It’s about to rain again
Literally. I can hear the thunder in the distance. It matches my mood today. That does not have to be a bad thing either. Rain is good. Rain cleanses the earth. Rain makes the grass grow. Rain is free. Rain is fresh and natural. Rain. Rain is good for the earth like, tears for the soul.
The storm is still very much alive, but is calming, slowly. I think. Although I have an apprehension that this is just the eye passing over. And the storm is always worse on the other side of the eye. I am not setting myself up for something worse to come. I just feel calmly numb today. I am trying to stay busy because if I stop and think I’ll get all teary and mopey again. We had planned to start school Monday. I had a business meeting scheduled for this morning that I needed to reschedule for early Monday morning. I can get up early and go to the meeting and get back while SmockDaddy gets the morning running with the children so that when I get home they will be just about ready to start.
This morning I was awakened by some more cramping and bleeding. A small concern. I began to wonder what was going on with my body and fear was creeping in that maybe there was infection on the way. I think, now that the day has moved on, that is not the case. A little after lunch I did pass some more of the placenta, a tiny bit, but it was obvious. I think my body was just doing what it was supposed to do - get rid of it. The cramping almost stopped immediately. That was good.
We’ve been thinking about various things that will help us move forward. I went to Hobby Lobby Yesterday to look for something to put outside in a little garden spot as a memorial, just for us. But there was nothing. Those things were in the summer seasonal isle and it had been sold out. And since we rent and don’t have permission to really do any landscaping or gardening here I find that the idea I love of a garden or garden spot so incredibly awkward. It is like being stuck in the mud spinning my wheels while everyone else moves on. See?! I do fine until I think, write, or talk about the situation. OK, so you can’t really see me, but I’m crying again. I hesitate to write about it because I have this fear that if I share it, I’ll forget. That it is like somehow sharing a cake until all the pieces are gone and then nothing is left but the crumbs on the plate. I do not just want the crumbs on the plate; I want the whole cake. For myself. It is my cake, not yours. I’m not going to eat it either, I am just going to hold it. Because if I hold it I will always have it. I know that is rude, but it is true to my feelings.
I have thought about how to reference the baby. I feel awkward writing about it. Maybe today is not the day to share that. I’ll move on to something different. Maybe I’ll share what I would do if I could. Some of my favorite flowers I would plant are Lavender, Winter Jasmine, Forget-me-not in Victorian blue, and Love-in-a-mist (and here, I like the white variety). I first saw Winter Jasmine (yellow) a number of years ago and I was in awe of it strength to push the blooms right through the snow. All of these, with care, can be sown in the late summer or early fall and yield spring flowers (except the Winter Jasmine). It would be nice as the baby was to have been born in March.
And then the rain comes again. And my dancing is still awkward. And splashing in the puddles is not yet enjoyable, but an irritation that I am getting wet and can’t stay dry and I forgot my galoshes and I am wearing socks.1 But I keep practicing the dance, even though I do not want to. Because somehow it is also like breathing. We can hold our breath, but our body eventually takes over and faint so our body can reboot. Our body knows we need to breathe and we must or we die.
So it is with the mourning. We can fight it. We can hold it back, but in the end it swells so much that there is too much to hold and our souls will win and we give in even as we fight it. We lose control and with the mourning comes the rage, and the anger, and the pain. But that is normal. And that is okay.
So it is with the rain. The water builds to form the clouds and then the clouds can not hold the moisture anymore and the rain begins to fall. But the rain is good for the earth as the tears are good for the soul. When the clouds hold back and they get blown around and the weather collides a storm will rage and cause destruction in it’s wake.
Just another lesson about learning to dance in the rain.
- for those who weren’t around in my early blogging days, I can’t stand it when my socked feet are wet. It is like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. ↩
Beautiful description of your wish-garden. Perhaps you could smock it into something– a sampler?
Elisas last blog post..The "more, later"
IS there a way to plant in the home? Something that can be transplanted at a later date when you might own your home?
((hugs))