The note on my calendar yesterday said You Create Miracles. My first reaction was to dismiss this  – dismiss myself – with a shake of the head and a wry smile. Then I stopped. Yes. Yes, I do create miracles. I’ve given birth to two.

*****

I’ve been trying to avoid using the bathroom while Ada was present but today, that proved impossible. I was concerned about her reaction to seeing blood again. I explained a period as simply as I could, and that it was different from the bleeding I had when I was pregnant with Ben. She seemed to accept it easily. She looked at me for a while as she chomped on her peanut butter sandwich.

My baby brother isn’t in your tummy anymore.

No he isn’t.

Maybe we’ll grow another one some day. Maybe not in your tummy, maybe in somebody else’s.

Maybe sweetheart. We’ll see.

*****

I have so many things to say and no words to say them with tonight.

Instead, I will share links to other words I found today. Words that moved  me, found via Patti Digh.

Who Died? by Mason Rizzo

Julia Cho on helping her daughter grieve. You can click through to her blog to read more of her writing as she struggles to survive the death of her husband and parent their toddler.

Life goes on. Grief changes everything.

Today is the first day since I got home from the hospital that there isn’t a sympathy card in the mail. This makes my heart ache.

*****

My heart aches for many reasons today. I miss my husband. I miss my friends. I miss my life before all of this pain.

I miss being pregnant, though not the blood or the fear. I miss the hopes and dreams, the questions, the doubts, the curiosity and wonder, the looking-forward-to, the little flutters inside that feel like butterflies and mean new life. I miss wondering how I’m going to handle two children and still do the things I’m learning to do to take care of myself. I miss the glow.

I look at myself in the mirror and am shocked by the bags under my eyes, the remnants of tears, the pale skin and gray hairs. I remember the fatigue of a newborn and the serene joyousness of being a new mama. I look nothing like that now. I feel huge and still look so pregnant. Without the advantage of breastfeeding to lose weight I will have to work hard to lose every pound that went on so easily. I look forward to finding joyful ways to do it. Ways that help me love my life – yoga, dance, hula hooping, walks on the beach. Yesterday I made it – slowly – to the grocery store. Four blocks round trip. I am healing quickly, just not quickly enough.

*****

I feel isolated today, alone, sad. I know there are many people thinking of me. I know all I need to do is pick up the phone, send an email, reach out. Today the ache makes those seem like impossible tasks. The tears are stuck in my throat.

*****

The phone rang as I finished that sentence. It’s amazing what a few moments of connection with a friend can do. As deep as it is, my sadness is…what’s the right word? tempered? balanced? by my gratitude.

The tears are welling. Please excuse me while I cry.

Support sometimes comes from the most unexpected places.

Today I got a call from a woman who was in my pregnancy support group. I loved the group and I was drawn to Nicole in particular, although all of the women were fantastic, connected, caring people. I knew they had all been told the news and I didn’t expect to hear from any of them – not because they don’t care or aren’t thinking of me, but because they are all pregnant, most of them for the first time, and their sensitivity to this kind of tragedy is heightened.

We had a beautiful conversation. Whether we speak again or not, I felt so supported by her in those moments and for that I am incredibly grateful.

I also got the warmest hug and offer of help from a local business owner. The last time I was in I talked for a long time with he and his wife about their son’s birth. The tears in his eyes when I told him about Benjamin were genuine. I continue to be blown away by this community we have found, this place we have decided to call home. I know people are good everywhere – they seem to be extra fantastic here.

*****

Holding Ada tonight as she drifted off to sleep, I was so grateful for the way we parent, for the chance to hold her close every night and sing to her, to know that she feels incredibly well loved and safe.

I wish I’d had the chance to do the same with Benjamin.

I hope that one day, we will bring another child into our family, whose sleeping body will lay cuddled up and relaxed in my arms as I sing softly into his ear.

The river it is flowing, flowing and flowing

The river it is flowing, back to the sea

Mother Earth carry me, your child I will always be

Mother Earth carry me, back to the sea

When she heard that Benjamin died, one of the amazing mamas here in Ventura ordered us a book called Tear Soup. It’s a lovely, gentle story about dealing with grief, with some helpful “cooking tips” at the end.

Here are a few tips that are resonating with me today:

* Grief is both physically and emotionally exhausting. It is also irrational and unpredictable and can shake your very foundation. (Irrational? Really? Me?)

* The object of grieving is not to get over the loss or recover from the loss but to get through the loss. (While holding on to a blue and yellow baby blanket like it’s my life line.)

* Over the years you will look back and discover that this grief keeps teaching you new things about life. Your understanding of life will just keep going deeper. (Though it’s hard to see the forest for the trees right now, this I believe with my whole heart.)

* Grief work takes time. Much longer than anyone wants it to. (Sigh)

I am grateful to have some time to myself today. I finally started to make my own Tear Soup.

*****

I looked into support groups this afternoon and came to the conclusion that since one of my irrational fears is that Ada will die, I don’t think I want to attend a group full of parents whose children have died.  The last thing I need are more potentially terrifying scenarios running through my head. I did realize last night though as I lay awake in the dark, that if I can open myself up to the fear, it leads me straight to grief and then I crack open enough to let the light in, just a little. Enough to close my eyes and sleep.

*****

In the last year, life has brought me new friends who have dealt with grief and birth trauma on both a personal and professional level. I don’t believe in coincidences. Perhaps it’s time to pick up the phone.