Yesterday at work I had a very powerful experience. A coworker, Lorena, brought in her newborn son, Isaak. I was able to hold him while he slept. His tiny, precious body was utterly relaxed, and he seemed so very peaceful. I felt that peace spread through me as well. I breathed in his baby scent and stroked his unbelievably silky black hair. I could have held him for hours and not tired of it. Eventually, I handed him on to other coworkers. At one point he woke up and began to cry. He became more frantic until he was handed back to Lorena. When she took him in her arms, he stopped crying instantly. As I watched this unfold, tears began streaming down my face. I did not have many thoughts at that moment, but rather I felt a body memory of holding Sage when he was so small. My body, my scent, my voice were a sanctuary for him. I was his safe haven. And there is this feeling that above all else, that is what my body was meant to do - hold and comfort my child. The tears . . . they were caused by the wonderful, terrible, sweet pain of loving Sage with every atom of my being.
What I want to express, and what I ask for understanding around, is that it is helpful for me to cry. Holding Isaak, remembering Sage, crying - this was a positive, healing experience. It gave me access to my sorrow, which offers me a release that I can't get any other way. I want to tell Lorena, thank you for sharing your beautiful boy with me. Thank you for being a reminder of the depth of my love for Sage. And, as strange is it may sound, thank you for helping me cry. So often I find myself composed, coping, and somewhat frozen inside. Anything that gives me access to my heart is the greatest gift anyone could offer me.
Slumber Song
Some day, if I should ever lose you,
will you be able then to go to sleep
without me softly whispering above you
like night air stirring in the linden tree?
- Rilke
2 comments:
Jesse,
Sitting with you yesterday is a moment I savored for the rest of my day. I know you probably tire of the same conversation over and over again, so thank you for giving that time to me. I meant what I said about you touching so many people you do not even know. As I sat on my porch last night, thinking of you and watching the deer go by followed by the turkeys, I felt a sensation I had not had in awhile; the presence of my own dad who has passed. I feel like I was in an open and receiving place to feel him and sense his presence there in the wind. I thank you, because you helped me get to that place by reflecting on you, your strength, your pain and your loss. Although I can never relate to losing a child, I can very much relate to the loss of your father. Although the emotions shift and feelings come and go, I have never forgotten my dad's smell, his sound and the feeling of my hand in his. I hope you too, will hold onto those things and 12 years from now you will also be reminded by the wind that our losses are never truly lost. Fondly, Gretchen
Jessie,
Like we talked about the other day, you and I are "head" people, "composed, coping and somewhat frozen". What a gift little Isaak and his mother gave you, opening the gate and guiding you down the path to your heart, thawing you if just for that moment. Your tears make me feel better about your grief, I am not comforted by your composer, I know it is the gate blocking the path to your heart. Do not be afraid to share your tears with us, we are a strong people (your friends) we will still be by your side when they dry.
Love you,
g.
composed coping and somewhat frozen"
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