Stillness, one year later

It seems very strange to write this.  It's been one year since we lost Juliette.  Tomorrow is the day we found out her heart had stopped.  Saturday will be one year since I delivered her at 9 am on November 17, 2011. I learned a new term this week, the death of a baby after 20 weeks is called 'stillbirth'.  The term couldn't be more appropriate.  I remember everything being very still once I delivered her.  The side of the hospital we stayed on was still, the nurses, Sam, and even myself.  We knew there would be no cry that came once I pushed her tiny body out.  At that moment, in the stillness, all I wanted was time.  Sometimes I would give my right arm to have those 8 hours back with her and make them last that much longer.

I think over the past year I cried out for....understanding, compassion and support.   My answers?  I will never understand, compassion comes in many different forms and getting through this takes a village.  I needed time to grieve, and time to adjust to the gaping hole in our family, in my heart, left by the death of Juliette.

It seems odd to write that in all of this there has been tremendous blessings.  I have seen that on the other side of suffering, blessings are revealed.  That doesn't make the pain easier, and as I continue to move through the grieving process with a willingness to be open to myself and God, I have become more aware of the blessings.  The losses and the grief that we bear are the means through which we grow more fully into our true selves and into God.  Today, this week, I can honestly say that I embrace my entire life with more love and gratitude.  To embrace ourselves with love in the midst of life’s suffering is to heal the heart.  I still cry over Juliette and the loss but my tears are not just about pain but also about intense love.  Love of her and love that has been woven in my lives through friends and family that have walked me through a very difficult year.

I am not sure when it happened but somewhere in this journey I started listening to things deep inside me, and when I became willing to the world of memories and feelings that exists in my depths, I started to have the capacity with God's love to heal what is wounded and understand that this particular wound will never be completely healed.

I write this to ask for just a few more prayers and love sent our way over the next few days.  Tomorrow will be hard.  Her heart stopped, there was nothing we could do.  Saturday will be hard.  That day was supposed to be different for us.  Delivery wasn't supposed to end in stillness.  Whatever it is that you do, send it our way this week, I will take any of that.