Into the forest I go

SOURCE

Today’s post is by guest writer, Jess. Mother of one living son and one son who died at 32 gestational weeks. Neuroimmunologist by training. Lover of nature by birthright. Dancer and artist by calling.

I wish I could grieve with a sledge hammer in my hands. The way my husband is grieving as he destroys the rotting wall in our backyard, which has been nagging for attention the last seven months. We were busy those seven months. Working. Wrapping up projects. Preparing. Crossing off more urgent things on the to-do list.

I can barely walk for more than ten minutes before the cramping and bleeding come on. Wielding a sledge hammer might be the final unraveling of my abdomen.

My sister suggested a lesser version of sledge-hammering - throwing rocks into the ocean. I would want to throw boulders. I would want to tear the whole cliffside out of the earth and plunge it back into the ocean it came from. Better yet, make me the rock. Throw me instead. Sink me down under the thunder and crashing. Down into the murky stillness beneath atmospheric weight.

But forget sledge hammers and rocks. I just wish I could walk and walk and walk and keep walking. Maybe forever. Into the mist of an impossibly dense forest on an impossibly steep mountain. And then walk some more. Maybe I will find him there. My baby. My sweet boy. The one who isn’t in my belly but isn’t out here either. My arms and my whole body are searching for him everywhere. He’s in that mist somewhere, I think. If only I could walk far enough.

Could I reach into the haze and hold him one more time? This time I would know better. I would know not to let go. Never let go. I would hold him forever until I went into that mist myself together with him. I would be braver this time. I would unwrap the blanket and take in the beauty and wholeness of his body instead of just his face. I would touch his skin.

Why didn’t I touch his skin when I had the chance? Why didn’t I unwrap him? Why didn’t I check to see if his ear shared his older brother’s trademark extra fold? Why didn’t I hold him forever? For seven months we had been holding and touching each other in the fullest sense of the words. Why couldn’t I bring my hand to his skin?

Every night I roam the forest.

Every night I fail to find him.

But in my wandering I found a little glow. And I stepped closer to find all of you. Also roaming the forest. Thank you for welcoming me in with your stories. Mine just started three days ago.

We are glad you found the glow, Jess, and so sorry you needed to. You are so welcome here.