They were calling to me. Like a tug at my chest I felt the physical call to go see them. I’d only been there twice before. Once, six weeks after they died, when I needed proof it hadn’t all been just a terrible nightmare, and again, about 7 months later, when I brought their hand painted memorial stones that I’d created for them. Though my husband can’t bring himself to go there, I’d never gone alone. Those other two times I was joined by a friend. The kind of friend a person is lucky to have.
But this time, I went alone. It had been almost three years. They needed me to come. I needed to go, and so they called me. In the weeks and months prior, I could not quiet the chaos in my mind. I was feeling trapped in insecurity and confusion about what decisions to make, how to earn money to support my family, how not to get trapped behind an office desk- a life choice THEY taught me should not be a requirement, if it doesn’t feed my soul.
So I went. Driving there I knew I’d find the answers…. or at least ease my confusion.
And it did. I sat with them for a few hours, crying. Journalling. Asking them what I should do.
And I walked away with peace in my heart. Knowing that they would send me the answers, I just have to stop thinking so much and start listening because they communicate with me all the time. Through nature. Through coincidence. Through myself.
In the week since I visited them I’ve reconnected to a sense of calmness that I haven’t felt in a long time. The calm of knowing that if I survived their death, I can survive anything. The calm of knowing that they are watching out for me, and I don’t have to sweat the small stuff. The calm that comes from paying attention and looking for the meaning behind the things that happen in the way they happen.
After sticking some colorful stickers that represent their sisters and dad on their faded grave markers I made a commitment to them, to continue to do the work I have started on their behalf. To continue to share my voice in the world about the heartbreak of baby loss and within the loss community about the beauty and strength that can be found among the ashes around our broken hearts.
As I made this commitment to them, two butterflies flew right past me, and as I lifted my eyes to follow them, two birds flew together across the empty sky. I knew it was their way of communicating with me. I took two smooth stones from their grave to bring home. A physical reminder that they are with me, always.
It’s taken years for me to truly admit, without sarcasm or self-doubt, that my girls are here. They are with me. Watching me. Guiding me. I believe all of our babies are.
It is simply our responsibility to let their voices come through.
I wanted to share my daughters with someone, as I sat there alone at the cemetery. I felt proud of them. I wanted to share my mothering pride. And then a woman appeared, just meandering around, looking at the tiny graves. I said t her “It’s sad, right?” and she said “very.” and then I pointed to my girls and said “Those are my daughters.” for the first time in my life, spoken out loud- sharing them physically with a stranger. The first moment of following through on the commitment I’d made moments earlier. She asked if she could give me a hug and I cried on her shoulder and she hugged me as though she’d known me her whole life.
I thanked her for being there. She said she was glad she could be, and then left.
How has your baby(ies) communicated with you? What messages do they want you to know? And do you feel as though you’re listening?