The Gift of Grief

The grief of miscarriage and the ceremonial journey honoring the loss of our first child.

"I keep waking up,
Hoping it was all a dream,
Just to realize,
It's still true.
The baby is no longer with me,
They're on their way back to spirit,
I'm left with my broken heart. 💔

Rain falls,
Palm trees sway,
Voices quiver,
With pain,
And love,
Wrapped in grief, beauty, and peace within.“
- Candace Sauvé
Written in Okinawa, Japan on December 3rd, as we grieved our first child being lost.

When we found out we were pregnant in October, the doctor warned us that 1/4 to 1/3 of pregnancies result in miscarriage. Especially when it's the first pregnancy, for a woman who is 35 like me.

And yet somehow, I didn't expect this. We had just spent two weeks with each of our families, gallivanting through North Carolina and Hong Kong. I felt radiant yet exhausted, celebrating with each of our families the existence of a baby in my body.

Note to my future self: don't ever travel in the first trimester again.

When I miscarried, it was so much more painful than I could've ever expected.

Like the ocean,
But the waves were blood. Pain. Mucus.
All I could do was go with it and breathe as the waves passed.

As my body heaved in pain, I felt so supported with my husband Edmond at my feet - he was breathing with me and telling me how in awe he is of my strength. "You're such a warrior," he told me.

I had the ocean in view,
And peace in my heart at the end.

Something one of my favorite teachers in Sedona said recently was that - the path to peace is through acceptance.

And as the baby passed through my body, I said aloud...“I accept this reality.”

And amidst tears, pain, and grief, I said, "I accept what is and I release you, sweet little one."

As I reached out to close friends and family for support, I gathered ceremony ideas to honor the child and music to soothe the soul.

I put together a playlist, and Edmond and I went out to Gushiken Beach 具志堅ビーチ, where the river meets the sea, to release the water baby.

In Japan, the ritual of honoring the fetus is called mizuko kuyo. And I felt the Ceremony carry me through the grief.

Every day, my life becomes more and more of a ceremony throughout all these little pivotal moments.

We honored the four directions and five elements, thanked the baby for its impact, read poetry and sang, and danced through our grief in a dance of devotion.

"Dance when you are broken open. Dance if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of fighting. Dance in your own blood. Dance when you are completely free.” -Rumi

Then, we let go of the spirit energetically as we sent off a flower offering into the ocean.

As it turns out, the dream I’d had the week before about a miscarriage was not just a fear dream, but more of a premonition. It was my body telling me something was wrong and preparing me to grieve.

I wouldn't wish this depth of grief on anyone. Yet at the same time, it's absolutely gorgeous.

It's breaking my heart into a million pieces, creating even more space to love.

Today is our four-year and three-month anniversary of our first dance & first kiss.

And every month on the eighth, since we first started dating, we both say "things we'd like to celebrate"... So, I'm celebrating making it through one of the roughest patches of our entire relationship. The last five months have been challenging, to say the least.

And as Edmond focuses on his work, I've felt lonely even when we’re in the same room together. Through this process both of our wounding around getting our needs met has come up to be healed.

As it turns out, marriage, baby making, and deep life commitment isn't easy - and yet, I wouldn't want to do it with anyone else.

Today amidst all the pain, I'm noticing how solid, committed, and devoted to each other we are - now more than ever.