Monday 30 November 2009

Still waters run deep

Hmmm, I just read yesterday's post again and realise it sounds as though it was written by an incredibly shallow fool. Which it was.

But I didn't like the way it sounded when I read it again.

I thought about deleting it but that seemed a little bit dishonest somehow.

I promise that what changed within me in that moment wasn't only my taste in books, music, TV shows or how much I worry about my weight. Although all of those things did change.

I tried to write about some of the more important aspects of my life that changed as well.
But they resisted having words attached to them, twisted in my hands and finally slipped away.

I have tried to write about how this experience has changed my religious beliefs.
But I couldn't even formulate precisely what it was that I believed in before.
Or after for that matter.

I thought I would try and steer clear of the issue of religion on my blog as it is such a contentious one. I don't want to inadvertently hurt the feelings of others with a clumsily expressed opinion. I know it is only too easy to do using this medium. Sending a flat voice out into the great blue yonder with no intonation, no apologetic smile, no ability to quickly backtrack and say 'no, no that isn't what I was trying to say at all.' Seems a little risky.
So this blog has ended up being a bit like polite dinner table conversation. No sex, no politics and no religion.
Oh but I forgot, there is death. There's a nice big clunking taboo for ya. I think I'll stick to tackling one big subject at a time so religion is out.

I have tried to write about how this experience has changed my relationship with my husband. But it always feels like a betrayal to write about him so I generally don't. He knows I write this blog but he doesn't read it. He's never asked what it is I write about so avidly some nights. He finds it very strange that I should want to discuss what happened to me, him and our daughters with strangers, in a public place.
It is strange, I can't deny it. I wonder why I find it so comforting and liberating myself.
But as he doesn't approve of this venture and I don't see myself asking him for permission to write about him, his feelings about the twins or the impact that it has had on our relationship, I don't think I could (or perhaps even should?) write about him or about our relationship.

The same goes for the rest of my family. My mum and my sister both know I write a blog but (I think) find it odd and don't read it. I don't think my dad even knows what a blog is but if his vehement hatred and mistrust of fac.ebook is anything to go by I could only begin to guess his feelings about this little pile of musings if he were ever to inadvertently stumble upon it. Obviously all of these events took a tremendous toll on my family and our relationships with one another but, again, trying to describe the subtle shifts that have occurred between us in the light of Georgina's death and Jessica's illness would be beyond my skill with words.

My entire world view.
What life could be, should be.
The purpose of life.
Medical ethics.
Euthanasia.
Abortion.
The nature of love.
The nature of compassion.
What a human being is.

All of these things, that I had fairly sturdy positions on in the 'before', were shaken up and swirled around as though in a snow-globe.

But I can't begin to articulate how. It is simply beyond me. So I stuck to the easy things, things that I could quantify and label, things that don't actually mean anything, things that are used by the insecure to define themselves because the other things, the crucial things, are often just too damn hard.


I also meant to say that Georgina didn't die in that moment. She died the following day.
I was already in pieces by the time I finally held her in my arms.
But, somehow, that didn't seem to matter at all.

I feel better for having written this.
I felt as though I had reduced my daughters to a change in the music on my iP.od or the items in my ama.zon shopping basket.
I hope you know that was not what I intended.

21 comments:

  1. Yesterday you said, "That person, whoever the hell she was, just stopped." and I got it. I couldn't put it into words in a comment but I got it. Nothing is the same, everything is different.

    xxx

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  2. oh honey, we all know that. It's okay. And it didnt sound shallow at all. Not one bit.

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  3. I think we understood :)

    My opinions on so many touchy subjects changed in ways that I never thought they would (I have been a bit opinionated for a good deal of my life). The only thing I am certain of now is that life (and death) has had that effect on me once and I am sure it could have an effect on me again. I am no longer certain of anything (although I certainly still have very strong opinions ;) but I try to keep them more to myself). Life has a way of changing what we think, believe, do, say, feel...

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  4. i didn't think your post was shallow at all. your words were all very true. it's those little changes in us that add up to make those strangers who we are now.

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  5. It is the little things that are easy to see and talk about and yet they are often part of our public face to the world, so when those surface things change, people see us as changed. I didn't think you were reducing your daughters. The image that stuck with me, still sticks with me, is the one of you trying to see your baby as they worked on her, of you shattering to a million pieces. I didn't know who I was for a while. I still sometimes have trouble connecting with the pictures and memories of the old me. It was just this summer, a bit over a year and a half after Henry died that I started to feel like I had reassembled the pieces of me, glued them together with tears and struggle and grief and hope, and come up with something that looks to others something like the old me, but she's different this new me. And all the differences are not bad. I am more compassionate, more aware of the moment, more aware of the fragility of life. I love more deeply.

    Your pieces may never all fit together right—some are lost; some new ones are mixed in—but these mismatched pieces can come together, hold together, and be something that you recognize as you.

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  6. So, I just wrote the WORLD'S LONGEST COMMENT. Like, really. But it went away somehow. No clue. That's okay, it was mostly just carrying on anyway, but the jist was --

    I'm just getting caught up and wanted to say how much I related to your previous post - probably because I've written one or two very similar posts myself :) Sometimes it's the mundane, surface stuff - the song on the radio or my book of choice - that's the most telling of all.

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  7. Hi Catherine,

    I read your post from yesterday, and I liked it. I related to it. And I also knew, of course, that so much more than that had changed. Everything had changed, could never be the same, would always be different than it had been...

    I found your blog through Dee's blog at "I'm not ashamed." You posted a nice comment on her entry that mentioned my story - I had an experience similar to hers. I gave birth at 28 weeks to my boy/girl twins back in August, and my perfect little boy was only with us for 10 short hours.

    It's been 3 1/2 months now. My darling little girl, Gracie, is still in the NICU, and her brave big brother Lucas is watching over her from heaven.

    I just wanted to stop in to say HI...and to say THANKS. Reading your blog is truly helping me along my path to healing. I'm still broken into thousands of bits, but you make me feel a little less lonely in this world, and a little more understood.

    Keri

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  8. I got it too, Catherine. No need to feel bad about. It was understood. xx

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  9. I didn't for one minute think your post yesterday was shallow, I got it, I really did, and I get this one too.
    (And I still need your address missy! jeanette.archer@gmail.com)

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  10. Just to echo what others have said. I did not find your previous post shallow at all. It was thought provoking and touching.

    I did not think that those were the only areas of your life which changed and I understand exactly what you are saying in this post: that often it is too hard to articulate how other parts of life have re-shaped or vanished.

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  11. I didn't find your last post remotely shallow, either. The big things can be so hard to pin down and describe, and little changes can be outward markers of the big shifts, even if we don't know how or why.

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  12. Never shallow, my lovely friend. As a fellow disney princess aficionado, I understand.

    Love xx

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  13. If you're shallow, I don't know what that makes me.

    I thought your last post got at something that a lot of outsiders don't understand about grief--it changes everything in the most unexpected ways. Everyone expects Change with a capital C...it's the little changes in every single aspect of life that tend to sideswipe people after a loss.

    Now, if you were referring to the part about the book I recommended, I proudly declare myself shallow as a teaspoon. Bring on the kilts! Down with literature!

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  14. The surface is a mere reflection of what it is inside. I think yur post was appropriate. I have talked about getting gray and changing after we lost Akul. I think all those "shallow" changes show the deeper more meaningful changes.

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  15. Yes, we all get it and know the depth of what those surface changes mean. This has changed every fiber of our being and has transformed us into "new" people, nothing like who we once were.

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  16. Keri, I don't know if you will come back to read this but I don't how else to contact you. I do remember you from Dee's blog, I've been wondering how things were with you. Just wanted to say I'm so terribly sorry that you lost your son, Lucas. Just so very, very sorry.
    I hope that Gracie is getting on well and that it will not be too long before she makes it home to you. Please do e-mail me if you ever want to chat.
    Much love to you and Gracie and remembering Lucas. xo

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  17. I'm here often, lurking around, stealing comfort from your words. How I wish I lived down the street from you, so I could pop over and we could cry in our coffee while we talk about our little love bugs. Or I could just sit there, saying nothing at all, but feeling understood.

    Thank you very much - I will take you up on your offer to email. Your reaching out to me made me feel a little lift in my heart. Thanks Catherine.

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  18. Your words are beautiful Catherine. I can relate to that moment when you lost your old self. For me it was when I went to the hospital and the nurse told me there was nothing they could do to stop my girls from coming. I will never be the same and that is okay. xx

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  19. You claim a want for skill with words, but I'm moved by what you've written, and you list of topics of what has changes was like poetry. It's all that big for us. Everything must be questioned, after all if a baby can die, then what else is "not right with the world." Peace.

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  20. no baby lost mother could read that post, and misread what was intended. what was intended was a clear as day account of the way this loss changes us, organically, every facet of our lives. i am proud of you for leaving it posted, and grateful for having found it.

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  21. Just wanted to let you know I'm sending love, peace, and hope your way.

    Peace, my friend.

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