Friday, May 16, 2008


I drew this picture in one of the birthing classes that Michael and I attended before Sage's birth. The assignment was to draw what we were afraid of. The intention was to help us get in touch with some of the things that could inhibit our trust of the natural process of birth. I found this to be very helpful and meaningful. My fear was that he would be blue, not breathing - stillborn. I was afraid that I would lose him.

As part of the exercise, we were asked to write on the paper what wisdom our higher / deeper / wiser self could provide us. I called the drawing "Offering," and I wrote on the top, "I trust the process of this life." On the side, I wrote to Sage:

"There will be so many times in your life that I will have to release you. You will have experiences, and some of them will bring you pain. I offer you to the process of your own life. At the same time, I hold you in my love."
I think one of the reasons I was able to write this was because I watched Dad struggle to release me into my life at various points. I know he experienced a lot of pain watching me go through the confusion of my teenage years. I remember wanting him to trust the process of my life. What a profoundly difficult thing that is to do as a parent!

And there are so many steps of letting go. Giving birth is the first. I remember being very surprised that along with my utter joy at holding Sage after he was born, there was also a subtle feeling of loss at no longer having him inside me, safe in my womb. He seemed so vulnerable. And then there was the letting go that came with handing him to other people to hold, of leaving him at Mom's house when I went to work, of leaving him with a friend so Michael and I could go on a "date." It felt good to release him in these small ways. It seemed very important to allow him to experience other people, to explore his world, in the small ways that a baby can. And at the end of each exploration, I was there to embrace him.

And now, too, I am being asked to release him, to trust the process of his life, and the process of my own life as well. What can I say about this, other than it is difficult beyond words, and I am not there yet.

1 comment:

Dr. Joanne Cacciatore said...

I am so very, very sorry. There simply are no words.