Guilt, the sharp-toothed animal, snakes in place of a tongue, hissing, biting, cursing, blaming. 'You should have, you must have, you did not…' The other face of imagination, uttering the same what if and if only over and over again. Ravaging my head, not letting me sleep, for fear of waking up to find her dead.
Read More'Not your fault.' A mantra, a song, a pleading hymn for rationality. Pounding in a head dizzy from lack of air, dizzy from this new reality. 'Not your fault. Not your fault. Not your fault.' Months out, I am still free falling. The air is still thin. The pain is still there, a knife between the ribs, the sinking feeling of the stomach as I plummet thousands of feet through the air, without any promise of landing.
Read MoreMy body would want to clench every tooth, grip, joint, sinew, as though its own hanging-on to itself might combat the inevitable force of impact. But it can't. The inertia that would crumple a car is a thousand times stronger than me. If I go limp, there's a chance I might knock around inside disaster with a fraction more fluidity. Gone limp, I might break a little less.
Read MoreA baby entered my home for the first time, but she wasn't mine. My son watched the baby tentatively, and finally went over to say hello. Uncertain of how to greet her, he waved. He was fascinated by her tiny fingers and toes, miniature in comparison to his own. All the while, I was fascinated by his bravery, strength, and resilience. He was thinking about his lost sister, the one he never met. The one he often longs for. He handled this other baby, his cousin, so well. So did I. If he could handle it, so could I.
Read Morethat first,
I was a different kind of mother
and nothing about that is self-evident
"This isn't just sad," I said. "These are the best stories. The ones that take someone's suffering and shape it, form it, use it. As writers, we take this character—you, me, Chanie, even baby Liam—who might be feeling lost, and scared, and brave, and determined all at once—and we give them love by paying attention. We will almost always find understanding. Even a bit of magic. Even if it's fifty years too late, it counts. It matters to try, and this is art."
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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