(For context, I realize that October is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Month, and the day is observed on October 15. I have had very mixed feelings about the social media comments I have seen and have struggled to articulate how I feel about this)
I will remember with you.
We can do it in October or randomly on a sunny day in June because the blue of the sky made your heart ache and the ache is too big to carry alone. Come and get me and I will remember with you, sit as heaviness weights us down, hold your arm as you take those steps forward. If it’s all you need, I will pause during my day, turn around, bow my head north in sympathy and remember.
I will remember the day of his birth, I will remember on his due date. I will pause the first fall afternoon when I smell leaves burning. A red haired child will make my breath to catch for a second. My heart will tug and I will follow it for a little bit. I have not forgotten.
Grief came to me in the cold of winter. My heart froze and my life stood still. There is a season for grief. In the bleak midwinter my babies died, my life changed. It is only a season though and seasons change. Spring came – late that year I will admit – but it came all the same because that’s the world we live in. Summer followed spring and I unthawed. I unwrapped the protective layers. Unhunched my shoulders.
When winter came again I understood what you do with grief. The next winter, when the snow fell, I reached my tongue out to catch the snowflakes. The northern lights came and I saw my children dance.
Like many of the bereaved, I have become a sort of midwife for the grieving. I meet them in random places. At the table of a restaurant. I was there to see someone else. Three sips into my glass of wine, he arrived and I looked into his eyes. Put my wine glass down.
I do not know what he grieved, even now. I do not know what broke him. I spoke gently as I told him about spring.