Saturday, September 14, 2013

More loss.

There are no words I can come up with to express what W. H. Auden has already written about grief in what is popularly known as "Funeral Blues."  To the little life that we conceived and lost, so unexpectedly, so quickly, gone before we knew it, leaving us changed forever.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

I think I understand why people don't talk about miscarriages.  God seems to give you a gift, and then rips it away from you for no apparent reason.  It is the most bewildering, confounding experience, and one is left with nothing to show for it except a shattered heart.  It is hard to imagine a divine plan here.  

Then's like this now.  It will have to do.  Here's hoping for understanding one day.  

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