Cleansing tears

If you don't feel like crying today, don't read this post or watch the movie. There, I warned you.

Cleansings are a part of life. We all know that. Nature is full of cycles of cleansings; the ebb and flow of oceans tides, human body detoxing cycles, the changing seasons. It enhances health and growth and progress. In fact, life depends on this aspect of nature.

I'm seeing a spiritual relevance in this concept today. 9th November is always a painful day. It's the anniversary of the death of Heather, my Peach, my first born. Whether I consciously embrace it or not, my body and my spirit seem to recognize the day. When the weather starts to turn crisp and the leaves change color and fall to the ground, the memories start to return. When we clear up the smashed pumpkins and try to sneak candy into the trash can, and the sun starts to go to bed in the early afternoon, I notice a pang in my spirit. I'll find myself breaking down over some small issue, my fuse is short and temper easily roused. I'll wonder what is going on, and then I check the date. Oh. It's time for an emotional cleansing.

I miss Heather every day. Every. Single. Day. I long for her to be a part of our chaos. I always do. But most days, every day life prevails and my grieving journey goes on the back burner, and I jot something down on the mental to-do list. I have 4 kids on earth to be positive for, to look to the future with, to make plans with and to savor. No point in dwelling on what could have been. It would only anchor me when they need me to move forward.

But once a year, I give myself permission to focus on just her. To remember. To think. To pray. And to cry as much as my spirit needs me to cry. Because I have about a years worth of tears stored up. Bereaved mother tears. They are a powerful type. They are a healthy type. I need this day. I need the 9th of November every year. A day to dread. A day to face, to grieve, to cry and to release, to focus and to mourn. And to survive. I get past the day, every year. I survive it every year. I prove to myself that I still love her with an undying love, that I need her and miss her and those feelings will never fade. And I prove to myself that I'm strong. That I'm doing well, loving and raising my family even with a broken heart.

I don't want to forget where I've come from. I never ever want to forget those ten weeks that changed me forever. And I never want to forget the hope of Heaven that carried me through the hardest days.

Even if I wanted to forget, I don't think I could. Because memories just come at this time of year. They just come. Last night I lay in bed trying to sleep, and I remembered my last moments with Peach. The last time I saw her alive. The last time I nourished her from my body. She wouldn't sleep that night. I wasn't sure at the time if it was because she had a long nap in the morning (we both fell asleep on my bed and almost missed the bus later that day because of it). Or because she had had a long day out with me, at a baby group and then a weaning talk, buses and baby carriers and walking and conversation. Maybe she was overstimulated. With hindsight now I wonder if she was in pain, maybe she knew she was dying. I hate to think of that.

Her Daddy tried to comfort her and settle her to bed. But she cried. And cried. He brought her to me to nurse her. I was in bed, very tired. I snuggled her up next to me, and nursed her while I lay there. I had no idea it would be the last time. The last time I'd see life in her eyes. The last time I'd be able to lie down and hold her warm body. The last time I'd feed her. I know I rushed it. Because I was tired. I just wanted her to go to sleep. I enjoyed her snuggle, I always did. But I rushed it. I didn't savor it. Not like I should have.

I heard this song recently, and I like to go back in my mind over that last cuddle I had with her, and imagine myself singing it to her. It helps me heal. I wish I would have sang it. I wish I would have kept her beside me. I'm sure Rene has similar thoughts about his last moments with her, while he paced the floor with her in his arms, and she stopped crying. And her heavy eyelids closed, and she gave up the fight and surrendered to sleep. And moments later her spirit left. Had he known, had I known, those were our final minutes...I'm sure our spirits would have sang this song to her.

I made a video. I will watch and imagine I'm holding her, and nursing her on my bed, that last time. And I will sing to her with my heart and spirit. And I will cry. And cry. And cleanse my emotions, and release tension and express my love for her as I so deeply long to do.

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