Journey Begun

I am the daughter of the Ancient Mother,
I am the child
of the Mother of the World.
I am your daughter
O Ancient Mother,
I am your child
O Mother of the World.
O Inanna! O Inanna!
O Inanna!
It is you who teaches us
to die, be reborn and rise again.
Die, be reborn, and rise!
Herstory/Lore
Queen of Heaven and Earth

He was conceived in love in July of 2008. He was an Aries, coming to us we knew, some time in late March or early April. I was already the mother of four, yet bringing a fifth child into the world was never something I took for granted, or lightly. I was Demeter, goddess of motherhood, waiting my blessing.

And then my Inanna Journey began.

A midwife appointment at 39+1 weeks and she couldn't find the heartbeat. I thought he'd felt less active, but I'd been contracting a lot, prodromal labor, in pain, exhausted and distracted and it was hard to tell.

The hospital visit confirmed what I just somehow knew and had dreaded... our baby was gone. The ironic news was I was 6-7 cm and 85% effaced... those contractions really had done something.

He was born at 10:13 pm on April Fool's Day... a horrible joke... Coyote and Raven at work in the world in a tiny 5lb 4oz package. He was small like his sister had been before him - small and perfect and completely still. And like the true trickster, all signs of mischief were gone. There was no sign of...anything. No knot in the cord, placenta was normal, he was normal. I had no infection, no fever, there was nothing in the bloodwork. No explanation.

At first I couldn't believe the universe would do this. My dad died in February... and we named him after both grandpas in a tribute. We were going to surprise my mom with his name. And now this? Really? Could anything be more cruel?

My descent had begun.

The birth was thankfully fast - they gave me a tiny bit of pitocin, but it was mostly my body working, as it had been for days, to deliver us. I've never had a more painful birth, in more ways than one. It was like my body didn't want to do it... it was all me. I had to make the conscious choice to birth him, and part of me just wanted to hold on...

I felt myself descending with every contraction, going deeper into myself, deeper into the darkest recesses of motherhood. There would be no more light, no more hope. This was a descent to despair, to a dark, broken place where I would be stripped bare, where I would have to give up every bit of myself, one piece at a time. Where I would be hung, rotted meat on a hook, lost in a sea of grief.

My steps were slow. They'd been slow for days. This labor was like none of my other four. Coming bit by bit. In pieces. Like my heart. I had every intuition I knew where we were headed and every hope it wasn't so. But there was no going back.

The younger kids were there... not for the birth, we had a friend in the waiting room with them, but after... We all got to hold him, lifeless. My descent had only just begun. I was shivering, cold, trembling in the face of all that was greater than I. Never in control, never. I couldn't yet understand what it would mean, that I would never see him open his eyes, never see the hungry stretch of his perfect rosebud mouth for my breast.

The staff took pictures, and were very kind. Things are so different now than back in the days when they whisked the baby away and you never saw them. No longer in denial, they give you all the little things they dressed and wrapped him in, and a box to put it all in. Eyes and mouths speak regret, sorrow, but they can't know. They can't possibly know where I am going.

And the only conscious thought is, "Why?" There's just no answer and probably never will be. Only the knowledge that I'm going, sinking, descending, already lost to this place and time.

And then I know I've stepped across some threshold into another world. The dark side of motherhood. We carry so much, when we carry life. We're carrying death with us all the time as well. I knew it on an intellectual level... every bit of anxiety or worry, everything I did or didn't do, questioning... but I had no idea what that felt like, not really... not until I stepped through this door and birthed my baby still.
And why do people inevitably say all the wrong things? And why don't I care? I always winced, as an outsider, when someone said the "wrong thing" to someone who was grieving... "He's with the angels now" and "This too shall pass."

The perspective changes from this side. I can only look from outside at them and know they're trying to comfort themselves more than me. They can't touch this pain. They try so hard, they want to understand, but the unimaginable is, truly... And when we're outside of it, we can sympathize, but I think we try not to picture it. I know I did. A good defense... there but by the grace of god go I... so sorry for your loss (and thank god it isn't me...)
And then it is you.

Last night, I didn't think anyone could possibly understand. But in the light of day, I know that even this pain has been born and survived by women forever, all of us connected. I'm truly humbled. As broken and destroyed as I feel, there is a small part of me buoyed knowing there are other women who have been here, too, who have taken this journey, and survived.

I have only just begun this descent.