If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the the grass grow and the squirrel's heartbeat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence.
George Eliot, Middlemarch
I keep expecting that Georgina's death will come to mean something, to be understandable. That I will suddenly have a revelation. Despite the fact that I believe that there is no reason, I still hope that it will all become clear. Ah ha, I will think to myself, THAT is why it happened. THIS is why she only got to live for three and a half days and why I'm still sitting here, plodding along on day 12,113. And I will have no need to be angry or sad any longer.
I'm still angry and sad. Just for the record. But they are dry, dessicated echoes of what they once were. Like something dried up and caught in my lung. Wheezing away. Blew away.
But Georgina's death is like an un-hemmed piece of fabric, as my fingers worry away at it, strands of meaning fall away. I can't help but think that, if only I had left it alone, I would be able to see the neat pattern that my fretting has disturbed.
I long for an explanation. For meaning. For reason. Although I know that longing itself to be entirely without reason. Just that desperate human want, to be significant, to be of interest, to be cared for.
Perhaps we should all enter a conspiracy. That we all matter, that we are all cared for, that all of our children matter and are cared for. Who would be worse off for that? I'm game if you are?
Sometimes I feel as though everything else around me buzzes. Insignificant, meaningless things catch my eye and I have a momentary feeling of, 'Ha, THIS is the key. This is what means something.' And this could be anything, a fragment of a passing conversation, the sad expression of that woman's face as she sits on the wall, angry words tumbling out of my mouth, photographs I am too frightened to look at, the buzzing of the fluorescent supermarket light, the colour of my daughter's hair, the colour of my other daughter's hair, this place with its tumbling, jumbling words.
All a waste. An incessant jabbering. A slow erosion of sense.
A mad woman, stumbling from one pile of rubbish to another. Reserving the best for her bag of carefully selected and hoarded possible meanings.
These worldly, word-ly things. They roar at me. I want to roar back.
"Tell me, what do you mean?"
But I'm too tired.
***
We drive.
The sun is setting. Black silhouettes flit upwards.
"Oh. Oh. Birds. Look Mummy. Birds."
And the world roars and it is heard. In my daughters's ears.
"Where's my sister? Where's my sister?"
The chant after we see my own sister. And I try to explain to her that Grandma is my mummy and Auntie J's mummy. My sister.
I don't know. In the sky. In heaven. In a different place. Dead. Just dead. That is all I can say.
But I hope. How I hope.
My ears are too old to hear the resolution that you seem to hear, my dear Jessica. As your questioning subsides and you watch the birds. Contentedly. And I don't know who showed you how to be that way my love but it certainly wasn't your mother.
Sisters. Because here I am again. Here, in the late 90s, when this song was released. In 2008, crying in the night as I watched House on DVD when I couldn't sleep. Here, in 2012, not crying. But wistful. Missing. Missing my girl. And unable to do anything for her.
Love, love is a verb.
Love is a doing word.
Fearless on my breath.
I don't know that I will ever stop searching for a reason. An exhausting, totally fruitless search, mind you. But I'm stubborn, so I'm going to keep searching. Good to know I have you along for the ride.
ReplyDeletexo
Good to have you along. More good than I could ever hope to say xo
DeleteYou know caged rats? Running through a series of exercises, pushing levers, mashing buttons, all in hopes of a magic reward. Maybe after combination one trillion and three, they will get what they're after. Freedom? Answers?
ReplyDeleteRunning, searching, plodding, crawling, listing, reeling, falling, grasping.
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?
[Silence.]
*Why* is all of this necessary? Does it really have to be this way? Is there any way out?
You know if I had the answer, well, I'd tell you.
I'm the rodent in this story. Not you. And definitely not Georgina.
Stumbling nearby,
CiM
Mashing buttons with you CiM. Looking for an answer? Or an exit?
DeleteI wish there was a reason but I don't believe there is. I think people say that there is because the fact of there not being one is tragic in itself. That meaningless death of small innocent babies happens is disturbing and difficult to swallow.
ReplyDeleteI wish I believed in something... When Kai asks me where his sister is I try to put the question back on him because I do not know the answer. Maybe his child insight will light the path before me. The only thing I can come up with is "maybe in the waves or the wind or the trees. The key to the statement is the "maybe" because I certainly don't "know". I think energy is not gained or lost, it only changes shape and so Camille's energy must be somewhere if not in her.
If you find a reason let me know... But only if it's a good enough one for our daughters to die for... Which means you will never find one.
Oh Renel. I also don't believe, in my heart of hearts, that there is any reason at all. I just keep searching because I need to exhaust all the possibilities. But there will never be one good enough for me, as you rightly say.
DeleteI think that in the early days I needed a reason. Not just for her death (especially when her autopsy provided no answers) but in the larger, metaphysical sense. I needed to know that there was meaning in her loss: that it wasn't some random occurrence, but something that could be explained with enough time and perspective.
ReplyDeleteAnd as much as I loathed that new agey hippyish "it all happens for a reason," part of me wanted to believe on some level that an answer would eventually be revealed to me. That through her death I'd somehow become the phoenix from her ashes: I'd understand it all and that knowledge would permeate through my life.
But I don't feel that way, nine years on. I don't feel like I gained any grandiose gifts or wisdom or Buddha-like compassion. Nothing on any scale that was worth losing my daughter for, that's for sure.
Perhaps the hardest thing for some of us, well, for me in particular, was to struggle along to a place where I could slowly be at peace with the idea, as terrifying as it is, that there is no great unfolding of the answer with the years. At least not to date. I'm coming to terms with the reality that there might never be and reconciling myself to that.
((HUGS)) my friend. Just wanted you to know too that I'm always reading everything you write, even if I'm not commenting as often as I should. Be kind to yourself. ♥
J please don't ever, ever feel that you have to comment. Or read even. I feel lucky to know that you are out there.
DeleteI think that, on the whole, that I am at peace with the fact that this doesn't mean anything.
I can so relate to this, Catherine. I am on the constant lookout for 'meaning', constantly scanning everything around me for some shred of evidence, but I don't hold any real hope of finding it, and I don't even know if I want to. For, like Renel said, what kind of meaning, even if we could find it, could possibly make it OK that our babies died? I take no comfort in the idea that my baby's death was part of some other ethereal being's greater plan, and I take great offence when people suggest to me that some god is keeping his reasons a secret until I get to heaven where all will be revealed, like life is some kind of ghastly magic show. What could any heavenly being possibly have in mind for my small baby? Maybe looking for meaning is almost like a reflex action for us now, something that we just do now, the same way we constantly look at other, living babies faces for a glimpse of our own lost little ones.
ReplyDeleteLove is a doing word - that expression sums up all of our longing I think. We shouldn't have to scramble to find ways to love our babies through our words or sometimes, our screams. We should be able to do for them in the flesh like mothers are supposed to do.
I am right here with you, Catherine. Right here, thinking of you and your girls. xx
'Love is a doing word' - I hardly thought of how appropriate that line is. I would love to be able to do anything for her, anything at all.
DeleteI am a terrible one for the 'God moves in mysterious ways' explanation. But perhaps that is the only explanation I can hide behind that enables me to keep some remnants of my religious faith. As I can't think of any explanation that would be understandable to a human.
Sometimes it feels like you speak my soul.
ReplyDeleteSending hugs...
There was a post at Glow about ambassadors. those who hold our hands when we are new to this world. Michele, I had to mention you in the comments, I hope that was ok? I can never say thank you enough for your words and for your kindness x
DeleteI'll try not to write a whole 'nother blog post here in your comments (especially because I think this might be the only thing I've ever covered in my 80+ posts).
ReplyDeleteI agree with you and everyone else that there's no reason. I've just settled into this place where I can see that I was giving R too much negative energy along with the love. Sure, the sadness is sparked by love and longing but it also gets kind of corrosive so, I've tried to replace it with something more like joy. I think it had a lot to do with C growing up and being more sensitive to my opinions and seeking my acceptance. Just seemed like I should extend my efforts to be positive and supportive to R too. Because she's not anything special or meaningful...at least no more so than anyone else. She's just my daughter and I want to be a good mother to her.
Remembering Georgina as August comes on.
I hope that, over the coming year, I will mirror you and come to replace sadness with something more like joy. As you say, G is just a person, not a lesson, not a meaning. I suppose it is just because she is absent that I feel the need to fill that void with something else. Sigh.
DeleteAnd for what it is worth, I think you are an amazing mother to both of your girls.
Just the word 'sisters' breaks my heart. I will enter into that conspiracy with you...
ReplyDeletewill we ever stop looking for reason? looking to find them in the world? looking to find a shred of evidence that this was for some reason? I'm not sure. I do the same thing though, spinning my wheels. applying meaning to the meaningless just out of pure hope.
ReplyDeleteat least there is hope there. hope that maybe someday we will figure some of this out.
lots of love to you, Catherine. Thinking of you and your beautiful Georgina. xo
Middlemarch. Sigh. That was such a tough read when I attempted it years ago. Maybe I should try again.
ReplyDeleteI totally get this and have been thinking about it a lot ever since Molly died, especially since I began reading the book Broken Open. I think it's a human impulse to find meaning in even the most random of occurrences, and to search for a Reason in the void.
For myself, I reject the idea that there was a reason for or a lesson in Molly's death. I do know, however, that her life is so very precious and meaningful to me, and it always will be.
As far as *my* life goes....I'm starting to explore what meaning I want to create--not out of the devastation, not to explain it or to justify it, but rather to give off enough sparks to remind myself that I'm still alive. I need the reminder.
Much love to you and your dearly missed Georgina. xo
I love Middlemarch, though I do wish things had ended better for poor, myopic Dorothea.
ReplyDeleteI want into your conspiracy. I love the idea of your conspiracy, though of course I, too, want more. I don't suppose it is a very cheering thing to say, that I'm glad I'm not the only one who isn't good at acceptance. I can't believe that there isn't some reason, some explanation, some angle or point of view or snippet of enlightenment that will help me see things clearly, to accept not just what happened but whatever it is that lies behind it. I would like to be part of your conspiracy, though, to conspire in ways that would make all of us, and our babies, matter.
They do matter, of course. I keep hoping they matter on a larger, cosmic scale, but maybe it's enough if they matter to our poor, dust-bound, fleeting minds and hearts. It doesn't always feel like enough, though. I want the meaning and significance of them to be woven into the fabric of the universe, to spill out in starlight and burble up in snowflakes and flowers and wind. And part of me really does believe they're somewhere, knowing how much they're loved and loving us back.
Thinking of you and sending love from the verge of August.
So wish there was a reason for this. I keep looking also. They must be somewhere. I so hope for all of us that we will find them again one day.
ReplyDeleteI already think about how I will answer Hugo when he asks me where Seamus is... How do I explain? His body is there... but and as for him? Well, who knows...
ReplyDeleteAs for meaning... I can't find any. I try and I try. I search and I nit pick and I look under stones and listen very carefully - but there's nothing... It's just unfathomable that all that effort, all the work, all those cells multiplying, bellies growing, blood pumping, heartbeats firing, all the LOVE that went into creating our children - it was all wasted. It makes no sense.
Why oh why oh why?
It is maddening, that search for a meaning for their deaths. And like others have said, even if someone gave me a meaning I don't think it would satisfy me, that any reason is great enough to cut my daughter's life so very short. I do know, though, that their lives had meaning and had value. Is it really a conspiracy to say that all of our children matter? I don't think so - I believe Georgina matters, just as Elena matters, even if we cannot find the reason that they are gone. Or perhaps I am in denial and still clinging desperately to that belief because without out, I think I might die too.
ReplyDeleteThis is one of the issues that haunts me, too. Why? Why did this happen? Is there something bigger that I am supposed to learn from this loss? Or is it just a big sack of despair handed over me (and you) for no good reason, other than the fact that some people have to carry this big bag of despair, and good luck with it?
ReplyDeleteI don't know.
I look, too. Too carefully for some sign or some meaning. A word. An image. A conversation. A look. Some clue as to a bigger picture as to why this happened, and more importantly, who were these people? Our babies? Our children?
You're writing is so refreshing dear Catherine.
ReplyDelete