Our miscarriage has changed me for the better
It's weird to say this but I don't think I would have it any other way. Obviously, I would not have chosen the loss of miscarriage, but since it has happened I have slowly been uncovering the treasure in the trauma.
On the drive home from the women's clinic after receiving the news, in our separate cars, due to the fact that I had to arrive late, I hit "Resume Podcast" on my phone and listened to Sharon Salzberg share that Ram Dass had had a framed reminder by his door so that he never left his house without being reminded that "Everyone you meet is carrying an unseen burden."
On a walk in the evening of the same day that we found out, Tux and I were waiting for Linda to catch up from the house and I had a few minutes to sit with the reality. I was struck with this overwhelming question of how we are ever anything but extremely tender and careful with each other. How we aren't all aware, carrying our own hidden heartbreaks and burdens, that compassion is what is required of us when interacting with other fractured, fragile creatures. This experience filled me with compassion for every other almost-parent, and I know there are many. And it also made me realize that before long I will forget this tenderness that I want to lead with. It raised in me the question of how one, I, can keep my heart open and tender without constantly walking around bleeding. Is there a middle way? Do we need to count our list of heart aches each morning in order to stay compassionate and remember compassion for all others, but also count the gifts that have resulted from each so we aren't completely useless and catatonic from continual pain?
I want to remember this tenderness and compassion. I know I will forget it. But I owe it to Rumi to remember this lesson that they taught Linda and I.
Life's heartache and darkness will be waste if I let if turn me brittle and fearful, but it can be a goldmine shining amidst inky black if I let it polish my heart to shine with compassion.
We felt as though we had a relationship with Rumi even though they never fully arrived, but they got us eating well, exercising more, being more mindful of the emotions and energy we were putting out, wanting Rumi to receive the best of us. Rumi added more thoughtfulness and balance to our lives even in only the 10 weeks that we were living with the belief that Rumi was on the way to this reality. Thank you, Rumi!
On the drive home from the women's clinic after receiving the news, in our separate cars, due to the fact that I had to arrive late, I hit "Resume Podcast" on my phone and listened to Sharon Salzberg share that Ram Dass had had a framed reminder by his door so that he never left his house without being reminded that "Everyone you meet is carrying an unseen burden."
On a walk in the evening of the same day that we found out, Tux and I were waiting for Linda to catch up from the house and I had a few minutes to sit with the reality. I was struck with this overwhelming question of how we are ever anything but extremely tender and careful with each other. How we aren't all aware, carrying our own hidden heartbreaks and burdens, that compassion is what is required of us when interacting with other fractured, fragile creatures. This experience filled me with compassion for every other almost-parent, and I know there are many. And it also made me realize that before long I will forget this tenderness that I want to lead with. It raised in me the question of how one, I, can keep my heart open and tender without constantly walking around bleeding. Is there a middle way? Do we need to count our list of heart aches each morning in order to stay compassionate and remember compassion for all others, but also count the gifts that have resulted from each so we aren't completely useless and catatonic from continual pain?
I want to remember this tenderness and compassion. I know I will forget it. But I owe it to Rumi to remember this lesson that they taught Linda and I.
Life's heartache and darkness will be waste if I let if turn me brittle and fearful, but it can be a goldmine shining amidst inky black if I let it polish my heart to shine with compassion.
We felt as though we had a relationship with Rumi even though they never fully arrived, but they got us eating well, exercising more, being more mindful of the emotions and energy we were putting out, wanting Rumi to receive the best of us. Rumi added more thoughtfulness and balance to our lives even in only the 10 weeks that we were living with the belief that Rumi was on the way to this reality. Thank you, Rumi!
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