Many of you might not know that I am also on LinkedIn.

What seems like twelve million years ago, when I was part of the Chesed Leadership Training Program run by Cindy Darrison, I met Sarah Rivka Kohnwho regaled me on the value of that platform for nonprofit leaders. She had seen a tremendous response to her work and her posts which talked about “Tales of A Leader” and told me I was missing a HUGE opportunity by not engaging there.

In March, when the world shut down, I decided that I should further my professional network online, as the possibility of an in-person event seemed like it was never going to happen again.

So I dipped my toes in, created a profile and started posting about my work here. I shared with that community how much *this* community was in pain. I shared tips about what they could do to help. I shared thoughts and ideas about treating everyone kindly, because you never know what someone else is going through.

And one day, about a month and a half ago, a connection reached out to me by DM. She told me that she had a story to share, a story that she had never shared with anyone before.

I read it and cried.

This her piece.

In a sense

I am no stranger

To grief.

But in a sense—

It’s completely

New

Different

Territory.

I’ve never

Grieved

A year later

In a different sense,

Though,

I’ve been grieving

My whole life

So—

There is some

Parallel

Grief taking over.

The most immediate pain:

I can’t

Even

Say

The

Word

How can

Someone

Celebrate

An abortion?!?!?!

It’s the cruelest

Cruelty.

I listened

To Abby Johnson

At the RNC

And I dissociated.

It was

The

Only

Way.

This is

A joke

To some?!

IT’S

A

BABY!!!!!!!!

But—

It was

A baby

That

I couldn’t

Carry.

How many

Children

Do I have?

Two.

How many times

Have

I

Been

Pregnant?

Three…

With no miscarriages

I’m not sure

Whether to say

Thank G-d

Or not.

Perhaps

A miscarriage

Is indefinitely

More painful

A baby wanted.

A baby lost.

A pregnancy cherished.

A pregnancy gone.

Intellectually,

I know

The answer.

It’s easy.

I didn’t have to

Convince

Myself.

I felt it.

I was going to die.

Mentally.

Emotionally.

It would have

Been the end

Of my marriage—

Of my motherhood—

Of my life—

For all

Intents

And purposes.

Is that

A worthwhile cost

For a baby

To come

Into this world?

The Rav (Rabbi)

Was unequivocal:

Before

Forty days

It is

Like

Water.

No Neshama. (soul)

My Neshama

Still has

A duty

In this world—

To be a mother

To be a wife

To be a leader

To be a light.

The baby

Was a rodef. (figuratively, something that could kill)

But—

It was still

My baby.

Who

I had

To lose.

I already

Had one child

When

I

Was completely

Not ready.

I went through

Nothing short

Of hell

On earth.

With PPD.

It could

Have killed me

Without

The pregnancy.

Not suicide—

But mental,

Emotional

Death.

For over

A year.

I was forced

To dissociate

When

I underwent

The procedure.

I can’t even

Refer to it

Directly.

Then people wonder

How a friend

Whom they laughed with

Commits suicide.

I know

The answer now.

In the year since

I’ve rebuilt

My life.

We’ve rebuilt

Our lives.

Our children

Are the light

At the center.

But—

The torment

Lies dormant.

I never grieved.

Never

Grieved a positive

Pregnancy test.

That was

A baby.

There was a sac

On the sonogram.

It may not have had

A Neshama (soul)

But it would have

Given two

More weeks.

When

I

Conceived

My second

Child—

Unplanned—

I put

My hand

Protectively

On my stomach.

A day later.

My sister

Laughed.

“Yeah, it’s a reflex—

When you’re pregnant.”

For weeks along,

Four months along,

Or four centimeters dilated—

It’s my baby.

From the moment

I know

I’m pregnant.

And so—

I lost

A baby.

Too.

As I come closer

To a time

When I can imagine—

Maybe—

Trying to conceive again

The grief

Comes unbidden

As it needs to

For me to find

The lost

Parts of myself.

In the greater story

Of picking up

The lost pieces

Of me.

There is one piece

That will always

Be

Missing.

And it is

The piece

That could never

Coexist

With me.