Synchronicity in our Shared Experience

It is called synchronicity in the law of attraction; when things align and come together in an almost magical, seemingly ordained manner. Last week I read a Winnie the Pooh book to my daughter and felt sweet encouragement for the journey of navigating the emotional days following the loss of my baby Zachary. I posted last Wednesday about these amazing words that Christopher Robin spoke to Pooh, words that seemed as if they were written specifically for me.

 

 

Then, as I was looking around on the Edmonton Walk to Remember website, I was thrilled to find the same quote by A. A. Milne on the home page atop sweetly drawn trees with a blue bird perched above. Coincidence? I doubt it. It seems like the universe or God or whoever/whatever is out there is trying to tell me something – and I know this personal message is not just for me.

 

The larger message that resonates with me is this: We are not alone. We are not alone in this encouragement; we are not alone in our struggles.

 

The Christopher Robin quote is something we all need to hear and the fact that we all need to hear it, whether we have had a miscarriage or a stillbirth, lost our baby in the hospital or at home, the fact that the message resonates with us all – that is something to draw comfort from. While all our stories are unique and precious, they do also share commonalities that can make this journey of loss a little less lonesome.

 

Before my world was thrown off axis by the news that my son would not live, it never occurred to me that women in a civilized technologically advanced culture could lose a baby. It wasn’t until I lost Zachary that I began meeting woman after woman and countless couples who had also lost a child. It was almost as if I crossed the threshold of understanding and entered a new realm of community.

 

It was not long ago that I got an email from a sweet lady named Suzy. She had read a poem at the same city wide memorial service in Edmonton where I had spoken about my family’s journey. Suzy emailed me and we shared our stories and the bond was instant as I learned about the loss of her precious child. Our children died of different conditions but the manifestation of those showed in our babies in similar ways.

 

Reading Suzy’s email about her loss was almost as if I was reading my own story. The similarities that we share are a revelation to me.

 

Throughout the whole process of losing a child, it is easy to feel alone, like you are the only one in the world. It is an isolating experience challenging even the strongest of friendships and familial bonds. It may seem like no one understands; no one has the right words to say. Some may expect you to move on quickly or grieve in a particular way – these erroneous conceptions only further the loneliness.

 

 

Even now, closing in on two years since my son died, there are days I wish I could find a shoulder and let loose a bucket full of tears and simply talk about my son non-stop for hours until I am spent and slip into the kind of deep sleep where you awaken and your very soul feels rested. Knowing Suzy’s journey, so akin to my own, feels remarkably like finding another one of my own kind. In a world of happy families who have never tasted a death such as ours, the community of even just one is more than enough.

 

I know I am not alone. This is a comforting and unfortunately a sobering thought. We are not alone – and while we cannot change our lot in life, we can find strength in each other, hope in each other’s found hope, and love – the love and acceptance free of judgement that we all crave and is all that really matters in the end.

 

I would be happy to connect with any of you out there, please feel free to comment here or send me an email. Connect with others as well, reach out. My husband often tells me, when I am feeling alone, “Everyone else is probably sitting at home feeling the same way.”

 

Love and strength to you all!