Sunday, June 12, 2011

owlet's seedling

I have been so devastated by Egghunt's news. She finally got a BFP after a FET, and found out last week that it was an ectopic pregnancy. She had to have one of her tubes removed. Please go give Egghunt a hug at Searching for our Golden Egg. It just seems so unfair.


We managed to find some time at the end of the day yesterday for our tree planting ceremony. I use ceremony loosely, as it was a very brief event attended by only 2 people and roughly 3 or 4 million unceremonious mosquitoes.

Mr. A and I went to the farmer's market in the morning, as we often do on Saturdays. I've been going there with a very heavy heart for years, and a heavier heart still since the miscarriage. There are a multitude of babies, young children, and happy new parents who stroll around at the farmer's market. This is wonderful, and we too would like to stroll around with our baby, except that we've had no luck making that happen. So we walk around with only our shopping bags instead.

I had a fat gift certificate for a spa in town and treated Sattva and I to a manicure and pedicure in the afternoon. It was nice to spend time with her. And very fitting on the day of the tree planting.

When I returned home, I knew it was time to do the tree planting. We couldn't put it off any longer. The seedling needed to be in the ground, and we needed to bring some sort of emotional punctuation mark to this sad event, even if it was only a coma. I think we both went reluctantly.

The spot we chose was, as I said in my last post, at the back of the property, where Mr. A proposed to me in May 2009. It took us about 30 minutes to walk back there, stopping to get mulch on the way. The bugs were atrocious, except when we walked across a breezy field. We didn't say much to each other on the way. I just said, "I hope we never have to do this again". We got to the back field and Mr. A chose a spot at the edge of the forest for the seedling to be planted. It didn't need a very big hole, but Mr. A dug it a bit deeper because we had mementos to put in: the pee sticks that revealed such happy news, a little card we'd received from a friend who was excited we were pregnant, a little note I wrote to owlet, and a tiny metal angel a co-worker gave me with this purpose in mind. Mr. A covered the hole and mulched it well.

Mr. A planting the hazelnut seedling

The bugs were so voracious (but not vociferous, Pumpkin), that it prevented us from lingering there too long. I thought about how that was nature's way of telling us to move on, and not stay in this deep sorrow too long. There are lives to be lived, and perhaps someday, children to be raised.

As I stepped out of the wood's edge where we planted owlet's seedling and began collecting things we had left on the ground, I heard a barred owl give a few hoots. One doesn't often hear owls during the day, but I'm pretty sure that's what I heard (although I am not discounting the possibility of auditory hallucination). While I know it's probably complete bullshit, I took comfort in believing that it was nature's welcome to owlet and a reminder to us that we are not alone in our grief.



  1. Such a beautiful way to memorialize Owlet. It sounded like a spe ial and emotional day that will be with you always. I'm sure there is still much grief and sadness to feel, but hopefully now you can begin the healing process.

  2. Beautiful Augusta...thanks for sharing. So eloquently written.

  3. I'm so glad you got to do this, A. It is beautiful and heartbreaking, but/and you and Mr. A have given something lasting to the earth in a place you love, that will add life to it into forever. I love that you heard the ow just afterward. Your owlet has been taken in. Love you, woman.

  4. So, so beautiful Augusta. I love what you wrote about the circumstances there being natures way of encouraging you to move forward and hope you continue to find some comfort in the owl responding at that perfect moment. Continue to move forward dear Augusta, step by step, I know it's difficult now but the steps will become less painful and the sorrow less exhausting. Sending prayers that you & Mr. A continue to find the strength needed for these difficult days and hope for the future.

  5. What a beautiful way to remember your little owlet. I love that you heard the owl afterward - so special.
    Thanks for stopping by my blog.

  6. I don't think I've ever told anyone that I painted a mural after my third loss. Three birds and a nest. I was painting the wall anyway, but for a day or two it stood. It's there behind the green paint in my bedroom. It seemed like the only way to feel like I could say goodbye. I had that same feeling for you as I read this. I am certain that if an owl could sing a who for your ceremony, that it did. Sweet owlet will be very missed.

  7. This was a beautiful and heartbreaking post to read. You are so strong and have so much love to give a little child, I so hope you will be able to welcome one into the world soon.

  8. Not sure how to express what I feel for you today but just know I'm thinking of you

  9. This is beautiful, Augusta. I'm glad you marked it. I didn't and was always sorry later. One day you will walk through that farmer's market with shopping bags AND a baby. You will.

  10. I'm surprised even the mosquitoes didn't bow their heads in honor of this sad moment. Of course, maybe they did, in between sucks... I hope the ceremony does help you guys move on to whatever stage is next, and that it's a tiny bit easier, at least some of the time. And I second Adele--there will come a time when you're juggling produce AND baby at that blasted farmer's market.

  11. This is very sweet. You and A are obviously such incredibly wonderful people and I agree with Adele above that one day you will join those parent ranks.
    I'm wishing you both peace and healing.

  12. Yet another lovely post which made me cry. I'm so sorry you are going through this I hope you find peace and closure.

  13. What a wonderful tribute to your little Owlet. I hope as well that you never have to plant another tree in sorrow there. My wishes for you are all good ones, that the farmer's market will soon be filled with the sounds of YOUR children's laughter.

  14. Teary-eyed and without many words after reading this. Sending deep faith that nature has welcomed the owlet, that his or her tree will thrive, and that there will be a sibling for owlet one day who will have the privilege of being bitten my mosquitoes alongside her or his parents while visiting owlet's hazelnut.

    All my love, as always,

  15. Just lovely.

    Why wouldnt you hear an owl? Dont we all deserve some small gift of comfort in times of loss? I am grateful for it too.

    You have been on my mind. I think about you a lot.

  16. Such a lovely send off Augusta, little owlet would be proud of you. And I think its really beautiful that he/she was acknowledged by the owl in the distance.

    Thanks for sharing this really personal moment, seeing the note and the white rose made my heart burst with sorrow for you. Its so hard to say goodbye.

    Thank you for your support to me personally, you are really very special to find room in your heart for me when you have your own grieving going on. xxx

    I have been meaning to tell you this for ages but I have these two little glass owl ornaments that sit in my bathroom and everytime I see them i think of you. One of them is slightly flawed as it's leg broke off somewhere throughout its life and I hope you dont take this the wrong way but I kinda think that owl is you. A little broken, but still perfectly perfect.


  17. There ARE children you will raise. And they will be wonderful ones because they will have had you for a mother.

    And I also hope - with every part of me - that you never have to do this again. That next time when you plant something there, or nearby, you plant something for very, very good reasons.

    All of that said - and as someone who never marked her losses in any way, and who now regrets it - I'm glad you did it. No matter how hard.

    (This is very late, Augusta, for which I hope you'll forgive me. But I've been here, following along and thinking of you).