‘The arrival of Izzy makes visible what we didn’t have with Louie’
Image: Valerie Visschedijk
Eline is married to Bas, star mom of Louie * and daughter Izzy has now given birth. In this column she talks about her pregnancy after loss and everything that comes with it. This time about the contrast between happiness and sadness.
It’s just under two weeks after the birth of our daughter Izzy. Bas’s Irish music echoes through the kitchen as he slowly tries to lull Izzy to sleep. Dog Sister enthusiastically walks around with her toy in her mouth. I take a sip of my tea and watch the loving scene. This is my family, our family.
Pricking tears
Immediately after that thought, my eyes drift to the gold picture frame on the kitchen table. Louie’s sparkling eyes pierce my heart. Suddenly it comes in very loudly: Izzy is here, but Louie is not. We have never been able to do the simple things like rocking him to sleep with him and we will never do again. I cry. Infinite tears.
“I cry. Infinite Tears”
Tears that continue to sting behind my eyes in the days that follow. Often I try to swallow them. I don’t want Izzy to see and feel my sadness. Against my better judgement, because deep down I do know that this little girl has long sensed that something is going on. Something that is confirmed in a wonderful conversation with a coach that I sit down with a week later on the advice of my midwife.
Mourning in a new jacket
“Izzy senses your sadness before the tears roll down your cheeks. Take her with you in your grief. Explain to her that you are sad, that you miss her big brother, but that it doesn’t diminish the love you feel for her”, is what she tells me. She is right. Nor does it detract from love. I love both very much. It’s like turning on a faucet. Suddenly all the pushed away tears flow out.
She explains to me that a new form of grief is now coming to the surface. Precisely because Izzy makes tangible what we didn’t have with Louie. The nice moments with each other as a family without hospital staff, bright fluorescent lighting and bells that gave me a heart attack every time. Just at home, the three of us, the dog and Irish music.
Intense happiness and intense sadness
It’s balancing between being intensely happy with a little baby on my chest and intensely sad that the life of that other baby wasn’t allowed to last longer than four weeks. No matter how difficult and sad: it is our life. That mourning and sadness are part of us and will arise more often in the course of our lives. All we can do is learn to deal with it and take Izzy into it.
“Izzy was born into a family in which someone is missed. It is also part of that
of her life. And do you know: if Louie had still been alive, you would have involved him in Izzy’s arrival, wouldn’t you? Why wouldn’t you do that now?”, my coach concludes the conversation. That’s what I do the days after. I tell Izzy about Louie. How brave he was, strong and sweet. That he will always be her big brother. Wherever he is. We look at his picture together. I let the tears be. Tears of happiness and tears of sadness.
