what they say
You'll hear these words again and again, sometimes as a reassurance, sometimes as an explanation, sometimes, it seems, simply as a mantra: "everyone grieves differently."
"Everyone grieves differently," they say, "Oh, yes, everyone grieves differently. You know, everyone grieves differently." They say it, but it isn't true.
Everyone seems to grieve in remarkably similar ways. There's the chasm, the stumble, the stagger, and the fall. There's the cold, the silence, and the dark. There's the shattering, the splintering, the grinding, the rending. There's the strange language in low whispers. There are tears that strangle and tears that scald. There's the chain of words around your wrists, the story worn out by the telling that always ends in exactly the same way.
There's the wearying round of repetition. The first month, the second month, the third month. There's the ever-recurring day as the weeks gain ground. There's the first Christmas, first Easter, first Mother's Day. Then the whole year has gone and the counting begins again, but more quietly this time.
Sometimes there's the stake and sometimes there's the stone, the garden, the poppied field far from the swing of the sea. There's the shadow and the apple blossoms, the thimble and the stitches, the cypress and the yew. Everyone grieves that way. Everyone, it seems, except for me.
"You can't compare pain," they say. But that's not true either.
I lift your grief in one hand, mine in the other. I balance them against each other, gauging their heft. I lay them side by side and measure carefully. Mine always comes up short.
niobe
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I know you're not looking for analysis, But there's a fierce protectiveness in you, especially now... buffering yourself from the future, trying to have some hope. I think the brave place you're in right now necessitates putting grief on the back burner so that you can keep moving forward.
And maybe that's just not true for you. Maybe that's just me speculating, moved by your words and by you, as always.
Maybe grief is all the same house with four walls and one roof, but interpreted by vastly different architects.
I am one of the people who say that, as you well know. And though you don't believe me no matter how many times I say that, I am moved to say it again. When I do the lifting, as you describe, neither side comes up short. I can feel the difference in the outlines, in the densities, even, in different parts of the things, but I don't feel one weigh more heavily than the other.
And now I am going to duck before you throw whatever you've got in your hand at me.
What Julia said. Now I'm going to hide behind her.
I don't necessarily think you come up short, Niobe, just different. It's still grief in my mind. You may not see it, but I think others do. JMHO. (Now, let me know if I should duck, too.)
No need to duck. I like hearing other points of view. In fact, I'm happiest when I have lots of other peoples' thoughts to consider.
Mostly, I suppose, because, while it may not be obvious, my own views are rarely all that strongly held and are generally open to revision based on things like, well, other evidence or further reflection.
The funny thing for me is, you say it, and you say it... you say your grief is less, is different, is lighter... but none of that feels true to me help up against your words, your actions, your enigmatic presence here in this community. You seem to realize we need something from you, and yet I believe that you too need something from us.
Whatever your objective view of your grief is, Niobe, you belong here. And I continue to be moved by your words which, whether intended or not, honors your twins and the lives that should have been.
Oh brother... and I even proofread my comment. But, of course, it was supposed to be "held up against your words", not "help."
Sigh...
You need to go back and reread your blog from start to finish...because I have seen each and everyone of these things in the year plus I've been reading you. You won't believe me, you will tell me you are different, but you do do these things.
Do you do them precisely the same as me? No...but then again, none of us do them precisely the same.
And in the past year and a half, you have changed a lot, and broken through to some new ways of expressing yourself.
You have.
(ducking as I walk in the room) I've gained so much from reading how you deal with family, just for starts, that I can't imagine that we don't have SOMETHING in common. I also always go back to a comment you left on my blog once that this wasn't the worst thing that happened to you. And I've become a firm believer in the mantra that bad things can't be rated on a bad thing scale because it really all depends how we perceive them, deal with them, what support systems we have in place at the time, and on. This is the worst thing that ever happened to me, but people have killed themselves over girlfriends leaving them. I'm not sure weighing the grief is a great idea, honestly. Yours may be less in your mind comparitively speaking in the context of your life, but that does not mean it is unimportant, invaluable, or invisible. For me your grief is moving, inspiring, depressing, tangible, and -- quite frankly -- familiar.
I wonder why you keep saying that.
I just found this site and wanted to say thank you for setting it up ... as much as I wish there wasn't a need for it, I am so glad it is here.
After losing our 20 week twins in November I have found myself at a loss as to where I fit. I found myself breathing a sigh of relief as I read these posts tonight thinking, "finally, someone who understands".
funny that tash mentioned a comment you once left with her, because I was going to do the same. you once left a comment on a post about grief, something to the effect that you thought only one thing in your life had truly ever caused you pain, while everything else has including losing the twins has been a pale imitation. whatever that thing was, whatever the source of your pain, I agree there's no need to weigh or judge your feelings about anything since.
also, you say more in the words you don't say sometimes than in the words you do... ~luna
I haven't lost anyone close to me, let alone a baby. But seeing how I react to other situations I could see myself feeling as Niobe does.
...my method.
Analyze the situation, understand what's going on, and then think your way out of it. Just push it to the back and don't deal with it, eventually you forget about it and it doesn't affect you so much. Numb yourself to the problem. No problem here! Occasionally it pops out but you just shove it to the back again.
fwiw I certainly read you, as others do, as working your way through grief, albeit on your own terms and in your own way.