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January 23, 2020

Grief of Miscarriage

She knocks on the door.

Instantly, I’m gripped by terror. Frozen. Cold.

I stumble through the darkness toward the door, knowing I have no choice but to open it, and somehow, I manage to move my body through space and time.

“Welcome”, I say, drawing on all of the strength of warriors who have come before me – resilient, life-giving women who have walked this dark path.

She walks into my house, simultaneously a black gaping hole and a blaze of fire – a burning hot coal that wants to live, for however long, in my heart.

She sits down at the table and something in me whispers “Go. Sit with her. Listen to her wisdom.”

I pull up a chair and I ask her what she has come to teach me.

In that instant – in my openness to her lessons, in my willingness to be with her – I feel my first hint of Grace.

She smiles, gazing lovingly at me, and says “My child. I am here to teach you that you are stronger than you will ever know. Infinitely more capable than your mind will ever tell you. I am here to show you what bravery looks like. To choreograph the dance of your soul.”

“I am here to transform you into a phoenix, to walk you through the fire, through the ashes, into new life and renewal. You have nothing to fear,” she says. “I will hold your hand through all of it, and you will know a peace and a love that you have been seeking since the day you were born.”

With tears in my eyes, I look up at her and say “Thank you, Grief. To you, I surrender.”

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