Into the Stillness
Bringing you to a moment where time stood quiet. I had pushed and pushed and pushed. Exhausted physically, depleted emotionally, I gave it my all. I felt Carter's body leave mine. It felt like helplessness, brokenness, and despair. It felt like his hand slipped through mine as I tried to bring him to this world yet he slipped through to the next.
For what felt like an eternity within seconds, I remember the air being so heavy with silence. My heart searching for a baby's cry that would not arrive. Just still emptiness echoing the one just hours ago when the words, "I'm sorry" slipped from the Doctor's mouth confirming the death of our baby boy. The stillness hung in the air piercing further into the wound grief made on my heart forever.
Even now, in some quiet moments I search for him. My arms ache to hold him. My ears yearn to hear his cry. Missing him surfaces grief's wound. I sit in the sorrow, my heart calls out to him. To my surprise, when my mind matches the stillness of the moment, I hear him. He responds in a soft whisper embracing my heart, "I am here, Mommy. Right here and I've got you."
It's strange how no one talks about the piercing silence when your heart is processing the news that your child is gone. How the same silence redefines your relationship with your child. A new one where they hold your heart in their divine hands; guiding you, supporting you from beyond the veil. One where you can hear them if you can become still and open enough to listen. It's odd how no one tells you surrendering to the stillness, love and grief collide, igniting the magic of it all.
When was the last time you gave yourself permission to just be in stillness? Did your mind match the quiet? Was your heart open to listening?