She is writing about herself. Herself and her husband. And about their first child. A stillborn son.
I've read lots of books about babies dying. About baby-lost parents. They were really the only books I could read after I lost Freyja. After Freyja died.
Recently, I've found that my appetite for baby-lost books is much less than it used to be. Back then it was a comfort to read these books. To read a sentence which resonated. A sentence which described perfectly how I felt. Or described perfectly what had happened. But by the time Kees died, I was already an "expert" ... I knew I would survive. I knew how I would feel. I knew the shock would abate. I knew lots of other baby-lost families. I knew without reading about it.
Now these books just make me overwhelmingly sad. So very, very sad. They're not a comfort any more. They're not just people's stories. They're reality. Of so many babies dying. Of so many baby-lost parents. They make me realise that my story is not so different after all.
I often wonder how the rest of the world can walk past these books and ignore these stories. How they can become pregnant and not see these realities. I don't know.
I just wanted to share some of the author's thoughts from this book. I'm only up to page 93, so about half-way through I guess.
She writes (on page 80) that grief lasts longer than sympathy. And that this is one of the tragedies of the grieving.
How true. And how absolutely amazing that something so profound and so misunderstood is put into those few words which express it so perfectly. Grief lasts longer than sympathy. And that this is a tragedy for her and for us (the grieving).
She writes (on pages 93-94) of a lunch in London. A lunch which took place about two weeks after her baby died. A lunch with "people who loved them". Where everyone sat around talking about everything except for what happened. She calls that lunch "two of the most excruciating hours of her life". Where she sat and thought "dead baby dead baby dead baby" and knew that everyone else was thinking the same thing. But no-one said anything.
I remember several dinners like that.
The first dinner happened in mid-August 2006, in Melbourne, about three weeks after Freyja died. It was around my birthday. Two friends took Craig and I out for our birthdays (we are one day apart). They are old friends. Friends from Europe who happened to both be in Melbourne at that time. We didn't really talk about Freyja or the pregnancy. Except for a moment where P (who is a doctor/surgeon/businessman) mentioned that "it was probably for the best" (referring to Freyja's death). WTF??? Where did that come from?? As happened mostly back then, we were so stunned that the opportunity to respond passed us by. But I remember what he said. That it was probably for the best. We don't really have any contact with them any more. Our grief outlasted their sympathy.
The second dinner took place in Amsterdam in April 2008, only a few weeks after Kees died. We had dinner at my (then) best friend's house. Her new-ish boyfriend was there. It was important to her that I like her boyfriend. She said to me, whilst we were chatting in her kitchen, that "at least you know you can get pregnant. I don't even know if I can do that." WTF???? Like I'm supposed to feel SORRY for her, for her uncertainty in her ability to get pregnant??? When she hasn't even TRIED ... when it was just an unknown??? And I've just buried MY SECOND DEAD BABY?? I walked away from that one too. But the friendship didn't last. A seven year friendship. We worked together, we were best friends, we travelled the world together. She was my witness at our wedding. My grief outlasted her sympathy.
For those interested in possibly reading this book, it's a rambling story. There's no real structure to it. But I guess that's just like life really. It suits my frame of mind at the moment. My life has no real structure to it either. It just happened, just like it continues to just happen.
19 comments:
I adore that book - my mom gave it to me shortly after Sam died and I devoured it. My favourite line is "closure is bullshit". Amen, sister.
I read that book many, many months ago and liked it well enough I guess. I wanted to read her story since she is a babylost mama. I did not connect strongly with her though. I don't know if it was the style of writing or what. I finished it, and like am glad to have read her story though.
Another book I really found to touch my heart is "Comfort" by Ann Hood. A short memior of her daughters death and grief. This is a fairly newish book, maybe published in the last year or so.
The quote you included in your post is so true - our grief does outlast the sympathy of so many. I wish it were different. If people would just have the courage to talk about our babies, say their names out loud and let us know they are thinking of us. That's not too much to ask!
((((((Hugs))))))
I found the book to be a great help. She writes a blog. You can find it at http://elizabethmccracken.blogspot.com/
Peace.
I'm planning to read that one. I read 'Empty Cradle, Broken heart' and didn't like it at all.
Those books have never really been a comfort to me.
Your morning seems melancholy at best. I'm sorry.
I hope your day gets brighter Mirne.
Love
Lindsay
I read that book on the 'vacation' we took three weeks after Rose died.
It was our, we should have had a baby, but all we got was this crappy vacation, vacation.
So I'm sitting reading the book, hat low, large sunglasses to cover the permanent red eyes...and all I could think of was exactly as she says dead baby dead baby dead baby - while people are joyfully frolicking in the waves on their vacation they planned for months.
I've never felt more disconnected from reality then I did on that trip, but reading that book gave me some degree of sanity that I wasn't crazy in the new and unfamiliar world of baby loss.
So true...Our grief does outlast their sympathy. I wish it were different and others knew that we want to talk about our children and not ignore the fact that they existed.
I haven't read it, I'm not sure if I will, but that line: 'grief lasts longer than sympathy' really resonates.
And yes, an enormous WTF???? to your ex-friend. What a ridiculous and hurtful thing to say.
I read that book right when it came out...although her story and her way of handling grief were different than mine, I absolutely devoured it. She tells her story backwards, so you'll find it all fits together once you've finished.
One of the most hurtful things anyone said to us was very similar to your friend's comment after Freyja died...a woman from our synagogue wrote us a "sympathy" card which stated 'as a health care professional, I believe it is likely for the best'. This woman knew nothing about how Ezra died...he in fact was 100% healthy and whole...it was my body that failed...and I still can't look that woman in the eye when I see her.
"grief outlasts the sympathy"...its quite powerful. I mean, I know everyday I wake up and wonder what my day will bring me. Will I be sad, will I cry, will I feel empty or will I feel...okay. Yet, everyone around me is fine. Sure most came to the funerals, some sent cards and flowers but its like they think that have done their part. They paid respect to our sons and moved on. Yet, my life doesn't move on, it sort of stands still. They go about their day, blissfully happy yet I can't remember the last time I felt like that. Where I fel truly happy...with no worries, no fears. Its sad. :(
I had a get together with some friends about a month ago. Not one of them mentioned L, it was like his life and death didn't happen. They were all acting normal, talking about anything and everything and there I was feeling so uncomfortable. Why am I feeling uncomfortable? It was my son who died, not yours. Ugh...I would NEVER wish this kind of pain on anyone, no one. But I would just love for others to walk in my shoes for just one day...hell, for just one hour. To know my pain and to know my life.
I'm sure that the grief of others has outlasted my sympathy. Sadly and shamefully. Perhaps it is just that sympathy is harder to hold on to than grief.
But on every occasion, no matter what the loss, I hope that my sympathy lasted longer than a couple of weeks. What on earth?
I'm so sorry that you had to go through the dinners you have described here. I will never understand why it is considered acceptable to say 'it was for the best' in response to the death of a baby. Coming from a doctor too. My minds boggles.
As for your friend, I just don't know. What a thing to say. She must have been an intelligent, compassionate person to have been your friend for so many years but to say that? Why on earth would she say that?
My mother bought me the book but after she had read it, she asked for it back.
Thinking of you and thank you for your comment on my post. It suddenly all made perfect sense, why it mattered so much. xx
Thank you for sharing this. I feel like posting that "grief outlasts the sympathy" on my Facebook profile. We've also had so many I can only think in some way well-intentioned comments that simply cut to the marrow. The worst was another mother in the children's schoolyard the first day I went after our baby was stillborn and we'd had the funeral; she came up and told me I should be thankful (!!) George died because "after all you wouldn't want to be raising a vegetable." He was likewise 100% healthy and there was no reason he should had died during my labour (we suspect cord compression). I have had friends ask me how I'm doing on the phone and when I say, "Well, up and down" (when really I want to say, hardly coping and only up and about because of my older children) there's usually a big pause or one friend even said, "Still?" It's three months tomorrow. I guess maybe people who haven't lost someone close say these things? I don't know. But I'm thinking of each and every other bereaved mother and her angel baby as I read through. And I'm going to find a copy of this book. Did you know that Robert Munsch, the children's writer, wrote his lovely book, "Love You Forever" in memory of his lost babies? I think I'm right that he and his wife lost two infants. I can't ever read that through without sobbing, but especially now that I know the real story behind the text.
"At least you know you can get pregnant and carry to term."
That's what my best friend said. Even though she had just had a baby boy a month before so she clearly wasn't suggesting that she cannot.
Oh right...I should be THANKFUL. Yes, my bad. Duh.
We haven't spoken in over a year.
I can't believe he, a doctor, would say that to you. After such a short amount of time that passed.
My boss told me "you can always have another one." Yeah, they're like batteries- replaceable.
Counting down the days with you...
I met someone last weekend who told me she did not cry at Akul's funeral because she did not think that was such a big tragedy. What if we had lost him when he was older ...then she said it would have been a greater tragedy. She went on to tell me that her daughter's divorce was the biggest tragedy and she could not think of any greater sadness than that. What do you say to someone like that?
Akul - you don't say anything to them. Ever. Again. :x Jeez.
I read this one... I didn't like her writing style... seemed to me she was covering a lot of pain with sarcasm and her "get out of dodge" reaction to the loss of her baby was surprising to me. But everyone deals differently... she just dealt differently than me, that's all ;)
Oh, Akul. That is awful. I would have to say, "You know what? I can't agree with you." I had someone say, "Well it's been a month. You must almost be over this whole experience." I stared at her and said (and I'm not the kind of person who usually likes to make other people uncomfortable), "Actually, no I'm not ever going to get over pushing out my baby's body and not hearing him breathe or cry. I'll get through this grief, maybe, someday. But I'll never get OVER it." She started to cry because I don't think she meant to hurt me - and then realized how cold her comment was. Funsize - I've had the same comments over and over because we lost baby #5. I like your battery analogy - hope I don't have to borrow it but I just might.... I found Robert Munsch's bio on his site and yes, he wrote Love You Forever as a song for his two stillborn children: http://www.robertmunsch.com/books.cfm?bookid=40
Sorry - should have said Akul's mumma. Forgive me - I'm rushing to post.
I haven't read that one.... but look forward to it now. Thank you.
Just catching up. That book was like oxygen to me. I've emailed her a few times - she's lovely. I found so many great on liners in that book, and grief lasts longer than sympathy was certainly one of them.
xo
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