More family calculus

/
More family calculus

I don’t want to imagine a world that he isn’t part of – not at all – but there is no world that they both are alive in, and no way my mind can accommodate a version of that world, even imaginary. So, if I imagine her here, I imagine him not. And it’s impossible not to wonder at times like these. Mundane, silly times where I’m frustrated that we can’t agree and my mind slips off into that world-that-might-have-been. And more serious times, birthdays, milestones, all the rest. What would it have been like if she were here? Then he wouldn’t be.

Read More

Muddling through

/
Muddling through

I used to think I was a good parent to a grieving child. We talked about sadness and anger, we played it out, we drew and sang and stomped when we needed to. And then - we stopped. I still say her name. I tell stories that start, “When I was pregnant with Anja….” But it’s not the same as it was when they were little and full of wonder about everything, including death.

Read More

Death makes the heart grow softer

/
Death makes the heart grow softer

Then when he was three-and-half years old, his sister died. She went away on a summer morning, and never reappeared. Suddenly from the edge of the carpet, someone could leap to the end of the universe, to a place no one has seen, and no one ever comes back from. He did not understand what death was, or how far it took our little baby. But he loved trains, so his sister, who was the little El train running parallel to him, the bigger Metra, just “went ahead to the next station.”

Read More

Here, there, and everywhere

/
Here, there, and everywhere

My younger daughter, Audrey, repeats this narrative nearly every day. Claire is her doll, and Claire was the sister she never met or played with. My heart stops and my breath catches in my throat as she explains to the receptionist behind the counter or the lady at the dog park: "You don't know I have two sisters. One is named Julia, and the other is named Claire but Claire died."

Read More