let's see how deep the rabbit hole goes

GROWING EYES IN THE DARK

The most recent passage of grief has been
Iike walking in darkness. I have journeyed to the other side to find myself here: harvesting potatoes in the early morning, hearing their song while daydreaming about Callum.

I spent days in labor-- from Monday to Friday-- punctuated and prolonged by Callum's death. I found myself both broken and held together; in between everything and somehow holding strong.

How did I dig this deep? How did I find the strength to walk my darkest pass? How did I advocate for myself and clearly see the road ahead? I still have no idea what pushed me while I pushed him. Giving birth to my son was my rite. To grieve fully I needed to honor this passage for the two of us. I needed to pull death through by birthing it. I needed to complete our physical journey to begin a new. I needed to bring light out of darkness, the greatest of all magic acts.

I remember stepping outside of the hospital for the first time after birthing Callum. I felt like I walked through a portal, like I slid through to another dimension. Everything that was familiar was now slightly not. I felt like a baby. Everything was raw, everything needed tending. I was using my eyes for the first time. This kept me close to Callum. I kept thinking: I now remember what life is like as a new born.

I sit here in the early morning, in my early mourning, not wanting to change a thing. Allowing the words to flow while my milk flows. The little potato reminded me that your eyes eventually adjust to the darkness and you begin to see. You grow roots and stems, each reaching for the vastness before them.

Let's see how deep the rabbit hole goes.