Thank you, really, to all of you who commented and wrote me emails. They really mean a lot to me. And mostly I'm just checking in to say I'm feeling better. The way I came to feel better seems important, so I thought I'd record it:
*I prayed, and it wasn't pretty. This was flat on my face, weeping aching praying, saying, over and over again, "You have to fix me. You have to heal my heart." (Yes, precisely in those words. I can get a bit sassy and demanding in my praying.) I felt broken and I felt like I spent all day trying to fix it and everyone else was trying to help me fix it, and no one could do it. I wasn't asking to stop grieving, just to be functional and believe in good things again. I felt deeply then, more than perhaps ever in my life, that there was this gaping hole in me that I needed God to fill. And, after many days of praying like that, and a turning point conversation with Sam (up next!), something lifted, shifted, filled, opened, re-blossomed--pick your metaphor--in me. It was a subtle shift, and things haven't been perfect by any means since then, but I felt like my prayer was answered.
*Conversation with Sam. We were back in his office, which is a sort of windowed sun porch and it was night time and we were talking about something (details would be boring, trust me) and I was very upset, and he was very upset, and he said, not in these exact words (much gentler than this, I promise), "I sort of need to you pull yourself together now." And I was more upset, and I was saying, "I'm trying, I'm trying," but there was a sort of something in me that knew he was right, that it was time, that it was okay to put myself back together and proceed. This feels important, I think, because if you would have asked me if this event--someone close to me saying, "Okay, but buck up now."--would ever have a healing effect, I would have thought you were absurd. I don't cheer up on command, and my sadness is very precious and meaningful and personal, and it's on a very particular little internal timer, I would have thought. But Sam's comment must have come at the right time, when my prayers had piled up enough and my heart had grown weary of precious sadness, and was ready for regular old sadness, please.
And somehow, between those two ingredients, I woke up the next morning and felt okay. And slowly since then I've started doing things I love again, which is, for me, the real sign of "better." I've been running, and reading poetry, and writing in my journal, and answering the phone when people call (sometimes ... I'm terrible at that.), and enjoying my meals, and noticing beauty, and listening to podcasts, and making meaningful decisions, and having deep thoughts about my life and the world, and so on.
I'm thinking now about a few days after the miscarriage, when Sam and I walked to a Thai place a few blocks away for lunch. I was wearing a maternity t-shirt I had thrifted earlier in the week (because, let's face it, they're more comfortable and I may never stop wearing them), and Sam was holding my hand, and we passed this little speckley bird, and I said, "Look, it's a speckley bird." And Sam said, "There you are. There's Deja." Meaning that was the real me, the one to notice a speckley bird. And it did feel, for a minute, like I was back, and I would come back more permanently soon. Hopefully, I have.