Grief and Family

This is the year of the baby. Four of my friends have given birth to healthy children, each a celebrated bundle of joy, a miracle of life, something that people coo over as I try to find a three year old to play with.

Almost all of the babies came after years of trying, years of an emotional rollercoaster that wears you down. One of the celebrated babies is a sibling to a child they’ll never meet, a brother who died during birth. Another baby is a miracle that came after thousands of dollars of fertility treatments. Our babies – not babies any more – came after hundreds of pages of forms and hours of phone calls and interviews.

Kate tried to get pregnant for a year. She wanted her body to perform the magic of creation, developing a human being from almost nothing. She wanted to feel the growth of her stomach as she nourished her body, nourishing a new soul. There was no reason for the lack of pregnancy – her only fertility issue being lesbianism – but it just didn’t happen. One could say that she didn’t get pregnant so that two years later E and S would come into our lives, but to say that would also imply that my friend’s baby died just so her new little girl could come to be in their lives. I cannot believe in that sort of G-d, that sort of cruel pre-destiny. Sometimes things just happen, and that’s all you can say about them.

Today, someone died on BART. As we past Powell station, I saw the stretcher waiting to accept the lifeless body, police guarding death in a way they can’t guard life. I worry that the BART patron’s death will expose his family, ignoring their grief in favor of explosive headlines and gossip-ridden paragraphs. I cannot imagine the horror of losing your child, made greater by trying to combat misleading and uninformed headlines.

Grief is intertwined with pregnancy and adoption for so many. Miscarriages, stillbirths, infertility. For those of us who chose adoption (Kate and I always knew we wanted to adopt), we accept into our home children who must grieve for a biological family that could not fulfill their needs. One hopes to never grieve for the death of your child too. 

In times of grief, it's best to be with others. Their presence helps guide us to comfort, or at least a semblance of comfort. Sometimes we feel powerless facing another person's grief, but our mere presence, our love, is what can help sustain the traumatized mourners. At least, I hope that's true, as I help S and E navigate their loss. I hope to never have to confront what it feels like to lose a child. I do not think I am strong enough to bear that burden, and in awe of those parents who are able to continue life after their child's death.

May the BART patron’s family find blessing in his/her memory, and may we all come together to help each other during times of grief.