My baby, my long awaited precious gift from heaven, was being taken from me -- as was my dream of being a mom to twins. As cold as it may seem, I was heartbroken about the loss of my dream too. I was devastated over the fact that my son would never know his twin and never find what could have been a beautiful relationship.
I have no patience. I'm snippy, rude and have a short fuse. I think my kids' behaviour is atrocious. Is this because I am newly widowed and stressed out or am I just another mom dealing with kids? I don't know the line between what is normal and what is a result of our grief? I am confused, frustrated and feel like a failure as a parent.
I think we do all women a disservice when we don't challenge the "Disneyfication" of our reproductive experience. Pregnancy is glorified as transcendent despite its many dark elements. Birth is similarly idealized. But miscarriages resist beatification; at best, they are an extremely efficient expulsion of expired reproductive material by one's own body.
It's paradoxical that people in Kerala mourn and light candles after elephants die; it seems like a superficial display of compassion. If they genuinely loved elephants they would revere and respect the elephants when they are alive, and stop exploiting them in festivals and temples under the guise of culture and religion.
Death and mourning are on the radio, the television and in social media. Popular? Yes. Uncomfortable? Definitely. Faced with death, no matter who you are, you know you need to be on your Sunday best; benevolent, polite, kind and empathetic. But what do funeral rites sound and look like in modern times?
If you were taken away tomorrow, what do you think your legacy would be? Most of us, it seems, are happy to wait and hear what our eulogist thinks our legacies are. A little late, don'tcha think? I think it's time to lighten up the legacy conversation by creating and enjoying a variety of legacies that you can enjoy now!
Since Mike died I am a one-woman wrecking crew. Unfortunately, my body is the demolition site. On my left forearm I have an deep yellow, inch-and-a-half-long bruise. On the underside, I have an angry red scrape that curls around from front to back. On one palm, I have a wee boo boo. Further down, I have four pink slashes, in various states of healing, across my shin.
Within our human connectedness, what matters the most is something so simple it can almost be overlooked. Something so ordinary in its application that its intense impact can be disregarded. It is simple, but not easy. Unpretentious, yet so difficult to maintain. That's the thing about kindness: it seems basic.
Human beings are not good at predicting how they will react in circumstances that have yet to unfold. Those of us working in healthcare understand that life-altering illness, trauma or anticipation of death can sometimes sap the will to live. In those instances, healthcare providers are called upon to commit time; time to manage distress, provide unwavering support and to assuage fear that patients might be abandoned to their hopelessness and despair. That is the essence of how medicine has traditionally responded to suffering. Stopping time by way of arranging the patient's death has never been part of that response.
While the majority of people haven't found the courage yet to talk with expectant parents about the risk of losing a child, how to survive such tragedies and continue to live, we need to be even more diligent in ensuring that we have experienced specialists in place that are available every time parents are facing the tragedy of losing their baby.