Like so many of my attempts at becoming a real writer, I expected my latest--The Japanese Art of Grieving a Miscarriage in the New York Times--would fade to obscurity in a matter of minutes. However, two days since publication, the piece has been shared over 7,000 times: and that's just on Facebook.
The comments have been overwhelming. People have shared their support of my little Jizo as well as their stories surrounding their own losses--some occurring recently; others, decades ago. I like hearing them. I like to think they make all of us feel a little less alone, and I'm thrilled that the magic of writing brought us all together.
I've always considered myself a comedian, but the Jizo piece isn't a joke. While I would never be so bold as to claim I have the ability to help people, I do hope my story proves useful to people who are grieving in similar ways. And if there's anything else I can do, let me know. That thousands of people care about my absent child as much as I do satisfies both the mother and the writer in me. I am crushed.
Here is a picture of Jizo in my garden. For the second anniversary, I went for a hoodie in terms of crochet. It could have gone better.
I'm fortunate that my story has a happy ending. I fell pregnant with my second child a month after the miscarriage. He is almost a year old now: teething, putting his fingers in sockets, refusing to nap. I don't appreciate him nearly enough.
Thank you for reading,