Spring Thaw

(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.



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2 Responses to Spring Thaw

  1. Aurelia says:

    Beautifully put. I struggle with the day, too. It just doesn’t work for me. I want to see it as a way to connect to my daughter, but it feels forced. The random things the trigger memories of her, and longing for her are much more real to me.

  2. Naomi says:

    Beautiful as always. Thank you for the reminder of spring.

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