Those Who Mourn

by Elizabeth Leon

We hear it all the time: Miscarriage is common. 1 in 4. A common grief.

But … does the fact that a loss is common mean we are supposed to feel better about it? Because it isn’t unusual, shall I not consider my suffering unique or substantial?

One definition of “common” is that which affects the whole of a community, but another means something of relatively minor importance. In many ways, pregnancy loss has become both something that affects a whole community, but which is commonly regarded as being of relatively minor importance.

What does it say about our collective nature if that which affects a whole community has not been allowed to take up the space of significance it rightly deserves? What if the fact that many people experience miscarriage doesn’t mean we should feel “less bad” about it but instead now have access to an army of mothers and fathers who understand the depths of our pain?

When a common grief becomes a shared grief, we make space for healing. Not because our suffering goes away, but because we are not alone in it. A common grief doesn’t make our grief less, but gives us the courage to look our loss square in the face and say, “Yes, it is this bad. It does hurt this much. I don’t have to pretend it doesn’t because I know you feel it too.”

Go to the House of Mourning, from a series on the Works of Mercy, John Flaxman, 1831

A common grief can become communion. When we allow our grief to merge and meld with another’s, a fellowship is formed. In time, the sharp edges of isolation can give way to the soft curves of empathy, comfort, and hope. Friendship forged in suffering fosters freedom.

Freedom to feel what you feel.

Freedom to need what you need.

Freedom to hurt for as long as you need to hurt.

Freedom to express your grief honestly.

Freedom to be forever changed by grief.

Freedom to always love and miss your baby.

However common, pregnancy loss leaves many mothers and fathers feeling isolated and misunderstood. My prayer is that every parent grieving the loss of a baby – or anyone grieving – can see their grief as an invitation to enter our own hearts and our shared humanity in a way we didn’t before know was possible.

From common to communion, from fellowship to freedom, from freedom to healing – not stages of grief, but an opportunity for our common grief to be the very place we find connection, healing, and hope.

---