The first recollection I have of feeling the sting of death was at ten years of age. My paternal grandfather had to be admitted to the hospital and my family was in Kerala (at my grandparents’ house) during that time. I was playing in front of the house when my grandmother received the news that my grandfather had passed.
Nothing could have prepared me. As soon as my grandmother heard the news, she cried out, “My God!” and started hitting her chest, open-palmed as she wailed. The adults around her wept with her and tried to console her. I don’t remember much else, except that I can still see the image of my father at the funeral.
He was one of the pallbearers and seemed like such a pillar of strength as he carried the box that held his father. I had no idea how he really felt because we didn’t share our hearts.
As I got older, death seemed to come more often to the lives around me. Maybe I just noticed and felt it more often. One morning, not long after turning thirty, I had sudden and terrible back pain. Till this point, I’d never had back pain in my life.
When I went to the restroom, I thought Aunt Flo, that monthly visitor, had arrived. I noticed that she seemed to have brought so much extra luggage this time around. I don’t recall how many days the pain continued, but Aunt Flo seemed to have vanished as quickly as she had appeared.
I knew something was amiss. (Sidebar: Dear ones, when you sense that something is awry, no need to wait for proof. Make the call, schedule that appointment, send the email, write that note, have the difficult and uncomfortable conversation, etc.) I scheduled an ObGyn visit and learned that I had been pregnant!
I was told that I was possibly seven weeks along and had miscarried. Another human occupied space in my body and I had no clue. How? I’m aware that many times one can be pregnant and just not know or feel any different. Still…I was shocked and overwhelmingly sad.
I was told that I didn’t need a dilatation and curettage (D and C) because my body had released all the parts. Everything seemed surreal. The sadness and emotional pain was deep. There was cussing-level physical pain too. I cried many tears…some alone and some with my husband (Niji).
No casket, no flowers, no body to see or hold, no one bringing food to us and still, the pain was inexplicable. Niji and I decided to have a little remembrance…a service with just the two of us. We named our baby (yes, we were/are painfully aware that it was too early to know the gender); nonetheless, we chose a name.
We said prayers for and with each other. We shared words intended to encourage and verses intended to comfort us. I can’t recall being comforted in the moment. In some ways, I felt numb. I was moving forward how I thought would best help me with/through this loss.
Fast forward five years, I meet my brave little baby girl, the one I’m privileged to adopt (along with her brother). She was seven weeks old when I miscarried! That is when I fully embraced the “verses intended to comfort” back when heaven took our baby. I AM in awe of The Divine and The Divine plan…yet unfolding.
For those who have carried the hope of a baby, those who have seen a dream die (maybe repeatedly), for those who are holding miracles today and those who are clinging to the hope of a miracle…strength and peace to you on the journey.
For those who are struggling with death and all that comes up after, all that surrounds it…for those who are exhausted beyond description from all the struggling, for those attempting to compartmentalize grief or yearning for someone with whom to honestly share the journey…strength, comfort and healing to you.
Common Day Hero: To ALL on this journey ~ accepting and processing the reality of death (physical, emotional, mental, spiritual), sending love to you as you sit with, face, process and walk through what will forever change us, typically, making us more empathetic. Dear ones, I dedicate this post to you.
