helping me be the best mama – the best person – I can be.

Today we dropped off baby and maternity items for the big consignment sale. The hardest thing to part with was my Moby wrap. I’m not sure why. Perhaps because I used it carry Ada close to my heart for the first months of her life. It’s the only item I won’t donate if it doesn’t sell. My logical brain tells me another will appear if I need it. My heart cracks open, reaching for it, pleading to have it back.

*****

My neck has been bothering me for several weeks now. This is a new and strange experience. It’s the only time the magician’s fingers seem to have failed. Today he found grief there. I mentioned my due date was next week. Ah, he said, as he put me in position and rubbed the pain away. If only it were that easy.

Then we moved on to my digestive system, which isn’t processing food properly…again. He looked at me as he pushed down on my arm, A stubbornly held belief. I shook my head, Not again. We found it eventually – another variation on the same tune. He released it, then we found another. Another release. He told me to take something to help my body as I continue to let go of the beliefs. How do I do that?, I asked. It will keep percolating and in the meantime, you need to say some affirmations. You need to give yourself a break.

Yeah, I do. I thought I was. Apparently all the work I’ve done is only scratching the surface of what my body is capable of holding on to. Each layer that is peeled back exposes the next wound. My feelings of unworthiness run so deep they’re putrefying my food (his words. yummy).

No wonder we are a disease ridden population. We are taught to consume our feelings away. We eat, drink, shop, sleep, and “pleasure” ourselves into numbness then wonder at our collective dysfunction. We are taught shame at an early age – shame for our bodies, our voices, our playful spirits, our innate pleasures. We are told to grow up, sit down, behave. Don’t think too highly of yourself, it’s bad manners. You are not skinny/pretty/handsome/smart/rich/nice/good enough and never will be. Society tells us these things even if our families don’t and our bodies absorb them – they learn their lessons well. Mine was a very good student.

I don’t deserve…I’ll never catch up…it’s my fault…I can’t…

I am learning new lessons, compassionate lessons, lessons of love. My body is older, doesn’t learn as quickly, hangs on stubbornly to what’s familiar, what’s comfortable. But I sit, daily now, in meditation. And I pray, in my own way, and talk to my angels, my guides, my inner knowing self. We’re all working on it together and slowly, slowly, that dulled light is starting to shine again. Or maybe I’m just wearing glasses for the first time in my life.

Either way, I’m beginning to love what I see. I’m beginning to love me.

The sky lanterns I ordered came today. I wanted something to do on Ben’s due date. Something beautiful to send out into the world to help commemorate and celebrate his life. The lovely, talented and heartbroken Vera Kate posted this video on her blog and I fell in love. I won’t have thousands, but I will have something to send off into the sky.

Ada helped me open the packaging. She’s a big fan of using her scissors whenever possible. Her face lit up at the colorful paper and she asked what they were for. As I started to answer, my voice caught and tears spilled. She crawled into my lap and I pulled her close, explaining that had he lived, he was to be born next week and we will light the lanterns to celebrate the magnificence of his spirit and his too-short life.