“The writerly text is ourselves writing,
before the infinite play of the world…
reduces the plurality of entrances,
the opening of networks,
the infinity of languages.”
~ Roland Gérard Barthes
There are certain things we don’t talk about. Money. Religion. Politics. Cue visions of the Thanksgiving table where a variety of strongly held beliefs are shared and debated from the first appetizer nibbles straight through to the pumpkin pie. Everything from spirited discussions to heated arguments, all because people have a specific opinion that differs from another.
Given that contentious context, why does a list of taboo topics still include miscarriage? Clearly there can be few, if any, varying opinions on such a tragic and heartbreaking experience. Especially one that is so common as to be the result of 15 – 20% of all pregnancies.
That’s a lot of conversations not happening. A lot of pain going unministered to, a lot of parents grieving in silence.
I seek to acknowledge the seemingly unmentionable experience of miscarriage. Even when it’s difficult and painful and overwhelming. People needn’t feel they have to hide away and mourn in secret and then be expected to “get it together” around other people. We must do better for those who mourn while they walk this difficult path.
Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.
I wandered that path myself several times. It’s a path that never truly ends, and sometimes I still find myself detouring there without any warning.
Like those panicked moments of driving down an unfamiliar highway and suddenly I’m in one of those “exit only” lanes and I just know I don’t want to get off there but there’s no way to get back over on the main road. So now I’m barreling along, going what seems way too fast alongside all these other people who seem to know exactly where they’re going. I slow down out of what feels like necessity because I’m feeling completely vulnerable and I just want to know where I can turn around. How I can get back to the slightly-less-scary path I was on a few minutes ago so that I can breathe again.
Those roads are exhausting.
They’re exhausting because they are so often steeped in what feels like all-consuming pain and sorrow. Those emotions and experiences, those grieving parents and hoped-for babies, they deserve to be recognized, honored, and prayed over. And, with God’s help, written about.