not to be silent
Torill has more insight in my own hiding in writing mechanisms than I do myself:
Mark likes the point that blogs do not reveal all, and notes that
And yesterday it was exactly a year since Lisbeth’s mother died. She writes that grief and change affect everything in your life, and yet we acknowledge them less than happiness: a wedding or a birth or a tax rebate. I agree. I’ve been leaning on my friends (who are wonderful) and discovering that almost everyone has survived a breakup or many, and their stories are wonderful comforts. After all, if they became happy again, then so will I.
I had two miscarriages before I had my daughter, and another afterwards for that matter. Miscarriages are even more taboo in polite conversation than are breakups. When I lost my first baby I thought noone I knew had ever been in the same situation. Of course, when I began to tell people, stories came out everywhere, stories of old grief were brought out like small treasures wrapped in lace and carefully kept in a scented but rarely opened chest. These women (mothers of friends, friends of friends) showed me I was not alone. And that helped me so much.
Now I rarely think of my miscarriages, but I remember the grief, far greater than my rational expectations of appropriate mourning for a life barely begun. And I remember I promised myself not to be silent, because silence hurts far more than speech.
Why shouldn’t we speak of grief, breakups and miscarriages as we speak of joy?