Miscarriage, Comfort from So Many Religious Perspectives

Yesterday was Mother's Day. I hugged all my kids who are here, and missed the one I carried near my heart, only to have her slip away. I miss her even though I never met her. I found this draft of a post I never finished, so I'm finishing it now. It's my Mother's Day present to myself. There is healing in the telling---a wise woman told me that. The beauty is that every time I tell it, there's more beauty and more healing. So here is the post I started three months months ago . . .  

Today is the day my baby was due. The one I lost. Last week a very kind friend asked how I was doing. I dodged the question, made up some passable answer that I was fine, thinking it was an "How are you?" kind of a question. But she persisted. She meant about the miscarriage. She pressed past my dodge. 


I cried. Not because I mourn as constantly as I did at the beginning, but because I was so touched by her kindness---she remembered. She remembered there was baby. I remember there was a baby, too. 


It's lonely to mourn, especially a loss when it appears that even those close to me have pretty much forgotten about the whole thing. It makes friends who remember all the more dear.


I have found the most amazing comfort in the writing of religious women who do not share my faith. Our tenents and texts may be different, but the sorrow and the comfort is the same. 


Here are some that touch me the most:


From a Jewish woman's perspective: 


"In the Olam HaNeshamos (Hall of Souls), all souls wait to come into a physical body. Before the End of Days and arrival of Mashiach, all the souls have to come into physicality.

Some souls, however, are so pure, so holy, that the transition into physicality is too great and painful for them. But as we are coming closer to the time of Mashiach, they, too, have to come down. So Hashem finds bodies to hold them that are special, to hold those incredible souls, and they don’t stay long. Just long enough to fulfill their tafkid (purpose) of achieving physicality.

And I know this is true. Because I don’t know one person who has had a miscarriage that isn’t a special person, an incredible neshama in her own right."

I love this---there are souls that need to come down, they just don't stay long, just long enough to achieve their purpose. It resonates with what I believe, even though I'm not Jewish myself. 

Here's one giving advice to community members of Muslims from a sensitive Muslim woman: 

The thing I love about this article advice is good advice, and universal. It could be about any congregation, anywhere. 

My two favorite quotes:

1. "Indeed, it is a way of life among our communities for everyone to be involved in everything, sharing in each other's sadness and happiness. So either as a close relation or as a distant acquaintance, we all feel inclined to help the couple through their situation. For each role, however, there are some vital things to keep in mind so as not to intensify their grief or make them re-hash their harrowing experience.

You obviously want to help the couple through this difficult time, and you want to help solve their problems, but it is important to choose your words carefully."

2. "Don't suggest that this is karma or punishment for a sin, that perhaps the couple wasn't worthy of raising a child, or that maybe this happened since they put the evil eye on someone else's happiness. Allah has His merciful reasons for what He does, and no one else needs to speculate about what the reasons could be."


Beautiful. Allah has merciful reasons for what He does, and no one else needs to speculate about what the reasons could be. I call my Creator by a different name, but I believe he does have merciful reasons for what he does.


And this one from Momma Buddist:

"I believe that miscarried babies are souls who have reached Nibbana (Nirvana) and simply needed a human life form to get there. We know that in our past lives we have already built incredibly good Karma, because only those with very good Karma can be reborn into human form. I believe that these little souls are actually very old souls who needed one last stepping stone to get where they were going, to get out of the wheel of samsara. They have reached the end of their journeys, after thousands, perhaps millions of years in existence. I am honored to have housed many of these souls."

I don’t believe in the reincarnation of the soul as Mommabuddist does, but still, her words touch me because I do believe that I did house an eternal soul who has always lived and who always will live. For whatever reason, I was a stop in her journey. And, with Mommabuddist, it was an honor to carry this eternal soul. Even if it was for a little while.

And here’s this one, from a Mormon mom who wrote an article in the church’s magazine, which is here,

“It’s hard to say good-bye when you never had the chance to say hello. I may never be able to hold them in my arms, but I will always hold them in my heart. They are part of me. Because of them, I walk softer. Life is more fragile, more precious.

The other night my four-year-old son cried out to me from his room. I quickly crawled out of my bed and went to his side.

“What’s the matter, Joseph?” I asked as I entered his dark room.

“I’m so scared,” he replied.

I held him in my arms to reassure him, and we talked. Soon he settled back in his bed with his arms around his teddy bear.

“If you need me again, just call me and I’ll come,” I said as I kissed him on the cheek and stroked his shoulder.

He was content.

I, too, have cried out in my dark nights, and He has been there. I don’t have all the answers, but I have peace, the peace that someday I will know and understand, the peace that only the Savior can give. And so I am content.”

Here in the words of these women, of so many faiths, of so many backgrounds, I have found such solace. There is so much that binds us:  Mourning for the child we never met, hope, belief in the eternal, a yearning for comfort from Heaven.

The terms and tenets are different, but the loss and the love is the same.

And that comforts me.

And in that, I am not alone. 

I wish I could meet these women, every one. I believe we could sit down at the table of faith, reach our hands out, and be comforted.