Still Standing Magazine

  • Email
  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Twitter
  • About
    • About The Editor
    • Note from the Founder
  • Write For Us
  • Advertise
  • Resources
    • Worldwide Mental Health Hotlines/Resources
    • Expressions of Grief
  • Contact Us
    • FAQs
    • Terms of Use/Privacy
  • FAQs
    • Still Standing Commenting
  • Terms of Use/Privacy

March 25, 2020


This Is What Grief Does To A Mother
Grief doesn't always bring classic signs of mourning

.

This Is What Grief Does To A Mother Grief doesn't always bring classic signs of mourning
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  

by Swagata Majumdar

Just one and half months have passed that I dressed up my boys, one day after the other, for their funeral and their father buried them as I writhed in postpartum sepsis pain in the hospital.

I gave birth to naturally conceived twin boys, (after two miscarriages in the past) who came out after an emergency c section because my cord prolapsed out of nowhere. Our 26 weekers were perfectly matured, (a headful of hair, tiny nails on long fingers, dimpled cheek like their father) but their lungs weren’t.

Their father and I were devastated.

The day we buried our second boy, I ordered french fries and our favourite curry from the hospital menu and gobbled every bit of it, as we smiled, and held hands.

The rest of the day I spend sobbing uncontrollably, while he sat there trying to hold his tears.

A week later it struck me.

Are we losing our minds?

Which grieving parent orders party foods and eats like there’s no tomorrow just after losing their children?

Why am I not having signs of conventional grieving?

Guilt paralysed me.

I stopped eating. Next 10 days I only drank water and was put on IV fluids because my body was not responding to antibiotics that fought my postpartum sepsis.

The other times I wailed helplessly, more while binding my leaking breasts, a sign of childbirth.

Now, perhaps I was grieving.

One month into this and we returned to our ritual of Netflixing every night or cooking a meal. I would often lay awake till early morn, hit hard by, “Am I grieving enough?” “Well, I was. I was bawling my lungs out whole day apart from those couple of hours on Netflix.”

This is how I would pacify myself. Crying is a sign of grieving.

A society approved sign.

Till it struck hard again, exactly one and half months later, when we spoke about future pregnancies over coffee on a coffee date.

Is it normal for parents to go back to doing their usual happy things when a disaster is as fresh as this?

I told myself – perhaps we weren’t great parents, or selfish because we are already being “too strong.”

Are we already moving on from a unrecoverable tragedy that should have crippled us for years?

I asked my husband for his opinion and he told me, grieving doesn’t have to have set standards of mourning. Society has conditioned us to believe that bereavement would mean a classic display of grief.

A bereaved mother is expected to be restless, crying, needing help they say.

The one who is quiet, is back to a normal routine, is not considered ‘broken.’

No wonder people around me called me strong. I knew, I had pulled the act well enough.

But thousands of women who have lost their children know for a fact that grief doesn’t exhibit any sign sometimes. It is a bottomless pit, an abyss that one never gets off from.

Grief doesn’t always bring classic signs of mourning.

A bereaved mother can also be one that looks normal, but inside she is not herself anymore. As if a robot has taken over, she performs every duty assigned to her, but slowly she is bleeding inside to a more darker self.

A robot has indeed taken over me. I smile, I work, I act normal, but when that facade falls off, I see my own self and die in guilt, “Am I grieving enough?”

As I write this, it hits me hard again, aren’t these some classic signs of depression as well?

A loop of tireless and meaningless questioning of oneself, a guilt that kicks in everytime one smiles, a continuous fight to hold ones emotions, lest one exposes their vulnerability, constantly beating oneself for imaginary crimes done towards their babies… all, perhaps all of it is the sign of an impending tsunami of a mental breakdown.
I wanted this article to be about the guilt of not grieving enough.

Instead in the end, I realised that it could be an impending wave of depression that’s about to hit me.

This is what grief is. It hits you hard when you and everyone around you thinks you are fine.

Grief has no recognisable face and it is never enough.

Childloss grief is multilayered. There are a plenty of complicated emotional and practical nuances to deal with every moment.

You can wail the entire day for the rest of your life or, like me, you can maintain a facade of being strong – your grieving for your lost child is never enough.

And this is what grief does to a bereaved mother.


Swagata was a popular ex Radio Presenter and at present a professor of Radio and Communications at a media college in India. She is also an impresario, a writer, and an international Emcee. Swagata has had two pregnancy losses at very early stages, and from each of them, she has risen like a phoenix, using her grief to create something creatively meaningful for her unborn children. Her third pregnancy, where she went on to deliver her twin boys at 26 weeks, who passed away 12 and 48 hours later, however, has been pulling her to a bottomless pit of questions to which she has found no answers. She is 37 and lives with her very supportive husband, shuttling between Australia and India.

Related


  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  
  •  

Archives

Copyright © Still Standing Magazine, LLC
To inquire on republishing posts or for public use other than social sharing, please contact the editor.
Print for personal use only.
Print Friendly, PDF & Email

Previous Post: « Depression Took My Child, Not Suicide
Next Post: What About Lent: How This Season Is Different After Your Child Dies »

Reader Interactions

{Your Thoughts} Cancel reply

Comments

  1. Abhijit says

    March 25, 2020 at 3:27 pm

    Strong vocabulary . Explicit narration. Touched my heart.

    Reply Report comment
  2. Ankita Ray says

    May 21, 2020 at 9:37 pm

    Beautifully written. Having lost my 3.5 years niece just a week ago and having a bereaved cousin in the family now I know how guilty it feels to be happy again. I am not even the mother of the angel who is gone now and yet I feel guilty to get back to life, I feel guilty to be happy around my own son now. The pain doesn’t stop and keep coming back in waves. Thank you for putting in words what a lot of bereaved mothers feel around the planet. Take care and your angels are looking down at you with lot of love right now

    Reply Report comment

Primary Sidebar

W E L C O M E
Founded in 2012, Still Standing Magazine, LLC, shares stories from around the world of writers surviving the aftermath of loss, infertility - and includes information on how others can help. This is a page for all grieving parents. If you grieve the loss of your child, no matter the circumstances, you are welcome here.
Subscribe To Our New Posts
Advertising
Write For Us
Contact Us
FAQ

Join Our Online Support Group -
T O G E T H E R
  • About
  • Write For Us
  • Advertise
  • Resources
  • Contact Us
  • FAQs
  • Terms of Use/Privacy

Footer

  • Email
  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Twitter

Categories

Recently Posted

  • Redefining Christmas And The New Year
  • Dear Meghan
  • October: What Lighting A Candle Means To Me
  • For Medical Professionals Caring For Parents Who Have Lost A Child In A Multiple Pregnancy
  • The Acknowledgement Of The Few

Copyright © 2021 · Still Standing Magazine, LLC