I have been thinking a lot about life and death lately. I recognize this statement automatically exposes my privilege. I don’t have to be afraid for my life because my entire community is steeped in gang culture. I don’t have to think about the thousands of people rotting in prison. I don’t have to think about the two men recently executed by our federal government. I can put on any number of Netflix tv shows and drift off to sleep.
As you grow you learn things about the world. We are constantly in a state of reality check against our outdated fantasies. I remember I was in middle school maybe and my friends and I loved to watch the medical drama ER. My girlfriends and I were obsessed with pregnancy and babies since we first started playing “house” when we were little. (We had one game where all of our imaginary husbands were named the same name and we would call them and tell them we were pregnant and for our own amusement would get the wrong guy on the phone.)
When watching ER I discovered for the first time the horrible truth that sometimes babies aren’t born healthy as I always imagined they were. I watched one episode and was horrified by the story of a mother having to deliver her dead child. My best friend and crush (we had “kissed dating goodbye” so never dated) was the eldest from a large and growing family and reassured me that that is rare. So I went about my life.
In the midst of exposing how black lives do not in fact matter in our nation, I have known multiple women who have miscarried. I do not think that is a coincidence. I see the connection so clearly.
Let me explain further. A number of people I have witnessed both personally and on social media express how they are so overwhelmed with their own personal trauma that they cannot bear the weight of another’s trauma. Furthermore, I’ve noticed in relationship how we can get so self-focused that we miss even our own partner’s pain. It got me thinking about the necessity to heal from trauma so that we can carry others.
My friend described to me that some miscarriages are both a physical and emotional process to heal. She explained to me that she had to deliver her unborn child. She was thankful to be living in a country in Europe when this happened because they made the healing process so smooth. She described to me the pristine room she was allowed to stay in at the hospital with a bed next to her for her husband.
As we spoke I was stunned by her genuine hope after all. She had processed a lot of her pain already. She was already talking about having another baby. She was already dreaming about life again. How could this be?
Now as I think about it I think that pristine room is an important metaphor for what all people who go through trauma need. They need a space to go through the process. With so much death and so much anger, are we providing spaces for people to heal? The dead and broken dreams simply have to be delivered. There’s no way around that. Can life indeed come after death?
I am thankful I have had people in my life who have let me cry, ask questions, and be real about my fear and pain. I haven’t personally experienced devastating loss as I know so many have. It has forced me to grapple with my own fears of that happening to me (which are statistically high at this point). I am constantly in a state of wondering: how can we support others better? How can we be a listening ear? How can we actually be a force of healing in the world?
