Baby Type Things

I did it today. We went to Wal-mart on our way back from some other errands to get a clock, and I bought some baby things. I walked right into the baby section amongst the cribs, strollers, diapers and onesies and bought things I wanted for myself.

For myself, and for the mizuko.

Things I had already thought about buying long before these weeks of sadness. Things I had intended to buy as a preliminary step to what I would need later down the line. I started with a teething toy I had seen at work earlier in the week, and at Wal-mart, I picked up another toy. A blanket. A pair of white shoes. A package of hats, one of which has ears on it. These are the things I would have purchased for my child, if only it had lived.

If only it had grown.

I bought a statue of the mizuko jizo online, at Home Depot of all places. At first, I thought that I didn't really want something like that in my house, some constant reminder of what I had lost. But it became something I had to do, like how I had to bury the remains of my pregnancy. It is a smiling, gentle face that reassures me this whole process has not been a waste, but a transformation. I am not the same. The mizuko will not be the same. It will not be my child, but a leaf on a tree, a flower on a plant, a strong blade of grass. The reminder that nothing can truly be destroyed is comforting, if difficult.

So it is the tradition to adorn the jizo statue with gifts to the mizuko - toys, food and clothing. It is the feeling of some that this placates the spirit of the child so it will not try to harm the family (this especially applies in the case of abortion). But I don't believe in spirits, so I know better. The jizo statue is a proxy, a way for the mother to care for a child that she is deeply grieving and missing. A miscarriage may not have any recognizable earthly remains, or the dedication of a jizo may take place many years later, so this is a way to connect to the child which has become something else.

I am still trying to find a place for my jizo to sit, out of sight to the casual observer who might wander into my house, but near enough that I will look upon it every day. And then, when the weird tearless sadness of actually buying those things subsides, I will give those few possessions to the mizuko as I had originally planned to, many months from now. I will tend to the statue as it requires, washing it and dusting it and hoping that the remembrance will allow me to not feel guilty on days when I forget the sadness. Those days seem to increase in number as the weeks go by and it's important to me not to forget the life that could have been.

In truth, perhaps, I might decide to do something differently. It's hard to say if this will bring me comfort the way I hope it might. I am learning about this grief as I go. Making it tangible and real means I am one step closer to saying goodbye. At least, it is a hope.