'A kaleidoscope is a tube of mirrors containing loose coloured beads, pebbles, or other small coloured objects. The viewer looks in one end and light enters the other end, reflecting off the mirrors. Typically there are two rectangular lengthwise mirrors. Setting of the mirrors at 45° creates 8 duplicate images of the objects, 6 at 60°, and 4 at 90°. As the tube is rotated, the tumbling of the coloured objects presents the viewer with varying colours and patterns. Any arbitrary pattern of objects shows up as a beautiful symmetric pattern because of the reflections in the mirrors.'
I commented on another blog this week that I sometimes feel as though I am looking into a kaleidoscope. One twist and the arbitrary pattern of the early birth of my daughters, Georgina's death, Jessica's long stay in hospital, my grief, forms into something beautiful and symmetric. Another twist and chaos again. Another turn and yet another pattern is assembled. The same elements but subtly different rearrangements.
One morning last week, I was putting Jessica in the car to go to the supermarket. It was an ordinary morning in February in England, slightly grey and cold. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught my own reflection in the car window. I saw an ordinary looking person, so average, a woman who could be thinner, whose hair could have been brushed, who doesn't look particularly beautiful or interesting. Completing a mundane task. Going to the supermarket to buy milk and a cake for later, when my friend came round for a cup of tea that afternoon. Just so very ordinary. My daughter isn't 1lb 7oz any longer, she doesn't trail oxygen cylinders and tubes around with her. We're both ordinary now, could pass for normal.
And yet.
And yet I have this feeling that I know something that most people don't.
I've been somewhere, seen something, extraordinary. That hovering place between existence and a void.
And at that moment, my internal kaleidoscope twitched and pieces went tumbling into place.
Somehow, everything was sorted into its correct position, neatly arranged.
Each piece to its own location within the pattern, not obscuring any of the others. All visible. All distinct.
Here, premature labour.
Here, guilt.
Here, twins.
Here, daughters.
Here, the neonatal intensive care unit.
Here, memory loss.
Here, grief.
Here, love.
Here, fear.
Here, wondering if there will ever be another.
Here, the eldest. Here, the youngest.
Here, Georgina. Here, Jessica.
For a moment or two, it all made some sort of sense to me. This doesn't happen very often.
But I thought to myself. There she is. There is Georgina's mother.
I smiled at my own reflection in the glass. Messy hair and all.
I smiled at Jessica through the glass.
Just for a moment, I felt fine.
Then the kaleidoscope twists again. That particular pattern dissolves and another forms.
My cousin made a list of all my grandmother's great grandchildren and she missed out Georgina.
She even included children who are no blood relation, step-great grandchildren and children of partners and so on.
But not Georgina.
Georgina was named for my grandmother, who was called Jane too.
I agonised and agonised and wondered if I was being rude, or just plain mean, or whether I would be misunderstood, she's not still harping on about the dead child, still, STILL, even after all this time.
I finally screwed up the courage to say something, pointed out that she had missed Georgina's name off.
My cousin replied and said that she had simply forgotten about her.
That stung. In a strange way, I would have preferred it if she had said that Georgina wasn't included because she was dead.
But to be forgotten about?
It gave me such a jolt. I suppose that I have spent so long thinking about Georgina that I tend to forget that she is just a passing footnote to other people. Almost like someone for whom you carried a torch in secondary school, you can still remember their name, the type of coat they wore, the way they smiled. But the object of your affection will have no clue who you are. Because you didn't even impinge of the edges of their field of vision, that skinny, scrappy girl a few years below them.
Georgina might loom like a giant in my mind but, to others, she is something so trivial as to have vanished from their memories.
If my own cousin doesn't remember I had twins, it seems highly unlikely that many other people will.
But I will always remember.
Because I'm Georgina's mother.
I don't see myself forgetting that.
Not for a very long time.
I love your comparison to a kaleidoscope. It is so true. One twist and it changes.
ReplyDeleteSo sorry about your cousin. That would have stung me as well. I will always remember Georgina!
xx
I'm sorry your cousin forgot Georgina. That must have hurt so much. My mum told me that she didn't feel comfortable letting her officemates know that she had a grandson. I know it's not that same, but that stung me. To think that people in my family want to go about life pretending that he never existed. Just because your little girl and my little boy passed away, doesn't make them any less real. They WERE here, and they deserve to be remembered.
ReplyDeleteShe forgot - that's awful. I think I would have rathered she said it was because she was dead as well. Dead and remembered is better than not remembered at all.
ReplyDeleteYou are Georgina's mother. And a wonderful one at that.
Another brilliant piece of writing. The kaleidoscope analogy was one of the best I have read yet. Perfect.
xo
This just took my breath away.
ReplyDeleteI suppose that I have spent so long thinking about Georgina that I tend to forget that she is just a passing footnote to other people.
Sadly I've found it to be true as well....but why why why does it have to be so? Why is it so easy for others to forget our babies, when they are all we think of?
And its so beautiful the way you've described the kaleidoscope Catherine, I'm glad (?) you spent more time thinking about this, cause you've really created a beautiful description of this happy/sad life.
Wow- the comparison to a kaleidoscope is spot on.
ReplyDeleteI am sorry about your cousin's insensitivity. Sadly I feel that way too, that others forget our children so quickly.
The imagery of the kaleidoscope is interesting. And fitting. Beautiful analogy.
ReplyDeleteOUCH, ouch, ouch about forgetting Georgina! Very thoughtless.
When my grandfather died three months after Jordan did, there was an issue with his obituary in the paper. My family insisted on having her name included in the great grandchildren section though they had to put that she was deceased. My aunt who lost a little girl at 1o weeks 25 years ago deliberately left her daughter off the list. They didn't want that can of worms opened I guess but I struggled to understand it and it made me wonder whether people thought acknowledging Jordan in his obit was wrong. I didn't care. I wanted her name on it fullstop.
People do forget (though I struggle with the how) and some people choose to forget. But like you said, that is an impossibility for us. I wish it was impossible for everyone else too.
I will not forget Georgina, I promise.
xx
Your posts are always so well-written, so eloquent, that I never seem to be able to find the right words to type. My biggest fear too is that Connor is being forgotten. My husbands parents tell others of their first grandchild and refer to Colby. Connor will always be the first to me. I talk to doctors and insurance companies to fill out paper work and they wonder why there is a "2" next to Colby's name. There's another? It doesn't even cross their minds. For me Connor will always be so visible, so real, so prevalent, but to others... out of sight, out of mind. So real to me, but a passing memory to so many others. I need him to be remembered. I need his name on family trees and I need his name included in the list of grandchildren. It breaks my heart to think he could be forgotten... and it breaks my heart that Georgina could ever be forgotten as well. I'm forever thinking of you and your beautiful girls-- both of them. xo
ReplyDeleteGeorgina is remembered by so many.
ReplyDeleteI love the analogy too, and I get those brief flashes of sudden clarity, can't seem to grasp them for long, but they happen.x
Hey Catherine
ReplyDeleteI loved the way you describe how you see your reflection, and how first you looked and saw nothing special and then you saw yourself differently. First while I was reading and I hadn't got to the next part I thought I need to correct you. And I will say it anyway, to be sure you know. You are beautiful, even with unkempt hair. So maybe you could correct that. Beauty comes from the soul. And you are one of the most beautiful people I know. And any reflection of you will show that.
I for my part am learning that death is part of life, more so in some people's lives than in others and much more so in different places, where there is hunger, starvation, war, exploitation. I always foolishly thought I would not be affected by death. But death had a different plan and taught me the truth when I least expected it.
Nobody will care about Fionn the same way I do. And for me, that's a privilege. And it's a privilege to know you and georgina, that means a while lot more to me than my brother not even knowing my sons name, because he never cared to ask. When other people forget Fionn, or not recognise his existence, that is their loss. They didn't know him, Fionn, nor do they know death. I'm not sure if that is good for them, to me it just means they don't know or don't want to know. One day they will know, we will all know. I don't blame anyone for not knowing anymore and for not thinking and considering my son. But I'm sorry you hurt and I send you a big, big hug and all my love to you and georgina.
xxxx
I love your comparison to your secondary school crush. That really makes sense to me. Because no one else probably remembers, and they probably don't understand why *you* remember (using the universal "you" here of course).
ReplyDeleteSuch wonderful imagery in this post, Catherine. I had a similar situation recently. My cousin made a birthday list for our family and omitted my daughter's name. I simply edited the document with several pieces of missing information, including Eva's name, and sent it back to him. But I have not been able to bring myself to check the final one to see if her name is still there. I am afraid he removed her. It is doubtful that he would, but I can't look.
ReplyDeleteThanks Catherine for this post. It made the tears flow that have been lingering for days. Considering I'm a little handicapped to write a long comment (in under 4 hours), I'll just second Ines. :)
ReplyDeleteSending a heartfelt (left-handed) hug!
xx
Yes, I can so relate to this. My biggest fear is that our boy Fisher will be forgotten. He was such a spectacular little man. I want everyone to remember him the way I do. It's funny because when I was pregnant with the boys I was so worried they wouldn't be treated as individuals. They were identical twins. And now I mourn that most people will know Truman as a singleton. But he was, and continues to be, part of something bigger. As does Jessica.
ReplyDeleteI remember Georgina.
It is a good metaphor the kaleidoscope. It suits the every changing unpattern that is grief.
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry your cousin had forgotten Georgina. It is hard when something so important is not remembered by others.
The forgetting is my biggest fear. I wonder if it's only a matter of time, especially now that Sev is here, before people forget Cayden. Just thinking of it breaks my heart all over again. Thinking of you and remembering Georgina always. xo
ReplyDeleteOh God, how that hurt to read. Forgotten. I remember someone calling Bobby and Maya the first grandchildren and feeling so stung. When I mentioned it, they said our other children didnt "count". How it hurts when others dont remember or dont care... I am so sorry. Georgina will always be remembered by us.
ReplyDeleteI LOVE the kaleidoscope analogy, so beautiful.
ReplyDeleteI am sorry your cousin forgot about Georgina. It's terrible.
i'm so sorry your cousin left georgina off. i don't think anyone in my family would number my twins among their relations, either. it does hurt because they're our babies, they will always be included to us.
ReplyDeletei really like the kaleidescope analogy. it is so apt!
I'm so sorry. I know how your heart must have seized up and broken at the moment your cousin said she had forgotten. Those words loom so large in our hearts, a constant fear, something I know I work so hard to avoid. I want others to remember Liam, to carry him in their hearts, to never forget. Oh, I am just so sorry you had to hear those cutting words "I forgot". (((((hugs)))))
ReplyDeletecatherine, wonderful metaphor and beautifully written. what a heartbreak.... thinking of you. there are many people here who remember georgina with you. xo
ReplyDeleteWE will always remember Georgina, Catherine. ALWAYS. xoxo
ReplyDelete"My cousin made a list of all my grandmother's great grandchildren and she missed out Georgina."
ReplyDeletei felt like i was being punched in the stomach. from here on out i just cried. i just hate this. i am so sorry. i can't stand it that our children are forgotten so quickly and easily. it's insulting and so heartbreaking. our bonds to our children will never be broken and we will never forget them or stop loving them, and to have them not even acknowledged by those that we love and share our lives with is baffling. how can a child that is so loved and missed and REAL to us not exist in the world of others?
i will always remember your darling Georgina.
much love,
christy
oh, that hurts so bad. I agree... I would rather she had said she was dead than forgotten. I think that's our fears.. people rattle on, live, laugh, but how could they when a baby has died?! am I the only one who remembers that?!
ReplyDeleteI'm angry at myself because I have two aunts (my dad's sisters) who lost babies at 9, 22, and 32 weeks (the last two born alive), and they all have names, and we never ever included them in the count of the grandchildren. why not?! I will be SO MAD if Kat ever gets left out.
Georgina will always be on MY list..