Friday 2 July 2010

Scatterlings

It has been a very warm summer so far. For England that is.

I took Jessica to the city centre park last week with my cousin and her three children. There is a small pool for the children to splash about it. It generally stands unused as the weather is too cold to swim most of the time.

I had forgotten to bring Jessica's swimming costume so, with some trepidation and thoughts of a nasty accident involving pool pollution on a grand scale at the forefront of my mind, I simply stripped her off completely and rolled up my trousers.

The water was like ice, a faint ammoniacal smell of urine and chlorine rising from its surface.
Jessica's skin gleamed with sunscreen and the greasy texture lingered on my hands.
The warmth of the bricks beneath our feet, the sunlight reflecting in Jessica's hair.
Her crooked little smile as she looked at up me in delight at her own sploshing and splashing about, checking to make certain that I was watching her raising her foot and smacking it back down into the water, covering us both in droplets.
The warm sun on our arms, the cold, cold water on our feet.

My mind drifted to another child. One who never felt sun or water on her skin.
I could almost see her there, I could almost will her back into being.
Another set of chubby limbs, another shy smile of self satisfaction.
A thin, red child, eyes fused shut, swimming in the water next to her far larger sister. My twins.
The sun flickers, blinding me.
Two, one, none. Two, one, none.
An empty pool. One where I haven't enough hands to hold on to my bounty.
I'm almost surprised that other people still smile at us.

***

Later my cousin and I are talking.
She relates a story about her middle child running into the road and nearly being hit by a car.
She tells me that the 'nearly' part of this story was due to the intervention of their family's guardian angel, because they are lucky.
I want to cry for I don't think that there are any such creatures. If there are guardian angels they do not work to preserve this earthly part, they are not safeguarding the flesh and bones and blood of us. If they do exist, they are protecting something else. Perhaps something more valuable than our bodies. I really couldn't say.
I want to tell her that the reason that her little boy was not hit by a car was because her husband pulled him out of the way in time and stopped the impact between charging metal and tender flesh. That her son's little bones did not break, that he not bleed, that she did not see him involved in a terrible accident, that she did not witness his death because, thankfully, his body never made contact with the car. No reason other than that.
There is no protection. None of us are special.
I wouldn't be putting my trust in guardian angels if I was her. I would be buying some reins or walking on less busy streets.

Begs the question where my guardian angel was that day. Or Georgina's. Or Jessica's. Or my husband's. But perhaps they were working flat out protecting some other aspect of us that I can't get at. Perhaps they are just empty air and spun sugar. A pretty confection for the weak. Perhaps they were all out having a fag break. Who knows.

***

We are walking along a wooded path. I hear a small rustling in the leaves. A mouse perhaps. A bird maybe. But my heart leaps and for one mad instant I think to myself, Georgina. It is Georgina in the leaves, at last.
The volume of crunching leaves sounds like it could just about be caused by a very small baby moving about. I want to go and check. Just to make sure that it is not Georgina. I know it couldn't be. She is dead and she is ash. But I just want to go and make sure that it isn't her, rustling about, trying to make her way back to us. The thought of that small body twists at my logic and at my heart. I go and check. It isn't her. There is nothing there by the time I put in my appearance.

***

I think I've discovered a strange kind of bravado in myself. You can be devastated and still have some bravado left in you. In spite of yourself. Who knew.
Or perhaps it is simply that the beauty of my daughter seems to be coming back to me in the approach to her second birthday. She was beautiful.

'I was just a boy when I sat down
To watch the news on TV
I saw some ordinary slaughter
I saw some routine atrocity
My father said, don't look away
You've got to be strong, you've got to be bold now
He said, that in the end it is beauty 
That is going to save the world now


And she moves among the sparrows
And she floats upon the breeze
She moves among the flowers
She moves something deep inside of me


21 comments:

  1. Oh, it must be so hard to always see one and not the other. One little live child you are so thankful to have that looks just like the little one your miss and mourn.

    The words of the song gave me chills. So touching and powerful. I do not know your beliefs but I find comfort in nature and in thinking Liam rustles the leaves or soars in the hawk. These small things give me some peace.

    Thinking of you.

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  2. I keeping thing of your last lines about Georgina's beauty coming back to you. I spent a lot of time searching for the good bits, the happy memories, the peace in Henry's life. To me it feels like some kind of a small gift (yes, only a pale token compared to a life), but sometime I find comfort in having that bit back.

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  3. I don't believe in guardian angels, or "meant to bes" or any of the magical thinking I once clung to to answer the big "whys?" in life. Nope, shit happens, and if your lucky (lucky in the sense of random luck) then really bad shit may not happen to you.

    Remembering her beauty and finding new beauty in the face of such great tragedy to me is part of what makes me a survivor, and you a survivor too.

    I would love to see Jessica's little naked bottom splashing in the pool. Simple delights, so many parents take for granted.

    Thank you for remembering Isla yesterday. I'm not suprised yet somehow still hurt that with the exception of my parents and one close friend, none of our family or friends remembered. It's amazing to me how quickly the rest of the world can forget a little life and how profoundly that little life can affect the lives of her parents.

    xoxo

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  4. Oh your words just ripped through my soul. I could feel so many of them as if they were my very own feelings. Beautiful post. One that I can tell you poured your soul into. I cannot imagine looking at one & not having the other. I sometimes see our daughter in my son & it takes my breath away.

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  5. Those song lyrics sent chills through me - very powerful.

    And I find it so hard when people talk like about "Guardian angels" (or similar). Because it implies some hierarchy - their children got "saved", our's didn't. What does that say about us? I still struggle with my religious beliefs in relation to Emma's death. I no longer believe it is that straightforward.

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  6. I guess the idea of guardian angels give people comfort. Somehow makes them believe that they are being protected. But we know that's not true. There are no guardian angels. There is noone looking after us. Only us. Unprotected. Just as our children were. when they died. And there was nothing we could do then and there's not much we can do now.

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  7. I still find myself looking for Teddy sometimes, too. In closets, around corners. Not often, but your moment with the crunching leaves made my heart jump in my throat a little.

    I'm glad Georgina's beauty is coming back to you. She was beautiful, very much so.

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  8. Clearly all the guardian angels were on strike in August 2008, or at least being terribly slack.
    Your posts never fail to move me.
    It is terribly cold here, for Melbourne. Enjoy the warmth.
    xo

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  9. Chills, dear one. You give me chills...

    And yes, your sweet little Georgina's beauty is within you... Always... Forever. And Jess and C too. xoxoxoxo

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  10. I am so glad you remember her beauty. It is almost as if you are haunted. But haunted in a beautiful way that irrevocably connects you to your daughter. I hope that makes sense. I love reading your words, you are such a brilliant writer and keeper of her memory xxx

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  11. A beautiful post as usual.

    I don't believe in guardian anything anymore. I don't believe in fate, and I truly do not believe that things happen for a reason anymore (even though I did once upon a time). How could there be any reason for the loss of our daughters?

    I do believe that somehow they are still with us - just not in a way that we will ever understand. Maybe it really was Georgina rustling in the leaves. I like to think that it was.

    xxoo

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  12. I don't know how you can turn sorrow and pain into such beautiful words.

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  13. You really write from the heart and so eloquently. I love that I finally found your blog (I dont know why it wouldnt show up before?). Thinking of your girls, sending hugs xxx Nan

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  14. i just want you to know that you always get me, every time i read your posts the tears come.

    im there with you, in that divide between what used to be and what will never be. that bittersweet pain that we know and wish nobody else ever would.

    xoxo
    lis

    ps: we are having a nice time and i am trying my hardest to be positive...not hopeful for this cycle, but positive for my life and what i have. its the only thing that will get me through until we can try again. and your cousin is lucky that she only has a shadow of an idea of how losing her child would feel. she is so very lucky.

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  15. i do believe in guardian angels...i do.

    i think they must have all been very busy that day...all the angels were on call, trying to save one of them.

    i wish they could have saved the other, too. :(
    but i'm glad they did save the one. as i know you are...so very glad.

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  16. Whenever I read one of your posts, Catherine, I just feel like anything I could say would just pale in comparison to your actual post.
    I can relate to so much, and then obviously I can't.
    But thank you for writing and for sharing, and you should know that it's beautiful.

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  17. I can relate to your feelings so well, even though Sky wasn't a twin. But I have a niece around me that is a week older than him. That does it, too. When I see her play around happily... there is just someone missing. There is not one without the other for me.

    And those sounds, like rustling the leaves... always make me feel that - somehow - he IS there with us. He just has to be. Period. Today she looked at me and said "Did you hear that sound?". She kept hearing it. I didn't - whatever it was. But I hope it was him.

    Sending big loves! xoxo

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  18. "She is dead and she is ash."

    What a beautiful post, Catherine. I have never been able to find a better word than bittersweet to describe the particular madness of raising a single twin. Thank you for revealing your life with such vividness.

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  19. There's a group of us who all showed up here around the same time, I think. Well, maybe we showed up at different times, but we all write about experiences that occured around the same time. All around the world. . . different families. . . different hospitals. . . different nurses and doctors and different details. . . but endings that are much, much too similar.

    And it's so bizare to think that that was all almost 2 years ago.

    I know that wasn't really the point of your post, but it stuck out to me as it's been on my mind lately :) I'm glad her beauty is coming back to you.

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  20. I don't believe in guardian angels, but I do believe in the energy we all create as living beings. And I do believe that that energy can go on after we die.

    I think that the reason some memories are so crisp and visceral is because of that energy. "Angel" might just be too much swallow semantically. But I believe that Georgina's energy is around you and Jessica and her Daddy and anyone else who needs to access it. It has touched me and so many of your readers; it's real.

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  21. I wanted to thank you for your encouraging and understanding words on my blog about my frustrations in the NICU. It really means a lot. I spent a good portion of yesterday morning reading your blog -- going back to past entries and learning of your sweet Georgina and little Jessica. It brought tears to my eyes. You have endured so much and you write so beautifully of it.

    Thank you for thinking of me.

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