Shortly after Eden passed, and I was starting to merge my way back into the real world, I recall wishing for some kind of visual indication that I was in mourning. Historically, bereaved men and women would wear a black arm band to signify their recent loss. I think this is brilliant. Whether you like it or not, you are set apart for those first months or years. A grieving alien in disguise, roaming the face of the earth undetected. We (the grieving) are aloof, can’t make a decision, lose our direction, lack patience and empathy and even proper thought patterns. Deep grief is a state of mind unlike any other. It would have helped me integrate back into the world if I felt like I had a “free pass” of sorts. For people to be easy on me, to see and understand that I am a temporary ‘alien’, impatient and emotional for a reason!

I felt the same way in my first trimester of all four pregnancies. No one knows I am pregnant, and I want to keep it that way, but that calls for me to act normal. Anyone who has been pregnant knows how hard that is. Especially in the second, third and fourth pregnancies. Before any physical evidence (ie. belly) you are exhausted, sick, irritable, sensitive, cautious, avoiding alcohol and sushi- clearly not yourself. If only people knew! If only there was an indications so people would be more forgiving! Similar feeling. I am choosing not to tell people, but in some ways I wish they all knew.

In Biblical times mourners would wear sackcloth. I have read this in the Bible over the years, but just thought it was another weird thing Israelite’s did, like animal sacrifices etc. It was usually made of goat hair and was very uncomfortable to wear. It acted as a sign of mourning, and the more I think about it, the itchy and uncomfortable custom isn’t as weird as I first thought. Our culture wants to fix, help, distract and make everything better. Ancient culture acknowledges the hopelessness in that. Sackcloth acts as a reminder of the discomfort and agony on the inside by designing a similar exterior. A reminder to ourselves and others that we are in mourning, that it’s ugly, uncomfortable and inconvenient… and not just for the ones mourning, for those who witness it too.

Make Believe

I got my nails done this week. Strangers are starting to take note of my bump and ask all the typical questions. Sometimes I lay it all out there, but often I use the opportunity to live out my little dream world. The alternate universe where I get to raise all 4 of my children here on earth.

Is it your first pregnancy?

No, fourth!

Wow!! How old are they?

3.5, 2.5 and 10 months.

Boys? Girls?

Three girls! 🙂

It feels nice to acknowledge Eden’s place in our family. These people will never find out the truth, and past experience tells me that if I did tell them the truth, I risk ruining their day. People’s response is unpredictable. So these days I use those times as an opportunity to live out what should have been.

There will come a day, not far from now, where it appears that I have continued on with life after loss as one must. I will drop off Aspen at kindergarten, Cambria at preschool, with a little one year old sidekick toddling beside me. I will meet new friends, and they will have no clue that there is a missing piece. They will have never met Eden, not even know she had ever existed. They will see a typical family of 5, and have no idea what our family has been through, and Eden’s existence will be absent. I drag both heels, knowing that day is coming swiftly.

Does it have to?

In the absence of seeing her, how can I ensure those around me experience Eden through me, and through my family? What clues did she leave behind? Evidence that she once existed and is loved beyond measure? How can I integrate her, knit her into my being so that those I meet will see her and her effect on my life, radiating through me?

How?

The Eden Effect

I was reading about astronomers and the method they often use to locate far off planets in distant galaxies. From what I understood, they are able to accurately determine the existence of an invisible planet and even map it out simply by watching the effects of the planets presence on the nearby orbiting bodies (which they can see). A wiggle in their trajectory, erratic wobble in it’s path, how they move and respond offers evidence of the far off planet! Details like mass and orbit can be calculated without ever actually seeing the planet, only by seeing the effects of it on surrounding objects. That of course got me thinking. I want to be mindful of what my life with Eden communicates to the world, not just the loss experience. Her life had significance, her death had significance. How do they effect me? And more importantly, how will my response to her life and death effect my appearance and influence on surrounding objects- people I encounter?

I often think about this regarding my children. When they are able to understand the weight of this loss, as young mothers themselves, perhaps, what will they think of me in the way I responded to tragedy? What will Eden represent in our family? Will she be a topic too painful to speak of? A weakness or fracture in our families foundation? A traumatizing experience that left us bitter and fearful? Or will she be a glimmer of hope and anticipation of what is to come, what God has in store for us when this world fades?! Will she represent all that is good and beautiful and innocent in this world?

Most definitely.

Along with all mothers, my baby is perfect- a representation of love in it’s purest form. My prayer is that someway, somehow people are able to detect that glimmer of hope, that love + purity reflecting through myself and my family in Eden’s physical absence.