Posts in Grief
I Became A Mother, But Not the Way I Hoped

I’m a mother. And yet, I’m not. 

My dream, years in the making, has and yet hasn’t come true. And even if I could ignore this and live as if my life is the way I want it to be, there are daily reminders everywhere I go that women the world over keep getting my dream for themselves while I am still left grasping for it.

Every pregnancy announcement I see on social media makes me sob.

Every pregnant belly I see, makes me sob.

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An Almanac of All the Ways to Sit on a Sidewalk and Cry

Your hands are shaking. When you squint at the street sign, your vision blurs. You stop in front of a subway station, interrupting the current of pedestrians moving downstream, into the underground. They divide around you with disgruntled murmurs. So many people—too many, you are biting your lip to keep your anxiety choked down. You tell yourself that instead of being caught in the swell of the subway, you will walk fifty-eight blocks and four avenues—distance seems less daunting than having to crush your body into a metal car, fitting into other people’s vacancies. 

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Your Grief Doesn't Matter

My name doesn’t matter. It’s not as if you’ll remember it anyway. My name could be Finn or Lotte. Kate, Marissa, Matthew, TJ, James, Victoria, Adam, Grace, Ashley, Claire. We are not mothers. We are not fathers. All we are are brothers and sisters. Siblings. We are the forgotten mourners and those left behind in the wake of a child dying from cancer. Our grief does not matter.

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Over It

It was a good thing.

No, in fact, it was the best thing that could’ve happened.

I know that. 

I was in an abusive relationship—eighteen years old—and the stick said positive. 

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GriefJulia NusbaumComment
Help Now, Grieve Later

I am cutting potatoes for my visit to Sunnybrook hospital. I’m making potato and leek soup. It is full of minerals and fits the food restriction list for those undergoing chemotherapy. I hope he likes it, I hope it brings nourishment and love. 

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The Wisdom of Grief

My Facebook feed brings me an Orca carrying her dead baby, her tears spouting upwards, salting the already salty ocean. I am like that Orca, carrying my bundled grief, attached to my heaving chest, refusing to let go. The sudden loss of marriage, child, parent, even as I came back from the brink of death, has become my bundled grief. I clutch it, like that bundle of celebratory baby shaped rice that the Japanese mothers handle with so much care, as it is supposed to hold the child’s future.

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Perfect A

Every now and then old memories appear when you least expect them.

Fastidious footsteps on the pavement leading to Painter Hall on the historic campus of Mississippi University for Women in Columbus, Mississippi. You’re late. As you take the brick steps and walk towards the door, your mind falls back to a time when Santa Clause was a real man who slid down chimneys with tons of gifts and life was centered around nursery rhymes, coloring sheets and recess. 

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GriefJulia NusbaumComment
Mixed Marriage

There are great concrete buttresses at my back holding up a lantern of light in the church behind me. I’m sitting on concrete steps, staring at one resilient weed working its way through a crack. Little survivor.

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GriefJulia NusbaumComment
Grief Without Consolation

I’m an editor for a Christian press. I have two degrees in religion, both with a focus in biblical/textual studies. Most of what I edit is Bible based, and I see a lot of my role as helping my theology-focused authors do good biblical interpretation.

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GriefJulia NusbaumComment
After the Fuss

Yesterday I just so happened to share a picture of my dad and me on Instagram. It's one of about six photos I have with him. This particular one was was taken on May 25, 1997 on the day I made my First Communion.

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GriefJulia NusbaumComment
Time Heals

He called me. Me. He picked up the phone and dialled mynumber. Not the favourite daughter who, admittedly, lives farther away, or the ‘son and hair’ as he was known by his flowing locks in the ‘70s, who lives closer. 

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