Life Before, After, and Again

Reconnecting with Life After Loss (One step at a time)

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He apologized, I half-smiled.

Life Before Death at the Wellcome Collection | Society | The Guardian

I stared blankly into space, blinded by the loss of my glasses, nothing more. I was calm, annoyed with my body, its strange antics of getting pregnant twice naturally in my 40s after more than three years of trying and failing. After going through infertility treatment and failing. I was annoyed at the way time and my life seemed to hold their twisted hands and make a mockery of me.

There have been so many ill-timed events in my life that calling it a circus will not be an overstatement. I could be the poster-child for those who believe things happen when you give up obsessing over them. Except that in my life, even those sayings are comical. So many accidents—such randomness only happens in the universe, in the great galaxies, where stars collide to form planets and gases come together to form atmospheres. Us mortals, we like to fathom.

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We accept that being derailed is part of the journey, and getting back on track reinforces the predictability, the reliability of life. But when life just becomes one derailment after another, do you create a different path? In reality, in literality, we all race within the same biological arena.

If you constantly fail, you cannot leave the domain and race elsewhere. Despite having an erratic, undependable human female body, you have to keep up your efforts to reproduce. Within that finite timeline, following the same rules, playing the same game, living around the same teammates and spectators. Despite feeling like an alien, an animal, a worm, a blade of grass. Instead, you lie in bed after the fourth miscarriage, with your defeated human body, and smile that comical smile of yours, thinking of your belly as a deflated balloon.

Kate and Phillip, empty-nesters for four years

You are forced to remember—as you forcibly try to forget—another time, another country, when you woke from deep sleep to realize that it was all over. That part—the all-over-ness sweeping all over your conscious mind, its streams of subconscious, and its abyss of unconscious—will be exactly the same. For a moment, in a stupor, you will be the year-old newly-miscarried young woman, as her hopelessness mingles with your year-old jadedness. The actual loss will look and feel minuscule, and you will rationalize that it is not even a loss, but more of a procedural hazard.

Except signaling the end of a long, twisted reproductive journey of attuned ironies, patterned randomness and comical tragedies, this miscarriage will be but an accident. How do other losses feel like after the loss of your baby ies? How do those feelings compare to those about loss before your child ren died? Where are you in your reproductive journey?

How has it been? Bereaved parents of lost babies and potential of all kinds: Parents of lost babies and potential of all kinds: Thanks to photographer Xin Li and to artist Stephanie Sicore for their respective illustrations and photos. Life will feel heavier. They have adventures, scrapes and a changing parade of girlfriends: There is less turmoil and chaos. This filters down to our relationship: I worry about how my own flaws and imperfections may harm him, by teaching him bad habits or lessons about the world that are wrong.

But someone other than ourselves is about to become the centre of our world. My hope is that it will change me by helping me to become less selfish. I like the time for unmediated and unrushed dinners with Lu. I also like enjoying the accomplishments of our kids and seeing them grow in independence; they are all quite remarkable, in my view. And, as a bonus, my IQ doubled in their eyes once they went off to college.

But now the animals all want to sleep with us. But I always planned on having a family. Teaching them how to play ball, fish and hunt. But being in the service and having a family is tough. I also miss the role of Mom in my job description. I like the silence.

But I miss the daily injection of youth and life. The wonder that kids exhibit at the simplest things, the most banal of experiences. The music and chatter. I miss them awfully.

It was part of our plan to raise a family two years after our commitment ceremony. We had to establish stability first in terms of housing and finance. Instilling our values, or just watching them grow up in good health.

That would break my heart. We have a great support system in our family and friends. We both have secure employment and can provide for children. But I miss her so much — sometimes I just feel empty.

Kathy and Lyonel, empty-nesters for 18 months

So I lost my other half. I knew I was mature enough to raise a child.

The thought of putting her through school makes me anxious, making sure she is treated fairly, along with getting quality education. We had been trying for over three years and realised it is not something we could control. I can only imagine how it feels to bring these babies into the world and provide all aspects of care for them.

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We had been married for over three years and decided it was time to start a family. Three years later, after many infertility procedures and one miscarriage, we are finally close to starting that family, with twins. Our peaceful, quiet home will soon be gone — but replaced with laughter and the sounds of happy children.

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