Losing a baby tends to be associated with darkness. I imagined that after birthing my dead little girl I would feel wrapped up tight in a sticky gauze of darkness. And that I would not even try to loosen its grip.
But this journey, this path through which Luna is guiding us, is full of light. I see things so much clearer now. Where there was anger and quick bickering, now there is an attempt to understand. Where I would have yelled, now I kneel and talk at eye level. Where I would have kicked myself for forgetting to also buy cheese, I now at least remember to stay in my calm and happy place.
I will never again hold my daughter, yet I know, in my heart, that I will be happy. Luna is a pure soul, made of Light and Love. I believe she needed me to acknowledge her, to honour her Being, to love her forever. That is why she chose to grow inside me, that is why she chose that little body that would not live in the world. Her message was too big for a body to carry. Her message was Love and Light, everything that she was. She wanted to give me more of life, more happiness and love and light. And pain, which is different, but also the same.
I am more patient now with myself and with other people. I understand that everyone is doing the best they can. And that someone else’s pain is their own, and hurts, even if their child didn’t die.
While Luna was still living inside me, the two weeks before her death and birth… those were dark days. I wasn’t even sad; I was just dark. I couldn’t see outside of the pain. Not even to play horses or bank teller with my sons. I was inside the dark gauze, and I wasn’t pulling. At least it was warm, at least it was her and me, together.
I don’t wish for darkness. Even though while it was dark I had my girl alive. Back in the darkness, I hand’t gone through birth. Labouring together, giving birth, touching her small, shinny body, getting to hold her. I said goodbye, I love you, and thank you, thank you. It brought me back to the light. Sometimes I wish for the darkness. Because while it was dark I had my girl alive.
I wish there were more shadows. I wish I could give up some light and hold my girl, my breathing, warm, live Lunita. I wish the warm morning sun could streak its fingers through the shutters as we lay in bed and nursed. I would give up so much knowledge and growth to lay together in the shade, while the hot summer sun made us sleepy after lunch. And I wish, I so so wish, I could hold Luna tight, after a long day of running around and being alive, wrapped in a muslin, close to my body, and look up at the bright white of the moon, and breath the crisp night air, as we carried three children inside and up to bed.
But it is not for me to choose. So I am aware of the light of the soul, of everliving love. Things are all darkness or all light. I don’t have the shadows the messy postpartum days in a family of five.