As I sit here - three months after my official “due date” - I recognise that I am a care-giver to many in need of a non-judgmental ear, a spiritual spanking or a warm hug. I might not technically be a mother but I do “mothering” all the time. And I’m so grateful for every damn second of it.

The argument that then transpired in my head went as follows:

“I need to grieve and I can’t do it around that kind of energy.”

“Uh huh. Too happy? Misery likes company I suppose.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just noticing that you were crying before and it felt healing and now you’re crying as proof that you are sad, so she will leave you alone.”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? Isn’t there a part of you that believes that in order to be true to this experience and to the baby you lost, you must continue to publicly display your grief and hold onto it at all costs? Don’t you believe that unless you outwardly display only the emotion of sadness, nobody will take your pain seriously?”

“Uhhh, yes. Kind of.”

Have I mentioned recently that humans are AWESOME. Sorry to bang on about it but I’m just BLOWN AWAY by what people are willing to do for absolutely nothing in return. I’m sure I’ll forget someone, but here is my best attempt at thanking everyone for everything:

Emergency rooms are nobody’s favourite place but I have had a particularly big chip on my shoulder about them. The medical system has been a favourite whipping boy of mine - hence the home birth midwife - and it was sheer grace and desperation that placed me in the Kingston ER that afternoon.

A few weeks post-miscarriage, and I have questions. Questions like:

• What should my body be doing now?

• Is it okay that I’m still bleeding?

• Is it normal that I don’t want sex?

• Can I trust this process to play out, or should I be “doing” something involving doctors or machines or any of the other things I’ve been avoiding thus far?

I decided to start running again. That sensation, the one that I said I was willing to feel…I take it back. I’d rather stare at my screen and click the like button.

Like.

Like.

Like.

Like?

There’s a feeling I’ve woken up with most mornings this week. As my eyes open and I realise it’s a new day, it comes to rest on my chest, unmistakably itself. I’ve been running from it but this morning I finally greeted it and welcomed it in. Hello grief. How are you today?

I think my friend was expecting a blubbering mess but that was yesterday. Today I was creative and together and excited to see a friend. Dinner and lively conversation rounded off an incredibly lovely day.

So often we think it’s our job to tell someone else what to feel or to remind them that their experience in this moment will change, when actually, by offering our full attention to someone while they feel a feeling, we give them a chance to move beyond it and for the metamorphosis to occur all by itself.

Though the event itself was sad beyond belief, it was also - if I’m really being honest about this - stunningly beautiful and sacred. Perhaps this is because I have a faith that all things happen for a reason but on a much more practical level, my gut tells me that it’s because I was not alone.