A Birth Healing Blessing

One of my Facebook friends shared this poem yesterday and I felt like re-posting it.

A Birth Healing Blessing

Blessed sister, beautiful one
with broken wings.
Your journey is a difficult one…
that no mother should have to endure.
Your path is steep, rocky and slippery
and your tender heart is in need of gentle healing.

Breathe deeply and know that you are loved.
You are not alone,
though at times, you will feel like a
desolate island of grief
Close your eyes.
Seek the wisdom of women who have walked this well-worn path before you,
and before,
and before you yourself were born.
These beautiful ones
with eyes like yours
have shared your pain, and
weathered the storms of loss.

You are not alone (breathe in)
You will go on (breathe out)
Your wings will mend (breathe in)
You are loved (breathe out)
~ Mary Burgess

Author, Mending Invisible Wings, a healing journal for mothers following the loss of their baby through late-term miscarriage, stillbirth, or neonatal death.


The “eyes like yours” line really stood out to me. I mentioned when I shared my few pregnancy pictures here that I asked Mark to take a post-miscarriage picture of me, because I wanted to remember how my eyes looked. I haven’t had the heart to post about it, nor have told many people at all, but I had another miscarriage on February 1st. This one was very early and completely different than my experience with Noah (and one reason I haven’t felt like sharing about it, is because I don’t want it to overshadow my experience with him or to have him just be one in a long line of recurrent losses [which is what I now fear]. I also felt strongly that I simply CANNOT handle having people feel sorry for me again so soon). Anyway, every time I saw myself in the mirror I kept thinking, “these are the eyes of a mother whose babies have died.” They are different eyes…


4 responses to “A Birth Healing Blessing

  1. thanks, Molly. As the poem said, you are not alone, and you will go on…but maybe differently. I know what you mean that your eyes are different. I am different too, now. I am the mother of three now. I have had two homebirths now. (my first child was an emergency caesarean, the second was a homebirth, and my miscarriage was at home, beautifully supported by my husband and my daughter, with my midwife available by phone if we needed her). I cannot help but be different. But not worse. Just different. Touched by grief, but humbled by it as well. Given the gift of seeing my humanness, my ordinariness, and how that is still beautiful. And sharing a different bond now with other women who have experienced this pain. Wonderful connecting conversations have taken place with people, that would not – could not – have taken place, if I had not had a miscarriage. My baby is leading me to wiser ways, and deeper into my soul. My baby is bringing me ‘home’ to myself. It is painful, and it is hard…but it is also something that needed to happen, for my family’s sake. Thank you for continuing to share your journey, as it affirms for me the importance of acknowledging my own.

  2. Your comment is so true, Melissa. Thanks for contributing. I feel humbled by these experiences at well–humbled and grateful to be so. I wrote on my other blog (the Talk Birth one) that though I feel like I have always had compassion for other women, I feel like without my miscarriages I would still somehow be “smug,” in a sense.

  3. What a beautiful poem. It hit to the heart of what I feel. I’ve lost two babies in the last year and am now having trouble getting pregnant. While I was stricken by grief when I lost the babies, I thought, “At least I get pregnant easily…” Now I don’t even have that.

    I do have a beautiful daughter, and I cherish her every day, but I long to have another baby in my arms. Am I selfish? Did I wait until I’m too old to have babies? Did I try to “have it all” and get burned? And now it’s tempting to treat my toddler like a baby in case I don’t have another one – just what I’ve always been against. I know what you mean about “smugness.” I always thought, “Why on earth would people ever have just one child?” and I’d add on all my judgements. Well, now I suppose plenty of them do so because that’s the hand they are dealt. I used to know so much. Now I don’t know much at all.

    I pray that I have another baby. I’m sure plenty of women have thought they’d never have another baby but went on to have more. Nothing is a sure bet, and, in this moment, it doesn’t seem like the odds are in my favor. Whether I do or not, I know that life is giving me experience. I’m gaining the wisdom that age has to offer. That’s what I identified with in your response, Melissa.

    God bless us all.

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