Easter is usually an emotional service for me. I think about all the people I've known and loved who have died. I remember them all during the service. Especially at communion. I feel like that's the most spectacular aspect of communion - that the same ritualized meal has happened for more than 2,000 years and all the people before me who partook of it are, in a way, present with me when I'm at the rail too.The music also grabs me, the Welsh hymns in particular. This year we didn't have any, but whenever we bust out with "Cwm Rhondda" I think fondly of my Mam-gu who could play the piano by ear and was a real church-goer.
But recently I've been thinking about my lost pregnancy. I guess it started when I read my friend Jessica's extremely eloquent and poignant blog post about miscarriage. She addressed the feelings of loss and what-might-have-been so well. When I was going through that terrible experience, there were two things that helped me through it:
- Realizing that I wasn't alone - that other people that I know and love had also gone through it. They talked to me about it, and told me that the pain would, one day, lessen.
- Naming the pregnancy.
Being pregnant had already made me feel the presence of the divine - it's a miracle that babies get born, period! The miscarriage made me realize that I have faith in God [a minor miracle in itself]. And that life comes and goes. I'll always remember what might have been with little Veronica.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment