Children Who Rest with My Ancestors: Part 1

Last updated on: February 25, 2015 at 6:00 am by Molly Khan

Children Who Rest with My Ancestors: Part 1 2015-02-25T00:46:28-05:00 Molly Khan

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

photo courtesy of shutterstock

Trigger warning: this is a discussion of miscarriage, and I include some intense emotions and strong imagery. Please be cautious if this is a triggering subject for you.

Last week was the fifth anniversary of my first miscarriage. I remember this horrible moment throughout the year – the day I found out I was pregnant, the day my baby was supposed to have been born – but none stands out more than this day. I was three months pregnant, supposedly beyond the danger zone, but I had been bleeding for the past week. At first only a little, barely enough to notice. I walked into the kitchen that morning to get my oldest daughter a banana, barely awake and barely aware of the worries that had been plaguing my mind. I cracked the yellow skin and handed her the fruit to peel, when I felt something move inside of me. It felt wrong. I knew immediately that something was not right, and I yelled for my boyfriend and retreated to the shower to try to relax.

I remember crouching there in the falling water, crying without really knowing why, while bright red blood filled my vision. I’d never seen so much blood in my life. I still dream about it – scarlet on the white porcelain of the bathtub, swirling about my feet and down the drain. My daughter was crying, lonely and afraid, but it sounded so distant in my ears. Eventually my boyfriend must have gotten up and gone to her, but I don’t think that I noticed.

At some point he came to me, got me dressed and out the door to the hospital. I was taken to the maternity ward, where a sweet lullaby played when a baby was born – I remembered hearing that on our hospital tour. That lullaby is burned into my memory, a melancholy thing that lurks always in the back of my mind this time of year.

Five months later, I found out I was pregnant again; and five months after that, I lost a baby for the second time.

For months, I felt as if I was some kind of zombie. Metaphorically, I was only going through the motions of life; almost nothing held any meaning for me at that point. I felt it was true in a physical sense as well – I had trouble eating, drinking, and sleeping, all standard indicators of a living thing. I thought that perhaps my womb, that most important carrier of life, was instead a barren desert in the dead world of my body. I was so angry at the Gods, at the universe, at anything that I could shout at that wouldn’t shout back. It just didn’t seem fair. I’ll be honest – it still doesn’t seem fair. It was as if all my hopes and dreams were dying as well, washed down the drain along with all that blood.

Over the next months and years, I tried as best as I could to push that pain from my mind and get on with life; but I had no context for dealing with this pain. No one I knew wanted to talk about something as terrible as losing a child. My friends all seemed to be pregnant or having babies – I skipped the wedding of a very dear friend because I didn’t think I could stand to see a happy pregnant woman. My family tends to sweep pain under the rug rather than confront it, and my attempts to express my pain were shut down quickly. I cried almost every day for years.

When I first started exploring Heathenry, one idea that drew me deeply was the Disir, ancestral mothers who guarded the family. They were warriors who protected their sons, comforting presences for their daughters in labor and motherhood, and guardians who cared for children who died. The concept enthralled me. It was possible that these dear children of mine, whom I thought about daily, whose graves I visited every Samhain and every other day that I associated with them, were not alone. They were held, they were cared for, they were loved by my great-grandmothers, my great-great-grandmothers, and back and back and back. It was so intensely comforting to think that perhaps I hadn’t failed these children by being unable to mother them – though it was awful that they died, they were still loved and comforted and protected.

Every morning, I leave an offering to my ancestors. I don’t think of the children I lost every day now. The pain has faded, and likely will continue to fade – I have birthed two more children since then, have left behind the idea of my body as a dead shell. The children that stayed with me grow and thrive and continue to be so vibrantly alive. But a few times during the year – these moments that mark their deaths, the moments that mark the lives that could have been – I have a special ritual dedicated to the children I lost and all their mothers, my ancestors, who watch over them. I’ll be posting this ritual next week as Children Who Rest with My Ancestors: Part 2.

Previous Post

February 23, 2015

What Nights Are For

Next Post

March 3, 2015 3 great reads for Pagan parents

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category abortion Adoption birth Birth Guardians birth stories breastfeeding Contraception divorce Flash Points From the Editor's Desk grandparenting home infertility marriage menstruation Miscarriage Pagan Families Parenting poetry postpartum pregnancy review ritual sex education Uncategorized Wednesday Wisdom

Select a Month September 2015 August 2015 July 2015 June 2015 May 2015 April 2015 March 2015 February 2015 January 2015 December 2014 November 2014 October 2014 September 2014 August 2014 July 2014 June 2014 May 2014 April 2014 March 2014 February 2014 January 2014 December 2013 November 2013 October 2013 September 2013 August 2013 July 2013 June 2013 May 2013 April 2013 March 2013 February 2013 January 2013 December 2012 November 2012 October 2012 September 2012 August 2012 July 2012 June 2012 May 2012 April 2012 March 2012 February 2012 January 2012 December 2011 November 2011 October 2011 September 2011 August 2011 July 2011 June 2011 May 2011

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz

What's the main theme of the Book of Job?

Select your answer to see how you score.

Why good people suffer Exile and return Building a wall Genealogies