This past Friday, my sweet friend Dresden lost her baby.
She has been working so hard and so long with her fertility doctors to arrive at beautiful baby number two. We learned she was pregnant in October and were thrilled beyond measure. And now this.
Lost at ten weeks. I don’t understand the universe.
I know bad things happen without reason. Except, when it comes to a mother losing her child, I seek one, some explanation, because while I can accept much of the nastiness life throws at us, the one thing I can’t abide is the loss of a child. There’s not bit of me that can make sense of any of this.
I get war, crime, violence, instability, natural disasters and decay. The planet’s fragile balance between good and evil. My understanding ceases, though, when it comes to a parent’s loss. I can see why there’d be a reason or cause for almost everything else, but not this. Don’t take children. For all that is holy, don’t take children. As Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote in her poem Dirge Without Music, “I know, but I do not approve. And I am not resigned.”
There’s always a little tiny part of you that prays and says thank you that your children are okay at those moments when you become keenly aware that loss is even a possibility. Except, that’s not enough for me. I don’t want just my children to be okay. I want hers to be okay as well. I don’t want any mother to grieve. Ever.
I do not approve. I am not resigned.
I’ve spent three hours this morning flipping through pages and pages of poetry, looking for words from others that would help lift the anvil off of my heart. I found this by Mary Jo Bang, which hasn’t lifted much of anything, but is nonetheless beautiful.
You Were You Are Elegy
I’m so sorry, Dresden. I love you, friend.
Note: If you are someone or know someone who has lost a baby or a child and needs resources, please read Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness: Answers and Support for Parents
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