My niece (cousin), my gorgeous, innocent, angelic, 9 year old niece, is taking her lastbreaths.
And it is that once in a life time thing that you wish you never experience. You hope you never understand this. Because this is paradigm shifting.
In what world is it fair, or even just ok for a lively, happy, funny, creative, caring, little girl to be gasping for air? She was completely innocent throughout her already complicated little life. She had already been through so much. And now this? What the actual fuck, world?
And what do you do … What can you do, to show your love and support to those that are in this inner circle of grieving?
Because my first response is – be there. From my experience with Wolf Woman’s death, and being in the inner grieving circle … Being there, in the last few breaths, early moments she’s gone, and as funerals need planning and attending … That’s what is meaningful.
My husband put it so poetically. We couldn’t comprehend how the world kept spinning after such a monumental loss. I think they need to know that your world has stopped spinning with this heartbreak, too.
And my world has stopped spinning. And I am desperately trying to comprehend the incomprehensible.
A few weeks ago… my world had also expanded. With those two pink lines, and the blood test, the daily updates about my growing uterus… and the little baby causing it all.
How does this joyful, much anticipated, and lovingly (obsessively?) longed for expansion to my world affect my availability to you as you are losing your baby and grand-baby?
I have already spent two mostly sleepless nights crying, trying to comprehend and process this. We knew it was coming, although we so totally and completely hoping for a miracle.
I get my miracle baby, and you loose yours. How is that fair? What the fuck, life?
And what impact does this grief and grieving have on my baby? On me?
I have always felt things deeply. And cried for those that have held it together. I have felt grief and fear and pain, physically in my body. Other people’s pain, in my body.
But now I have a precious umbilical cord. Will my baby feel it too? Will it overwhelmed her tiny system? Will it literally kill her?
Because before this was so emotive and personal and real… I would have said that babies come in knowing the potentials. Knowing what big things may happen in their worlds. My baby knew that this was on the cards. Maybe even more purposefully and completely than I give her credit for. Because in another time and another space, I would know, to the core of me that all things are seen and on purpose. No matter how far that knowing seems right now.
But I still don’t know if I go to the funeral.
If I don’t go, I will regret it.
If I do go, and loose my baby, I would never forgive myself.
I want to go.
I want to honour my niece, as the light worker that she is. I want to honour her as the all knowing being that choose this brave and courageous path.
I want to go, and hold space, amongst the grief. To be there, to witness and feel this profound shift in reality.
I want to go there for my dad, aunty and uncle. I want to go there for my niece’s mum, dad, and step mum, despite the uninhabitable rift between them.
I want to go there to say that my world has stopped spinning too. Because this is so heartbreaking.
I also desperately want to keep my baby safe.