It hurts so much to lose a little person you don't even know yet. You have to give up the idea of being parents, buy a crib, decorate a room, choose a name, wait with great excitement for the person you will love the most in your life. "It's a girl" you shout with excitement to give the news to your family, but then you wake up with a lot of bleeding and pain, you are hospitalized for days, you feel defeated and at the same time you cling to a thread of hope praying that the fruit of your womb survives, but there is nothing to do, she is gone, she is gone.
What do you say to a partner who is going through this pain? Not writing to give them space makes us look indifferent, and writing to give comfort makes us look intrusive.
There's no magic words for that, you just have to be there for them. Listen without trying to fix it, be supportive in whatever way you can. Be forgiving if she lashes out.
I agree. It's a low point that can't be repaired quickly.
Yes, they need their space to process what they are going through, to cry and to do whatever their bodies ask of them to go through the stages of grief.
Thank you, you are absolutely right. I could only give them a hug without any more words, because the reality is that there are no words for these situations.
If a hug is possible... it is totally valid!!
It is a gesture that repairs hearts and heals the soul!
Life will continue and heal and strengthen that mother with love if possible!!
I agree with you
a great pain. I was just reading poetry by an Irish woman writing out of a similar pain. That collection of work is called Scuplture in Black Ice.
I think poetry is a place for pain to be exercised. Reading or writing. Reading your own thoughts on the page is healing. Writing them down hurts, but works.
I made purchase of this book, and I want to share one poem from it because I believe in its power.
The Light in my Window
i
I remember
the early years
of anticipation
imagining
how I would tell him
the good news
planning
a special supper
before the fire
choosing to tell him
at that moment
I lit the candle between us
picturing
on his face
joy and wonder.
ii
At the clinic
in Mullingar
our candle was snuffed.
In silence
we drove home
to mourn.
I opened
the wardrobe,
wore black clothes,
went to school:
smiled at my pupils,
talked to colleagues;
while a she-wolf
howled
across the tundra.
iii
We completed
application forms,
answered
intimate questions,
strangers
inspected our home.
iv
At last,
I discard
my black garb.
With strands of colour
plucked from the light in my window
weave a long flowing robe.
I open the door wide,
step outside
into a sun-bright garden
and I know
the four children
racing towards me
mine
beyond flesh
beyond blood.
It's beautiful, adoption is a blessing for many children
The best works of art come from the purest feelings. Thank you for telling me about this fact.