Friday, December 30, 2005

Distilled sad

There is not much that is sadder than the funeral of a miscarried child.

The weather today is cold and damp and grey, and it suited the occasion. I got to the cemetery and my mother was standing outside the chapel. We talked for a few minutes, waiting for everyone to arrive. When my friend and her husband came, they were crying. Her husband was holding a very small wooden box with Chinese characters painted on it. I don't know what they said. I don't know if this box was something the cemetery provided or if they went out and got it somewhere.

We drove out to the gravesite and the priest said some prayers. My dad was there too, and gave a bible reading, the one about Jesus chastising the apostles for keeping the children away from him. My friend and her husband stood there gazing down at the box. She was holding a white tulip and he held their 2-year-old who was crying quietly.

After, when I gave her a hug, her shoulders felt fragile and loosely put together. I was afraid I was crushing her with how tight I was hugging her, as if I could squeeze the grief out of her. I tried to hug her husband, but he was stiff and crying and couldn't speak, so I just sort of awkwardly patted his back and took the wadded-up Christmas-print napkin out of his hand that he'd been using to wipe his tears off and replaced it with a fresh tissue. He seemed to barely notice. I got the sense that half of his pain came from the fact that he could do nothing to prevent this from happening, and to prevent my friend from having to feel it and go through it. He is so devoted to her and loves her so much, and I can't imagine how powerless he must feel, and how profoundly sad.

Driving to work, I thought about how unjust it all seems, that sometimes people who don't want to be pregant become pregant, and those who want a child so badly have it taken away from them.

I don't know. I don't have any answers. It is unjust, and it is sad, and all we can do is feel it. And try to heal from it.

Rest in peace, baby Nicholas. Even though we never got to hear your voice or see your face, you are still loved.

J

8 Comments:

At December 30, 2005 1:41 PM, Blogger suleyman said...

There's nothing I can say. It's just really tragic.

-Suley

 
At December 30, 2005 5:16 PM, Blogger Elemmaciltur said...

....no words....

 
At December 30, 2005 8:24 PM, Blogger ScottyFerguson said...

I want to say something but just can't. This was tragic. Thank you for sharing. Posts like this can help people like me who have trouble expressing. This post brought it out of me. I can't stop crying. I can't...

 
At December 31, 2005 4:21 AM, Blogger Adeline said...

Thankyou for posting about this. It is something really difficult to even fathom, and so no one talks about it, no one knows how to deal with it. i think the first part is talking about it. Which you did. Thankyou. I have had friends who miscarried, I never asked or talked about how the process went because I was scared to bring it up.

 
At December 31, 2005 10:33 AM, Blogger Raehan said...

It's very sad.

They are strong and wise for grieving so openly and publicaly. It will help them in the end, I think.

The other commenters are right. Miscarriage is such a common thing, but few talk about it.

 
At December 31, 2005 2:49 PM, Blogger BG said...

I'm so sorry.

 
At January 01, 2006 5:48 PM, Blogger M said...

My heart goes out to your friends. Three of my friends have miscarried this year, and I never know what to do or say. As far as I know, none of them had funerals... that maybe would have helped.

I hope they get back on track.

 
At January 02, 2006 10:02 AM, Blogger stuffle said...

I am so very sorry to hear this. My brother just went through this. Very painful.

 

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