Finding Jizō, Part II

Miscarriage seems to be something people don’t really talk about. The grieving period is private, personal, not really discussed. After I learned that my pregnancy was probably “not viable”, DH and I took a walk on the beach where I found a pebble. I needed something tangible to hold onto, to mark this confusing and sad chapter in my life. I didn’t even know what to call it.  Didn’t know what I was looking for, but that pebble led me to Etsy, where I learned of Jizō.

This is the second part of my Finding Jizō story. (You can read part one here.)

{ intro }

Jizō (which literally means ‘Earth Womb’ in Japanese) is a bodhisattva — one who has reached enlightenment but postpones Buddhahood until his/her work is done on earth. He is the protector of travellers, women, and children, including dead foetuses — or what the Japanese call mizuko, which translates to the rather less dramatic ‘water children’. The Japanese even have a name for a dead foetus memorial service: mizuko kuyo.  I relaxed into these words, wondering why we don’t have them in English.

♥

You know how sometimes you’re searching for something, but you’re not quite sure what it is until you find it?  Like the moment I found my wedding dress, when I saw this Jizō pendant, I knew it was exactly what I was looking for.  In the message to seller at checkout, I wrote If there’s any way you could send this as soon as possible, I would greatly appreciate it. I am going through my own mizuko kuyo.

The next morning, I had an email from the seller, Valerie. She apologised for having left town two days earlier and promised to send the pendant immediately upon her return, a week later.  She said she would be keeping me in her thoughts, and I was touched that a stranger would say so and not stiffen at the subject matter. Valerie, without her knowing it, helped me take the first step to sharing my story here. I wrote back to tell her how happy I was to have found her lovely site and the little Jizō which is the same size as the baby (the chibi — or ‘little one’) that I was about to lose. The delay would only give me something to look forward to, to bridge the gap between loss and hope. A few days later I saw that she had mentioned me in a blog post.  I was astonished and humbled to think that my short message had somehow inspired her to explain the importance of Jizō and the history of the mizuko kuyo. And I was quietly struck by the kind validation in being described as a grieving woman.

The pendant arrived the day before my surgery. I tore open the box and saw that she had also included a baseball cap — she said she had a feeling I would need to ‘hold onto my hat’ for such an event. The tiny pendant she sent was perfect: so pretty, so delicate, so detailed. But she’d sent me one in sterling silver, not gold vermeil. I emailed her to ask if I might exchange it and her response was unexpected and beautiful: Please, keep the silver as a gift and pay it forward to help someone.

I immediately knew who to offer this silver pendant to.  A woman who I had met online a week earlier, on a miscarriage forum, had PMd (private messaged) me to say that something of my story really touched her. She was a similar age, also pregnant, and felt moved to reach out.  We began a little correspondence. A couple of days later, her baby was measuring small. A few days after that, she learned that she was miscarrying too. My heart ached for this woman whose name I didn’t even know. I wasn’t sure if she would like the pendant or be receptive to receiving it. But I PMd her anyway — she seemed like the obvious person to offer it to. To my delight, she said she would love the pendant. She’d been trying to find a piece of jewellery for herself to mark this period in her life but none had struck her. My name is O., by the way.

Saturday came, and with it my gold Jizō pendant: I quickly introduced my gold to O.’s silver before asking DH mail her package before the post office closed that day. Amazingly, O.’s package arrived Monday: the little silver pendant travelled thousands of miles overnight, and this is sweet confirmation that it was meant for O. We have since learned that we have many things in common, and who knows? It might be the start of a friendship. Whatever happens, I will always be grateful that O. came into my life when she did.

♥

The past few days have been very difficult for me. I forced myself to return to school after a 3-week absence, and cried all the way in the car. I arrived 20 minutes early for my 8am class, and slowly walked across the campus. This is the first time this semester that I’m not pregnant on campus.  Tears filled my eyes. What a stupid, unhelpful thought, but it was a truthful pang.  I sat waiting on cold, concrete steps near the classroom — being Southern California, a lot of classroom doors open onto the outside, not an inside corridor — and remained partially hidden from view. Then a classmate, a quiet girl who sits behind me, gave me a big smile and shyly said Hello, Lauren.  I didn’t even know she knew my name and this kindness brought tears to my eyes all over again.

A minute or two later, another classmate, L., with whom I have enjoyed several conversations spied me and came over to welcome me back. I had told her in an email why I was missing so many classes, so she hugged me.  I was crying and shivering in the cold morning air, and she offered me her cardigan. Two other classmates came over then. These women, my age and older, seemed to understand from my tears that my absence was beyond being sick. None of them asked why, but stood around me in a protective semi-circle. They gently told me how much the class had missed me and how good it was to have me back. I gave them a watery smile, grateful for their support, and the tears dried up.

Along came E., a woman who I suspect has Asperger’s Syndrome, and she cried out Welcome back! You were gone so long, that must have been one helluva cold!! I grinned and said, Yeah, you could say it was something like that… She wanted to know what had happened. I looked her squarely in the eye and told her the words I need to start practicing: I had a miscarriage. E. flinched, exaggeratedly. And I had a little surgery on Thursday. L. was quiet, our other two classmates murmured their support. My mom had two miscarriages before me… said one. I’ve had a D&C before and they are not nice… said the other.

The doors to the classroom unlocked and we filed in. My teacher said how much I’d been missed — my accent (British) as much as my ideas — and joked that they’d had cake and ice cream every lesson. I was so grateful for the warmth and kindness.

I took out my graphics tablet and began to follow the lesson: using Illustrator’s Gradient Mesh tool to draw soybeans.  Little beans, held close in a pod.

I had a little bean once. Now my chibi is with my Jizō.

I hold my pendant close, running the loop back and forth along its chain across my chin.

♥

Links:

Jizō and Buddhism
Mizuko Jizō
Mizuko Kuyo ceremony
Jizō and Chibi