As counter-intuitive as it sounds, Ben and Liam's birth was not so much a belief-shattering experience as it was a belief-creating experience. I entered into it in a complete void of faith. What *was* shattered, for me, was my obliviousness. I hadn't realized how deeply rooted that obliviousness had been, and god, how naked and exposed I felt when it was gone.
The belief that Liam's death created in me... it's tough to articulate. It affirmed for me, to my surprise, that we are accompanied by something bigger and more profound and more loving than what's in our line of sight. Something more ancient than all our human attempts at constraining and packaging it up.
The other belief that was formed in my loss is that my motherhood of Liam was worthwhile. Again, tough to articulate, but that's the word that springs up. Worthwhile. I can't know why he was born so injured, and why he died. I can only presume that he needed to grow inside me, and was meant to be my son exactly as he was. He made my heart bigger. Birthing him made it bigger. As did holding him as he died. Not that his purpose was to make me bigger... but he did.