Is it possible to sum up five years? I think not.
I took the time this week to stop and reflect on the last five years.. And I wonder who it is that I’m writing to. Is it myself? Hashem? Whoever may be reading this? Or my son who in my mind’s image is still a baby?
The answer isn’t clear, just as the language of the soul is a language of its own. It speaks of depth and feeling, pain and joy, growth and struggle, hope and happiness., I doubt I can even scratch the tip of the iceberg called the soul, for it goes so deep.
So here I am today on my very precious day off, to open those doors and allow the rivers to flow.
I don’t like saying I “lost” a baby, as he is not lost. He died, inside of me.. I choose these words, although harsh, to paint an accurate picture of a life that is not precise or predictable.
He died, and I held him, still and lifeless and beautiful. Those 15 minutes will be with me forever, and so much more so what I now know from going through that brief, surreal experience.
I now know about pain.
I now know how painful pain can be. I learned what it feels like for a heart to bleed.
I now know that pain can change a person as it has changed me.
I now know that so many people have experienced pain and it must have changed them too. And I owe it to humanity to make knownthat virtually every person has a story and deserves space for that.
I now know the beauty of being a Jew.
A Jew that can ask Why and still hold on to faith.
A jew That can be sad and happy at the same time.
A Jew that can find the ability to function and survive on what seems like nothing.
The beauty of duality knows no end, as it gives space to hold so much, so close to heart without letting go.
And yet I now know about letting go. Of the power of the mind that can hold me hostage and take me out of the present.
Letting go of thoughts that don’t serve me even when I think they do.
Letting go of plans.
Plans for my future and my life.
Plans for what I think is right for me and my family.
Letting go of anything I can’t control.
And accepting.
Accepting that life is so much more complex than I would have liked it to be.
Accepting that I have so much to work on even when I wish to not admit it.
Accepting that I am where I am meant to be.
Accepting that life is a journey and perfection has no place in that journey.
Accepting that I can be down and moody and that’s not the end of the world.
Accepting that I am greater than I think I am and it’s only up to me to live up to that.
I now know about hope.
Hoping for better days.
Hoping for strength.
Hoping for healthy pregnancies and births.
Hoping for goodness and holding on to hope even when I let go of control.
I call that a balancing act way harder than riding a bike or anything of the sort.
Oh boy, do I now know how to balance.
Balance work and life and family and self and marriage.
Balance growing and being compassionate towards myself.
Balancing expressing myself and not crossing boundaries.
Balancing change while holding on to what is important.
Balancing accepting and letting go.
Balancing happiness and pain.
Balancing slowing down and producing.
This journey has gifted me with lessons and insights I didn’t even know I needed to learn.
And what I already knew, but on a whole new level.
Of connection.
To myself, my husband, my children.
Connection to Hashem.
About relationships. About closeness, about working through differences and misunderstanding.
About turning to Him when I go about my life. I know that He is there and He knows. He knows what he has put on my plate and He will walk with me through it.
He is holding my hand every step of the way, when it feels soft and gentle and when it feels like a bear hug that hurts.
He is there and He is with me.
I have learned so much and I have so much more to learn. And that’s the journey of life that I accept on a new level every time around.
I will forever love him, and forever miss my baby who has changed me so.
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