Thursday, 11 February 2010

The end of the story

I feel as though I need an end to our story. Or perhaps it is more the case that other people need an end to the story. Usually stories like ours end with the birth of another baby. Of course, people who have suffered a stillbirth know that a new, living baby isn't the end of the story at all. But I think that, to the outside world, it looks like some kind of ending. But we, sadly, are not going to get that ending ..... So some how we need another. We need - or other people need us - to be able to say, 'Yes, all these horrible things happened but now we have ....... established a charity for disadvantaged children / started a course in environmental science / taken a year off and travelled around the world / written a book about what happened / become involved in a campaign for better medical research .......' (Fill in any number of other possible suggestions). We some how need an outcome, a story to tell which has an ending. I feel that if we had that ending we would find it easier to re-engage with the world. But no big project presents itself. Ideas come to us but we feel unable to commit to anything in particular. So instead the days drift on and we seem stuck in the same old place. Not desperately unhappy but just numb, disconnected.

9 comments:

Anonymous said...

Dear Alice,

just a little note to say that I am thinking of you; I don't need you to do anything or to end any story. I don't pretend that I understand your pain but want to say that I like you just as you are and I want you to know that I think you are amazing, caring, loving and giving right now. I do miss you immensely on Sunday mornings.

I hope to see you soon, Flo

Tash said...

I know exactly how you feel. I felt stuck. Permanently in some kind of purgatory. For me, I felt like the glue melted when I simply made a few phone calls -- I'm not sure I really needed the outcome I have now, frankly. I think my mood changed long before -- it was simply having made the choice, the choice didn't necessarily need to come true.

That said, we have yet to do our memorial bench or memorial library at the NICU or any countless number of things we said we would. Tiny steps. Sometimes I think you just look back and realize you did whatever it was and you don't necessarily need to plan it.

Much love.

Julie said...

Disconnected too. People ask me "what have you been up to" the answer I want to give is "grieving" but I say " not much" niether one is much of a conversation feeder.

AG said...

I can relate to your post. I remember right after our newborn daughter died, I heard of another couple who had lost their newborn baby a few years before. I immediately asked "Did they have another?" The answer was no. It made me so sad. We all want happy endings. We all want a "right" to offset the pain of the "wrong". I think it's our inborn sense of justice. Unfortunately, life isn't just.


Little did I know at the time of asking that question, that I would be in the same boat as the other couple. Still childless years after our loss.

Thank you again for returning to your blog!

Anonymous said...

Maybe you just need a focus for your grief - so that you have some outward recognition that your grieving in ongoing.
Alternatively, have you thought of seeking (help/conselling/therapy)(these are all such emotive words that don't really express what I'm trying to say here) guidance perhaps... so you find, not an end, but a way forward... taking your daughter with you.
My grandmother had a 'shrine' to her deceased daughter - a simple photo (which you may not have). And I am sure she spent time, few minutes' thought, with her (dead)daughter every day for over 60 years.
Lucy

Anonymous said...

You could contact:

http://www.foresight-preconception.org.uk/

They have years of experience of helping people in your position and may be able to help...

Anonymous said...

I read again your blog 6.July last year. Does your sister read your blogs too? Could she not help, be a surrogate mother, egg donator etc.
You say the Americans talk freely about these things. Maybe we could learn from them. Just ask.
with sympathy and love, Abbie

niobe said...

Long before I lost the twins, I had another, entirely different kind of loss. I've never really gotten over it. Afterwards, there were years and years that just vanished from my life, where I couldn't engage with the world and I didn't want to. The only advantage was that nothing -- not even losing the twins --could ever hurt me that much again.

Some stories don't have endings. Or, rather, the ending is: and she lived unhappily ever after.

Anonymous said...

(( hugs ))