I ran out of milk

It's time to return the Breast Pump that I borrowedd/stole from Kapiolani Medical Center. That's a picture of the two of us as I was pumping on the Bozeman Airport bathroom floor travelling two months ago. Yes, boobalicious. I stole that fancy silent breast pump so that I could feed other babies while living below the yoga studio. It's a great story of people being bigger than the institution. I will share the whole story another time.

I ran out of milk on June 30. Exactly one trimeter after Max passed. My ambitious intention of pumping Max's milk to donate to babies in critical care for one year was an arbitrary number. After around 1300 ounces of breast milk later, I had to remind myself numerous times of the ambiguity as the emotional deficit set in. My mind was telling me to act quickly and find nourishment for my baby. It was showing up for me in the constant feeling that I wasn't doing enough for my son. If I could just connect with one more human, or just awaken to one more way Max was communicating with me, or just catch one more piece of magic, or just etc... Of course Max isn't coming back but it didn't stop my body and mind from working endlessly to do so. We want to feed our children even after they are gone. It's beautiful actually.

I have talked to many of mamas who over the course of breast feeding their children had days or weeks where they weren't producing enough milk and were forced to supplement and the stress that coupled their deficiency. Parenting your spirit child has it's own set of complications but making sure they are fed enough isn't one of them.

I am sharing this with you to remind you that we are more than our bodies. This is the gift of grief. You are pulled out of your head and into your heart. You are ripped open. Utilize it. I am able to nourish Max by opening my heart more and more and more. Love is not dependent on time, space or embodiment, and clearly way beyond our capacity to understand it. It's not for understanding. It's for feeling. Max has always only ever spoken the language of the heart. It's his language. It's universal. It's never looking. It's never lacking. It's always present and it's always the same message. Let Love In. The more I open, the more receptive I am to his teaching. It's everywhere. It's not complicated. Love and nourish. Love and nourish.