As I debated whether or not to turn on the light in the bathroom in the middle of the night, it  hit me with absolute certainty that I can never be pregnant again. To spend 9 months, or 6 weeks, or 5 1/2 months, wondering when I will see blood again? The memory of those feelings – of the bleeding –  makes my body want to crumble in on itself. I can’t do it.

*****

The magician chiropractor I see found a belief in the middle of my spine today that he wanted me to release. Turns out that’s where I was holding on to, It’s my fault that Benjamin died. We worked on it. I sobbed. My body told him I’d let it go. I’m not so sure.

It is my fault. Not in the traditional blaming sense. I didn’t actively do anything to cause it although I sometimes wonder if I could have done more to prevent it. I didn’t snort cocaine, have hypertension or get kicked in the stomach – all possible reasons for a placental abruption. I can forgive myself for the fact that I had a little coffee, didn’t get quite enough sleep, picked my daughter up and ate sugar occasionally.  Maybe if I’d seen my acupuncturist, or had more Reiki, or waited longer between miscarriage and pregnancy I would be 32 weeks and 1 day today. Maybe not.

But it’s my misshapen uterus that might have caused it. Or if you want to get all spiritual, there are a number of possible reasons for Benjamin’s death. It was my body that couldn’t carry him, therefore, I am somehow, at least partly, responsible. Otherwise I’d be nothing more than a victim in this situation and I refuse to feel that way. The whole things sucks and at the same time, this has been one of the most beautiful, empowering, life-changing experiences. Somehow I have to make room for both of those to be okay.

*****

October 1st.

How did I get here?

November 25th is looming large.

We will have a new home by then. We’ll go away for a few days. We will stay at a hotel so I can spend Thanksgiving in bed and tell housekeeping, Not today, if I want to. We can say goodbye to Ben’s ashes if that feels right and eat $38 ‘smores by the Ritz-Carlton fire pit if that sounds fun. We can do whatever we want, anything we want, except hold our son in our arms again.

I was gifted yesterday with so many things – intense fear and the ability to remember to open my heart to love in the midst of it, overwhelming grief and the knowledge that this is exactly the path I need to be on, and a beautiful memorial ceremony for Ben, performed by Karen Maezen Miller in her backyard.

In Hand Wash Cold, she writes about the Jizo statue that was placed long ago in the Japanese garden that surrounds her home.

A Jizo is a monk with the face of a child. The statue symbolizes kindness and protection, but like all Buddhist imagery, it doesn’t represent anything outside of yourself….Jizo is said to guard the safe passage of travelers in life and death, and particularly women and children. In the way that we are all travelers, and all children we are each Jizo as well, capable of bringing care and consciousness to every step. – Karen Maezen Miller

She then mentions a couple whose baby was given a terminal diagnosis at the end of pregnancy. They birthed him and held him as he died. They came to her and she invited them to the Jizo. When I wrote about reading Hand Wash Cold I had no idea that would bring Karen directly to me. She offered to say a ceremony for him, then invited me to come say one with her. On the two month anniversary of his death, I celebrated Benjamin’s short life with her, with Jizo, with myself.

After placing the objects I had brought with me – an orchid, a letter and painting from me, a note from his sister, a remembrance of his life painted by another BLM, and of course, his daddy’s love – we lit incense and chanted the ceremony. Maezen then left me to be on my own for as long as I wanted.

I cried. I talked to Ben. I looked around me at the garden. It is a place of great aliveness and great peace. Dragonflies danced above the ponds, fish swam quietly beneath the surface, sun shone through the leaves on the massive trees above me. I breathed deeply and that breath filled me with a sense of rightness. Despite the sadness, the loss, the physical and emotional healing that needs to happen, everything is as it needs to be. I held the moment close, wrapped myself in it so I can remember its warmth when the fear takes hold again. Then I stood and Maezen presented me with my practice for the next seven days.

We talked for a while, in her beautiful garden. She invited me back anytime, with anyone. When the time was right, I left, a long hug goodbye holding me well after I’d driven away.

I am not a Buddhist. I know little about Zen. What I do recognize is peace, welcome, home, an open mind and heart, love. Karen Maezen and the space she is caretaker of are all of those and more.

I haven’t looked at Ben’s pictures in about a month. In preparation for tomorrow, the two month anniversary of his death, I made a copy of one of them.

Here it is.

Here he is.

My son.

Tonight I choose to remember that grief happens because we love deeply, and love is always worth whatever travels in its path.

*****

I am working with a chiropractor who uses applied kinesiology. I first saw him the day I went into the hospital that last time, when Benjamin died. He blows my mind. Apparently almost every part of me is under-functioning – my brain, my large intestine, small intestine, pancreas…but he’s hopeful we can bring it all back quickly.

Today I told him that my left hip has been cramping. After I sit for a while, I can’t put weight on my left leg when I stand. He checked it out and said I was holding guilt there for not being able to carry Ben to full term. (There?) Then he found more emotion in my diaphragm and specifically wanted to know what I felt guilty about at age 17. (I could give you a list). Apparently it had to do with my first boyfriend, and as we processed the images I was seeing, my body physically changed. It’s some kind of crazy magic and the man is a wizard. I am grateful for it. I will take all the healing I can get.

*****

In two days, it will be two months since Ben died.