Miscarriage, Stillbirth, The Unrecognised Grief
Without Prejudice
Knox Deksnis 09.09.2013, Knox, We Love You xxx
I gave her a big hug today. Today her baby who she named Knox would have been born and we had to recognise her grief. I felt it too. I knew the date was significant. The ninth of the ninth. She wrote his name on the brick wall in remembrance. The sun shining, a sky of the bluest blue, no clouds, the lawn freshly mown, the day a mocking reminder of the Joy we could have been feeling, today, the ninth of the ninth.
A sad day, a baby miscarried, and even though her belly is full of another life, a treasured girl after seven boys, her grief knows no bounds. The boys have been solicitious, quiet in musing of their baby brother who wasnt meant to be. We miss him, she misses him, her arms empty instead of full. A name chosen, a changing table ready, no fat little bum to change, no little chicken legs to stroke, no neck to bury in and smell that sweet smell of newborn.
It was a shock miscarriage, her body had never betrayed her like that before. A few shocks to the system, the death of her Mother In Law at 57, a dreadful drawn out death to cancer. A sister who had lost her appetite for months, a fight with Kyans school, she began spotting hours later. And then a blood loss so devastating she thought she was dying.
An emergency dash to hospital, four blood transfusions and an operation. She demanded to come home the next morning, she didnt want to be a pin cushion. She was angry, toweringly so, lit up with rage and puffed up with the extra blood and fluid. It took a long time to go down. She remains grateful to the people that donate.
The counsellors told me all that time ago, the worst cases of delayed grief they see are the sufferers of miscarriage and stillbirth. I know now why. It goes unrecognised, this grief, the baby not born. People don't understand how you can grieve for a child that has never drawn breath, grown, toddled, walked, spoken the first longed for words, no cry, just silence.
But she grieves, he grieves, I grieve, the brothers grieve. She and he grieve for the dreams they had. The day he would be born, how old he would be on his first Christmas, how he would look, how he would fit in with the rest. In dreams they see him running and tumbling on the sand at Edithvale beach, asleep in bed, his baby face relaxed in repose, so innocent, so wanted before he was born. No cheek to kiss, no laugh to be heard.
He's gone in a rush, all those dreams are gone too, just memories, now. An ache in her arms, a chalk mark on a brick wall, printed definitely and slowly as if by the imprint we knew he would have been here, mattered, lived. She is dry eyed and mine are wet with bright anger, and out if a clear day it starts to rain, big fat droplets at first and suddenly a deluge and we run inside, shivering and laughing. Thunder cracks in the sky far off and the sky grows dark, it feels better that it rains. Tears from Heaven that turn the dry short grass suddenly green and dances over the gutters that cascade at the corners.
And inside, now warm and dry we look out, unseeing and remember .
Love and miss you Knox, little Suzy for my Niece, and my other niece's miscarriage xoxo
Janette x
I gave her a big hug today. Today her baby who she named Knox would have been born and we had to recognise her grief. I felt it too. I knew the date was significant. The ninth of the ninth. She wrote his name on the brick wall in remembrance. The sun shining, a sky of the bluest blue, no clouds, the lawn freshly mown, the day a mocking reminder of the Joy we could have been feeling, today, the ninth of the ninth.
A sad day, a baby miscarried, and even though her belly is full of another life, a treasured girl after seven boys, her grief knows no bounds. The boys have been solicitious, quiet in musing of their baby brother who wasnt meant to be. We miss him, she misses him, her arms empty instead of full. A name chosen, a changing table ready, no fat little bum to change, no little chicken legs to stroke, no neck to bury in and smell that sweet smell of newborn.
It was a shock miscarriage, her body had never betrayed her like that before. A few shocks to the system, the death of her Mother In Law at 57, a dreadful drawn out death to cancer. A sister who had lost her appetite for months, a fight with Kyans school, she began spotting hours later. And then a blood loss so devastating she thought she was dying.
An emergency dash to hospital, four blood transfusions and an operation. She demanded to come home the next morning, she didnt want to be a pin cushion. She was angry, toweringly so, lit up with rage and puffed up with the extra blood and fluid. It took a long time to go down. She remains grateful to the people that donate.
The counsellors told me all that time ago, the worst cases of delayed grief they see are the sufferers of miscarriage and stillbirth. I know now why. It goes unrecognised, this grief, the baby not born. People don't understand how you can grieve for a child that has never drawn breath, grown, toddled, walked, spoken the first longed for words, no cry, just silence.
But she grieves, he grieves, I grieve, the brothers grieve. She and he grieve for the dreams they had. The day he would be born, how old he would be on his first Christmas, how he would look, how he would fit in with the rest. In dreams they see him running and tumbling on the sand at Edithvale beach, asleep in bed, his baby face relaxed in repose, so innocent, so wanted before he was born. No cheek to kiss, no laugh to be heard.
He's gone in a rush, all those dreams are gone too, just memories, now. An ache in her arms, a chalk mark on a brick wall, printed definitely and slowly as if by the imprint we knew he would have been here, mattered, lived. She is dry eyed and mine are wet with bright anger, and out if a clear day it starts to rain, big fat droplets at first and suddenly a deluge and we run inside, shivering and laughing. Thunder cracks in the sky far off and the sky grows dark, it feels better that it rains. Tears from Heaven that turn the dry short grass suddenly green and dances over the gutters that cascade at the corners.
And inside, now warm and dry we look out, unseeing and remember .
Love and miss you Knox, little Suzy for my Niece, and my other niece's miscarriage xoxo
Janette x
