Ok – honestly here – I just cannot imagine losing a child at birth.
I have an acquaintance that did, and I can barely consider it when my eyes close at night.
Such unspeakable things…
If you know someone in the same spot, let me just encourage you to love them.
(And keep your mouth shut if you are in doubt about anything.)
As we have pointed out, they do not need philosophy. They need kindness and care.
Gosh, this “flip side of joy” sucks.
Anyway, I am convinced more than ever that the old should not bury the young.
It is simply not the way it was intended.
A match flickers but does not light. The mother’s wailing in room 543, the searing red rims of the father’s lower eyelids, tears silently streaking his face: this flip side of joy, the unbearable, unjust, unexpected presence of death… What possible sense could be made, what words were there for comfort?
-Paul Kalanithi, When Breath Becomes Air (Amazon)
