We've been watching a TV series called Marchlands. It sounded promising. A ghost story set in the same house during three different decades. The ghost is a little girl who drowned in the 60's.
It was hard to watch the agonising knotted grief of a couple who couldn't talk about the death of their daughter and who lived in a time when you were absolutely expected to put it behind you and move on.
Oh but then there's the modern day couple who are pregnant and then give birth to a healthy girl.
And it just got tougher and tougher to watch for both of us.
But you know, it was well written and quite intriguing so we tried one more.
Oh but then there's the character who's son lived for only 37 hours in the 80's.
And then I found myself crying.
Not for the loss of the son. No.
For the fact that a fictional person got to spend 37 hours with her fictional living son and I got nothing.
And if I'd had 37 hours with George wouldn't I be jealous of the next woman who had 38 hours? A week? 10 years?
Such an irrational envy.
I don't think we will be able to finish the series.
I have that sort of envy as well, and I know it is most probably a waste of energy. It is hard to shake though. I'd give anything to have seen her open her eyes....ReplyDelete
We had 27 "official" minutes (really more like 7 or so because he was gone before they announced his death). It is strange for me to think that those few minutes would be enviable. Yet I too look at people who have had hours or days and I feel the same burn of envy for their time. I would do anything to have those extra minutes. So unfair for all of us.ReplyDelete
i feel that too. weirdly, weirdly jealous of moms who had stillbirths at full-term instead of early like me. and yet, what those moms have experienced i wouldn't wish on anyone. weird. sorry you are feeling it so much today. personally i am sticking to comedies and sports. maybe permanently. xoReplyDelete
Jenni - I can only imagine. My one wish would obviously be for Angel Mae to be here with you, but I too wish she could have stayed until the end of the pregnancy, if nothing else. I'm sorry you (and Barb) were both robbed of such precious time together with your babies.ReplyDelete
That envy is a waste of energy...and yet that envy remains.ReplyDelete
I had not heard of that TV series, but knowing its plot I would have liked to watch it too.
Those who birth before the time is due, think of those who had full-term births. Those who have almost full-terms births and have had a chance to soak in every single feature of their baby, but the baby is dead will envy those who have live births. Those who have live births and then the baby dies will envy those who had a live birth and have a chance to post about Week 1, Month 1 and Year 1 and so on....
When is the right age for our child to die that we won't envy somebody else who has a better luck in that department? No right age. No right moment.
(I received a comment IRL that now was better than later in terms of Lola's death, and that made me question if there ever was a right frame of time for it....)
I avoided this one of the basis of the little girl who drowned :(ReplyDelete
I'm sorry that you got so little time with your dear George. Like WiseBursche, I don't think there is ever a right frame of time. We want to leave our children behind not have them leave us. I don't know whether to be grateful for the days I had or sorry for the pain I caused her.
No there is never a "right time" to lose your child.ReplyDelete
We are meant to die in old age and leave them behind sad but glad that we lived a long and loving life.
Thank you all for sharing.
I know what you mean. I understand your tears. ((((Hugs))))ReplyDelete
I had my sweet boy for 8 days. 8 days & 5 minutes. Was not even close to enough time.ReplyDelete
I wanted to outlive him.
Barbara, I so get this. Your tears make complete sense to me.ReplyDelete
What beautiful and thoughtful comments on this post. I feel humbled and honored to interact and know (as much as one can "know" through words online) the mothers here. Including you, my friend.