You round a corner and the lamp swings just so, and you catch a quick glimpse of something entirely magnificent, something that steals your breath. A tapestry, perhaps. Or a floor to ceiling stained glass window. You know, completely normal things you find in normal castles. Except that long ago all lights in this one were put out, and there is no fairy tale twist to reverse this curse.
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 MoreI pulled out this drawing not long ago, years after our third and last came to be, and subsequently die. I studied the faces I had been so oblivious to before. Suddenly, what was once was a charming picture of our future family now represented my son’s intuition of what was to come—for our faces were anything but happy.
Read MoreNo one can live in heightened grief forever but I never expected to find that happiness was possible again. You wouldn't know to look at me now, save for the look in my eyes that I often see in pictures of bereaved mothers, that look you can always glimpse, even when they smile. He changed the ground beneath my feet, my first and beloved little boy.
Read MoreI am pan-searing salmon with lime and cilantro when he comes to the door on Friday night. My husband ushers him in to see the play kitchen while my surviving son folds paper airplanes. I show the gentleman how everything works—the magnetic closures which are difficult, at first, for little hands, the washer/dryer door that requires a little finesse to close, the sliding pantry door, the timer that ticks and dings, the gallon bags of play food, pans, plates, cutlery, kettle and teacups I've packed up neatly—and as I head back to the salmon, he hands me a wad of cash. Before I know it, he and my husband are on either side of the wooden kitchen, carrying it out of my house forever.
Read MoreI shudder, breaking the spell. It's all back—the room, the kid, the celebration. He was born, and lived. And the guests, all of us, are richer, better for it. I'm wrung out and sad. I wonder, again, what we missed out on because A did not live. Hey, world! You've missed out too.
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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