This is a chain letter. It was started at the beginning of time by the first person whose baby died, when they met the second person whose baby died, and by sharing their grief and sorrow, both the sender and the recipient felt less alone.
Sixteen years have passed since I lost a baby. I’m now solidly in middle age, and I no longer keep an ‘unthinkable’ file. Humans suffer all kinds of pains and traumas, and somehow we endure. I’ve come to accept that life is many things—mysterious, unpredictable, painful, and beautiful—but fair, it is not. And that’s okay.
Read MoreThe wonderful PRH Audio is releasing excerpts of the audiobook of Notes for the Everlost: A Field Guide to Grief, as read by me in a three-day marathon inside a little black cave-room in Nova Scotia. It was such a gift, and such a deep dive—18 hours of reading aloud, re-living, time-travelling. And feeling very much with you, with us.
Read MoreI read each memory and realized the depth of love we hold for our children. It doesn't matter how long we held them, whether they died in utero or in NICU, the important thing is that they were loved and still are. A love like that cannot be questioned. It simply is the most beautiful and natural thing in the world.
Read MoreI am one week away from the release of my fourth book—my first for adults, and first non-fiction—NOTES FOR THE EVERLOST: A FIELD GUIDE TO GRIEF. I’m spinning. Nervous-spinning. Beset with twitches and dreams of falling and thick with memories and gratitude. Shambhala, my publisher, worked with me to prep for this busy season, and they said: We know you’re a photographer, and that’s great—how about videos? Readings, excerpts, that kind of thing. Can you do that? Always that same moment, the pause of the bereaved. How much can I say? How warm is this room?
Read MoreI wasn't sure if I could contribute anything positive to the anthology, considering my overall experience in hospital was not a pleasant one. But the night before I was due to respond, I remembered just one thing. A single moment: in the delivery room, my doctor and anaesthetist took care with my baby. Not as a stillbirth or miscarriage, but as a baby. They asked her name. A bereaved mother knows the significance of this simple act of acknowledgement and kindness.
Read MoreBereaved parents of lost babies and potential of all kinds: come here to share the technicolour, the vividness, the despair, the heart-broken-open, the compassion, and the other side of getting through this mess called grief.
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Parents of lost babies and potential of all kinds: come here to share the technicolour, the vividness, the despair, the heart-broken-open, the compassion we learn for others, having been through this mess — and see it reflected back at you, acknowledged and understood.
Thanks to photographer Xin Li and to artist Stephanie Sicore for their respective illustrations and photos.
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