Beginning about 11:30 a.m. Tuesday morning, Uvalde, Texas, and every soul in it, was irrevocably and inconsolably changed.
Forever.
And, by extension, so was the rest of the web of humanity.
Of course, this isn’t the first time that web has been irrevocably and inconsolably changed in this fashion.
And it likely won’t be the last.
More specifically, when an 18-year-old gunman took aim at a classroom of excited children, ages 7 to 10, on their last day of school, the universal feminine soul was once again shattered into millions of pieces.
(Before I continue, the masculine soul is absolutely torn apart by these events too. The fatherhood that is inscribed within that masculine soul has been decimated.)
But let’s get real here.
Men don’t carry children in their wombs.
Men’s bodies don’t forever change and adapt to the life growing inside of their wombs.
Men aren’t intricately connected to the child formed in the womb with each passing day.
Women do, and women are.
And when those babies are born, and leave the woman’s body, women lose that intimate experience of sheltering and protecting that life in their womb.
On the other hand, while a piece of those women is now forever living, and moving and having their being outside of her body, both share in the mystery of human existence.
And that woman’s heart now goes with them wherever they go.
She is no longer complete within herself, as pieces of herself have become individual lives of their own.
Whatever happens to them, happens to her.
Whatever joys and successes they experience, she experiences too.
Whatever sorrows or losses they experience, she experiences too.
So, when a woman loses her child whom she loves, in whatever fashion, but especially in a situation such as this, not only has a real part of her own body and soul been cruelly violated and destroyed, but she carries with her all that goes along with having been unable to protect, to save her child’s life from being ripped from her.
The grief, the mourning — there simply are no words for it, and there is no end to it.
And only a woman who has experienced this loss, can truly know what it feels like. The rest of us can stand by and grieve and mourn along with her, but we will never know the utter, lasting destruction and loss that is now with her every breath she takes for the rest of her earthly life.
And furthermore, perhaps especially, no one, not a single soul, can tell her how she should grieve.
But we all have a responsibility as shared members of the web of humanity, to offer her comfort, and to do whatever we can morally and ethically do, to make sure this never happens to another woman, another mother.
Ever, again.
I have never borne children of my own, but I do have a womb, and I know the womb is a sacred place, whether one has children or not.
Even after women are done having children, the womb continues to be a sacred, creative space for the rest of their lives. And this does not change even for those women whose wombs are physically removed. That sacred, creative space is still there.
On Tuesday night, when it was time to get ready for bed, I was grateful to be turning off the lights. I, like many people, was numb and exhausted from trying to process the day’s events.
The night is a sacred and mysterious realm all its own, and the feminine is often associated with the dark, with the night.
That night, all I wanted to do — all I could do — was to lie quietly in the dark, in the night, with my feminine soul — with the feminine soul that nurtures us all — and be still.
Hail Mary, Full of Grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.
- SPIRIT MATTERS is a weekly column that examines spirituality. Contact Jerrilyn Zavada at jzblue33@yahoo.com to share how you engage your spirit in your life and community.