My soul longed for rest. A place a mommy can go to breakdown. A time that had been denied for probably years.
I found myself inside my walk-in closet, door shut, surrounded by old homeschool supplies, arts and crafts, books, toys and a plethora of things that have made their way inside over the past few months. Clothes are few here in this closet. Stuff? Plenty of that there. Something told me to go inside and rest.
Wearing my jeans and lime green sweatshirt, I walked in with IPOD, journal, and pen in hand. I sat on the hardwood floor, threw a blanket over my legs, sat cross legged and began writing. Then, the tears started to flow. They covered my pages and made me skip a page just so the paper wouldn’t tear as I wrote.
I imagined what my heart needed. Comfort. Understanding. Unconditional Love. Reassurance. SomeOne to remind me that it’s ok to be broken and not have all the answers sometimes.
I laid down and sobbed until I could hardly breathe. I buried my face in my hands and cried into the blanket I was sitting near. Even when I thought I was done crying, the tears just kept falling silently down my cheeks.
I cried for my patience that has been lost since I had my first miscarriage.
I cried for my enthusiasm which has waned significantly with the wear and tear of grief.
I cried for my naive self who thought that if I just got pregnant again, it would all be fine.
I cried for my sweet Spirit Warrior who watched his mama coat her grief in anger and impatience.
I cried for my middle son. The one I didn’t hold long enough. The one I still feel like I let down in some way.
I cried that I don’t have a good memory of comfort from my family or friends during that time.
I cried that I shouldn’t be crying this many years later!
I cried that I was in judgement of myself, of my husband, and the way we dealt with our first miscarriage and then subsequent death of our stillborn son.
It all came back to me for healing. I asked my angels and spirit guides to join me in my closet. I pictured my head resting on my angel’s lap. Her hand gently wiping my forehead and reminding me to breathe.
Two hours passed.
The tears dried.
And I grasped onto the lifeline that I may have just thrown out to myself.