Finding Jizō, Part I

There’s a reason the imagery of a pebble came to me the other day when I was trying to deal with my anger. That shocking Tuesday, after DH and I left the hospital, we slowly walked to the car hand in hand. We sat there for a minute or two, wondering what the fuck to do next. DH didn’t feel like going home. Hell, he didn’t really feel like driving. I suggested we take a walk along the beach, so we headed for Del Mar.

It felt good to hear the quiet roar of the ocean, smell the salt, and feel the sun on my face. A flock of pelicans swooped overhead. Farther up the beach, dogs romped and splashed. We passed a fitness photo shoot that was taking place. Children building sandcastles. Tourists sunbathing. Joggers jogging. Life was all around us, even if it was no longer inside me.

I studied the sand with each step I took, navigating piles of seaweed and aiming for pebbles, the size of my palm, to momentarily massage my instep. The thought came to me, I need a pebble to hold onto. Then, there are so many. How do I choose? At that very moment, I noticed a pebble unlike the other. Smaller than the rest, it stood upright in the sand like it was saying, Ahoy! You up there! Here I am.

I clutched it all the way up the beach and down again. It’s been in my pocket or handbag ever since, unless I am tearful — then it’s in my hand until it turns warm. I even slept with it the first night I took the Misoprostol. It’s strange that such a simple thing should be so soothing. I suppose a pebble, by definition, is grounding.

I considered having This Too Shall Pass etched on it and turned to Etsy. Of course, I ended up searching for miscarriage. I don’t remember exactly, but at some point I saw the word Jizō in the search results, accompanying images of a Japanese Buddhist monk.

I am neither Japanese nor a Buddhist, but something instinctively drew me to this new word. I learned that Jizō is a bodhisattva, someone who attained enlightenment but postponed Buddhahood. He is a beloved figure in Japan: not only is he the protector of travellers, firemen, and women, but also children — especially babies who were aborted or miscarried. Such babies are called mizuko, or ‘water children’. The Japanese even have mizuko kuyō, meaning ‘fetus memorial service’.

Jizo, guardian of travellers, women, and babies lost in utero or shortly after birth

Whilst spelunking on Etsy, I was looking for some tangible object to give meaning to my experience but didn’t know what, if anything, I would find. When I discovered that there is a Buddhist ‘patron saint’ for dead fetuses and even a special word for our little water children, I was suddenly awash with peace.

Looking back, when I picked up that pebble I took my first small step on the long journey to healing.

Read Finding Jizō, Part Two…