Last night, DH and I watched After the Wedding, a deeply moving Danish film that brought hot tears to my eyes. It felt pretty damn good to get so emotional over fiction for a change.
Later in bed, still emotional, I started crying again and a scene from another movie popped into my head. Have you seen Fearless, with Jeff Bridges, Rosie Perez, and Isabella Rossellini? It was the scene where Rosie Perez tells Jeff Bridges, I’m not a ghost anymore… I’m back. I want to try living on Planet Earth for a while.
As I explained to DH, it feels like I am beginning to grieve the process as a whole, instead of living from one nightmarish moment to the next. Enough time has passed that I am beginning to be able to look in retrospect. I gaze at my collection of pregnancy tests and ultrasound pictures and remind myself, Yes, I really was pregnant. When I look at my thriving peace lily, I vividly remember burying my bean in its earth two days before my birthday, the experience has a new significance. I understand anew the enormity of what happened. When I smell the soapy ozone blue of the Crabtree & Evelyn La Source shower gel that was gifted to me, I relive the confusing days and weeks after I was told it was a missed miscarriage.
Last night’s bout of crying was triggered by the smell of a cream I applied to my hands — a small tin of blended cocoa butter and lavender that I had concocted early in my pregnancy — and was immediately transported to happier times.
I was in the health & beauty section of Sprouts, newly pregnant and floating blissfully down the aisle in search of a virgin butter. I have sensitive skin and limit what I put on it or in my body (Rule #1: if I don’t know what it is or can’t pronounce it, I won’t ingest it). I’d already seen the Environmental Working Group’s Ten Americans, and wanted to do everything I could to limit my unborn child’s exposure to environmental toxins. I couldn’t decide between fair trade shea (my usual favourite) or cocoa butter, but settled on the latter because it hadn’t been processed and was organic.
When I got home I discovered the cocoa butter was rock hard and needed to be blended. I set about melting it in the microwave, and added lavender oil, and the remains of a calendula salve I bought from JuniperSeed Mercantile on Etsy. I proudly poured the grainy mixture into a mason jar, and the surplus into the salve’s tin. I was a proud mama-to-be, already caring for my child. I was so content. I unapologetically embraced my new-found crunchiness.
Back then, the chocolatey nuttiness mixed with the sweet camphor of the lavender reminded me of a posh truffle. These days it reminds me of being pregnant, feeling the happiest I’ve ever been, and already fiercely protective of my little bean.
Soon, I will finish my memory box, a book that I will hollow out to hold my ultrasound photos, pregnancy tests, and other reminders of my bean. I think I will add the unfinished tin of homemade lavender cocoa butter salve. Because this evening, although its perfume brings fresh tears, they are healing tears, and belong to a woman who is closing one chapter as she begins the next.
I don’t remember how I found your blog, but I’m so happy that I have. I am so sorry for what you have had to go through, but I just want to thank you for writing about it. Your posts are beautiful, even when you’re expressing your hurt.
Thank you, Aislinn! I’m glad you found me too, so thanks for following my journey. Hope you get your BFP very soon!!
It sounds like you’re on the mend, Lauren. But there will always be reminders. Once you have a baby in your arms, those reminders will be bittersweet. But they never, ever go away. A memory box is a wonderful idea… I didn’t do that with any of my losses. Though now that we’re no longer ttc, I can’t bear to get rid of my maternity clothes, or even the boxes of heparin I still have in the cupboard in the kitchen. They remind me of a time when I was still optimistic and hopeful. For a second baby, I mean. I’m optimistic and hopeful for a whole different kind of life now.
Catwoman, you are a wise owl. Have you thought about making a memory trunk for your maternity clothes? You know, when wee woman is older, she might get a kick out of seeing them. I see no reason to get rid of them or the heparin. Hang on to them for as long as you need to, I firmly believe our mementos help along our healing.
It’s really astonishing and wonderful to read that you are optimistic and hopeful for a different kind of life. I think so often we have these ideas about what our lives will be like, and so often it turns out differently. Was it John Lennon who said “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans”? Such a wise reminder, and here you are, living your life to the fullest, despite not having as many kiddos as you had hoped for. You impress me, and often.
I love reading through your blog and watching you heal.
I love that you love reading it. I always worry about being thought of as a Debbie Downer, or too sensitive, or weird… but my story is my own, and I’m glad that you appreciate it. Thank you x
I’m still here, CheeChee. Reading every post. Wishing I could take you out for tea (as much for me as for you). :)
I know you are, love. One day, soon x
Your writing is incredible as is your power of observation. You are capable of very clearly formulating what only passes through my head in the form of a fleeting thought, often feeling-based and non definable. As for your journey, I am still here, cheering on the sidelines.
Katia, this comment took my breath away. It’s exactly what I strive for when I write. To know I got it right at least once is a moment of quiet pride. Thank you!