I’m not going to apologize for being sad.
I have been thinking a lot lately about how it has been two weeks, 15 days to be exact, since my miscarriage (well, finding out about it anyway). And how although I have so many friends who have been supportive and such, I sense that the general feeling in our culture, when death happens, or a loss occurs, is to “get over it”.
Scattered throughout my days I hear these messages whispered in my ear..
move on
occupy your time
stay busy
you will get over this
I suppose in some ways I’m telling myself those things. I know people mean well. It’s just in our culture to stick a band-aid on things that are wounded and keep on going.
But you know what? I don’t want to get over it. Not right now. Nope. I’m sitting down right here on the ground and crossing my legs in the sand. I don’t care if it has been two weeks, or six… or two years or a decade. Maybe never.
Tell me: what is the appropriate amount of time for someone to grieve? Does it depend on the sort of loss? Do you take into account the age of the individual you lost, or the way in which he/she died? What about losing precious items? Entire neighborhoods and cities lost to natural disasters? What about beloved pets? How about divorce/break-ups?
Since I was born and raised in the United States, I have some kind of general answers about the culturally accepted “grieving time limits” here in the US. We all do. It is fostered within us as a natural part of being raised in any culture.
Today, the healing mother within speaks to me and says:
cry
scream
bang on the walls
walk around like a ghost.
don’t talk…or do talk, if you feel like it.
stumble through your day.
fall down
it’s okay
leave your broken heart open for awhile:
do not try to fix it
do not try to save it
don’t make excuses anymore.
cry so hard and so long that it hurts your insides and you fall down in a heap on the floor.
cry until you don’t feel like crying anymore and then cry again when you do.
weep softly in the car on a drive
when you see a leaf falling down from a tree
or a squirrel lying dead on the side of the road
or an ambulance
or a police car
or a stop sign.
Each day I reach inside myself and touch the bottom of my pain and sorrow is a day that my heart heals just a little. At work yesterday, I must have broken down in tears at least five times in between meetings and clients… and even during some of those I teared up a bit. Right now I am fragile; my heart is tender. But one thing I know for sure: grasping at repair efforts will only prolong my healing process.
Grief, loss, death: these are not clean and sterile issues. They are not neat little packages that we can put up in the attic and forget about. Most of all, they are not simple.
I think the norms surrounding death in most other cultures are very foreign to people living in the US. In some cultures, people prepare enormous funerals (or celebrations of life) for the deceased. In traditional Greek and Romani cultures, the entire village attends; there are huge processions down the streets. Wailing, screaming, exuberant displays of sorrow are not uncommon.
In Chinese ancestor rituals, the dead remain part of the family; the spirit continues to provide guidance and wisdom to the living. Funeral ceremonies here in the US are typically an hour or two, but in some eastern Mahayana traditions of Buddhism, a funeral ceremony is held for weeks, even months, after death.
A woman from the African Dagara tribe, who has experienced the death of a child will mourn for the rest of her earthly life. She, along with friends and family members, will carry out daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly rituals to honor the deceased child for as long as they live. You see, in other cultures, there is simply no time limit set for how long you are allowed to grieve.
We’re all so different. There are no rules. I do so wish that the cultural norms in the US for grief gave us a little (or a lot) more leeway for time and tenderness. Perhaps it is because we are such a new culture, in comparison to the rest of the world.
I’m not saying I need a lifetime. Or maybe I am. I do know that I’m not ready to move forward. I’m not ready to think about having another child, and I’m not going to put a band-aid on my pain and move on.
As I write this, the sky has opened up: it is now raining. Native American cultures liken crying to rain; it falls, it cleanses, and in time, it brings forth anew. I am big into rituals. And I’d like to begin one now for my lost little flower of a child. I know I’ve got to be in touch with my pain in order to do this. I try to think that the measure of my pain relates to the enormity of my love.
So, until further notice, if you need me, I’ll be right here, sitting in the sand with my legs crossed, touching the center of my sorrow, writing, crying, maybe screaming, and just feeling pretty broken for a while. There are people I know who think it’s just crazy that I am writing and sharing about all the details of my life and miscarriage and grief, that these things aren’t supposed to be made public.
But you know what? This is who I am. This is my story; we all have one. I’m going to talk about things that aren’t pretty. I’m going to write it down because it’s real and it’s true. We all lose someone or something in our lives. We all become raw and broken. It is then we choose: to put a band-aid on it and move on, or to stop and take time to feel, to be really damn sad for however long we need.
When we choose to grieve, we make the choice to not only heal our hearts, but also to honor the deceased as well as ourselves. I have made a choice: no matter what the circumstances, I am going to allow myself to grieve.
How is death and grieving viewed, or treated in your culture? And how have you gotten through grief or any other difficult time in your life?
This is an original post by Chantal Hayes, who is a clinical psychotherapist specializing in child and family therapy, currently living in the U.S. and practicing in her home state of North Carolina. She discovered her passion for writing through time spent at Wat Carolina Buddhajakra Vanaram, a Buddhist monastery in Bolivia, NC, while mentoring under the abbot monk.
Chantal enjoys writing about family dynamics, women’s issues, and empowering others to overcome personal struggles and lead healthier, happier, and more authentic lives. When she’s not working, she enjoys spending time at the beach with her husband and two-year-old daughter, hiking and camping, drinking wine, and eating really stinky cheese. Find out more at http://chantalandfam.com or follow Chantal on Twitter @chantalandfam
Photo credit to the author.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Chantal. I cannot imagine the depth of your grief, I only have the smallest idea of how much it overwhelms one. Take your time to grief. No one has a right to tell you how long or how you should process your loss. Lots of love and light your way.
Thank you so much, Alison… Sending lots of love and light back your way as well. 🙂
Dear Chantal, thank you for having the courage to share your story. We tend to want to “fix” things for the ones we care about, hence the “platitudes” … mainly because we don’t know what to do in the face of our loved one’s grief!
You’re absolutely right, of course. Trying to deny your grief is bound to cause more trouble down the line. If you’d permit me just one teeny suggestion though … whilst in the throes of your own grief, remember that your husband is grieving too! Sadly, often, the husband feels he has to “stay strong” (especially if you are freely expressing your own grief). It’s important that he knows it’s okay for him to also grieve and process this loss. Sadly when parents lose a child, they often lose each other too because each is wrapped up in his/her own misery and the other spouse feels “abandoned”. As hard as it is, I believe it’s beneficial for you to talk with your husband and encourage him to grieve with you. That way, when you come out the other side, the relationship with your spouse will have been strengthened by having gone through this together.
Personally, I believe that life doesn’t end in death. Although I was sad for MY loss … for the fact that person no longer shared this life with me…I drew great comfort from the philosophy that “matter is never created, nor destroyed – it merely changes from one state to another”! For example, when water vapour escapes from your kettle, the water isn’t “lost” it has changed from liquid to gas and returned to the water cycle!
I hope this comment is helpful. I’m sending you love & hugs!
Simona, I appreciate your comment and feel your words are very pertinent to this situation. You’re right, though. I have had to consciously make the decision to grieve with my husband, or else he would probably be feeling very left out. And still, it’s hard. It’s hard to relate because I am a woman and carried our child and he is man and didn’t. It’s just that simple. Although, his grief exists, of course, and we have been helping each other in understanding what it feels like… perhaps not enough, though (what is ever enough?) So thank you for the reminder. I like your example “matter is never created, nor destroyed – it merely changes from one state to another”… that does provide some solace. So thank you, very much. The best wishes are sent to you today… xo
Chantal
Dear Chantal, your story reminded me of my miscarriage 12 years ago. I was pregnant of only 6 weeks and I was madly happy with this pregnancy but at that time my mother was ill and I had to take care of my child (2.5 years) my husband, my father and my 3 brothers. So I was making huge effort at work and at home taking care alone of such a big family and before reaching the 8th week I lost the baby. I was crying very hard while talking to my doctor but she said something, I don’t know if it’s true or she just told me that to help me, she said:” If the baby was healthy you would never lost him, it wasn’t a healthy one so be thankful that you didn’t get an ill or handicapped baby”, her words helped me calm down quickly. 3 years later I had my younger son, a lovely healthy baby and when I think about it now I think yes it is so hard at the moment but day after day our wound heals. People who are telling you to keep busy think that this is the medicine that will help you cure. We all respect your pain and your right to grieve, take your time and keep writing and sharing your feelings and your thoughts with us until you feel better. We are all mothers and can appreciate how do you feel. My prayers for you.
Nihad, I am so sorry to hear about your pregnancy loss … It sounds like we had similar situations. I wrote about it more in my blog (http://chantalandfam.com) I think what your doctor said is right “If the baby was healthy you would never lost him…” That does help me, to understand that if my baby were healthy then he/she would have flourished. This baby was unhealthy, so I want to believe that what happened was best. It was nature’s way of handling things. Thank you so much, for writing this, though. It means a lot to me to know that other mothers understand what I am going through.
Lots of love,
Chantal
I can only imagine your pain but thanks for sharing your story with us. Sometime putting words on what hurts just helps on the way.
I don’t think there is a time limit to grieve, it takes time for everybody and in our western education we have too much been told to move on. This is nonsense to me.
It’s by reaching inside you, by looking at your pain, by taking the time to heal that you will overcome your loss.
I keep in my prayers Chantal and send you lots of love.
Thank you so much, Marie. It means a lot.
I’m so very sorry for your loss and I’m glad you are listening to yourself and grieving in the way that is right for you with no apologies. My miscarriage was five years ago and I still grieve the loss of that baby, it is not the all consuming grief of the first days and months but it is a sorrow that I think I will always carry with me and if that sorrow is all that I have left of that great potential – I am happy to carry it. Wishing you peace.
Thank you for grieving along with me… it will certainly take some time. Prayers and wishes for peace are sent to you as well.
Such a beautiful piece. I agree with you; in America, grief is not “indulged.” My time in different cultures has shown me that we do need the ritual, the allowance of time to process and mourn. In Ghana, the funeral is a 2 day extravaganza, complete with a marching band, singing, dancing and celebrating. In Korea, 90 days after a person departs, a second ceremony is held, to release the spirit, and I believe, acknowledge the process of mourning. I have learned that, for grief to take her cycle, we sometimes have to allow ourselves to sit in it, deep in the center, and allow our spirits to wail. It sounds as if you have found that understanding as well. I cannot know what you feel, but I am grateful that you have given me a glimpse. You are loved and globally, we share in the mourning of your loss.
Erin, thank you so much for writing this; I can feel your understanding and empathy through the computer screen! Sending you lots of love back… C
Chantal, I am so very truly sorry for your loss. My heart is breaking reading this. Your emotions are so raw yet so poignantly written. You are doing what you need for yourself, which is to grieve and to heal at your own pace. Here in Indonesia, we have a custom to have a memorial services for a passing loved ones on the day they passed away, on their funeral, a week, a month then on the 40th day. It allows us to mourn. Sending you lots of love from across the globe.
Thank you, Maureen. I think these rituals are beautiful and much needed.. Thank you for the love and support. It means so much.
I grieved for my miscarriage for a few months. I grieved for my brother who committed suicide for 2 years. I grieved for the baby orphan who died while under my care (not technically, but through volunteer efforts) for several years. Who’s to say how long each person needs? Or how long I need depending on the loss and the timing of the loss?
Yes, Lady Jennie I am right there with you. No one can tell us how long we need– even though societal pressures are difficult to bear, it is up to each of us individually to decide when, how, why, and for how long we will grieve. I am so sorry to hear about these losses in your life. Sending you lots of prayers and wishes for peace and healing… C
I’m really sorry to hear about your loss.
in my opinion there is never a time limit to grieve and the right way to do so. Just follow your heart.
In Poland the funeral starts from a mass in a church with the casket in the middle. then it’s a huge procession from the church to the cementary where the casket is in the car and people follow on foot. after the casket is put to the ground the closest family and friends go to have dinner together. they sit and eat and talk (and cry) for hours.
It used to be a custom that the closest person to the one who died (like a wife, mother, etc) had to wear black clothes only, for a round year. I remember my mother and my grandmother wearing just black clothes when my mom’s father had died.
These days people don’t do it anymore, but they wear a black ribbon on their clothes instead.
Thanks so much for sharing the customs in Poland… I like the ritual of wearing a black ribbon as a custom/remembrance. Thanks so much for your support. It means so much.
Chantal,
Thank you for sharing your story with World Moms Blog. I have been through miscarriages. I feel your pain. And yes, take as long as you need. Every woman, every culture is different. You are listening to your heart! Great post!
Jen 🙂
Thanks, Jen! I am so sorry about your miscarriages and will keep you in my heart, all the women who have shared their miscarriage stories with me, in my heart… it helps to know I am not going through uncharted waters. I appreciate all your support.
I am so sorry for your loss and I can relate to many of the things that you described. 15 years ago, my newborn son died at 24 days old. I have never “gotten over it”, nor do I think that I ever will. Why should I? He was my child, he mattered. I like to say that time makes it easier, but it will never, ever go away. And really, maybe it shouldn’t. My thoughts are with you as you navigate your grief.
Margie, thank you for sharing your story. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you. Losing anyone, at any age, is simply heart-shattering. I like what you’re saying– maybe it shouldn’t ever go away… maybe the pain has to stay with us in some way throughout the years as a way to remember, a connection. Thoughts and prayers to you as well. xo
Beautifully written about a heartbreaking scenario. I think it is important for other women to be able to read about it though because so many of us have gone through a miscarriage and know that grief, but it is just not spoken about. I think because it is hard for people to really understand the deep feeling of loss if they have not experienced it. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you, Elizabeth. Yes, it was difficult to write (and even difficult to read sometimes!) but I knew I needed to get it out there at the time of writing… since then, I have found some peace, but I wonder if the pain will ever really go away. Sometimes I think it probably won’t. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I appreciate your response and hope this can help other who have been through pregnancy loss or the loss of a child… Best to you, C
Chantal,
We’ve both lost a child just under different circumstances. The pain is horrible, regardless of their age and regardless of how they died. Grief doesn’t have a simple checklist in some magical order. Everyone is different and you do what you need to for yourself, during every waking hour, to get through your day. You won’t get over it, the pain will just become more bearable through time. Big hugs to you.
Tracy, I am just seeing this. Thank you so much for your words of kindness and compassion. I actually just went through another miscarriage last week (I know, crazy… again.) So now the waves of grief are just running a new and different course. And that’s okay. I am so sorry to hear you’ve lost a child as well. Prayers and hugs to you, Tracy. And many blessings sent your way.
xo
Chantal