Sunday, December 12, 2010


I wonder if my voice might disappear.  Replaced by great gulping sobs.  Or pathetic little whimpers.  When someone asks me if I want anything, they mean a refill of my ginger ale or maybe a cracker.  I choke on my answer because what I want--all I want--is my baby.

There's a website called Glow that I'm not ready to read.  There's a woman named Kate who lost her son at six weeks.  She spoke recently at a walk for bereaved parents.

I looked up the word bereaved in the OED.  Do you know what it means?  I always thought it meant sad, grieving. 

This is the dictionary definition:  

Deprived or robbed; taken away by force; spec. deprived by death of a near relative, or of one connected by some endearing tie.


We are bereaved, David and I.  We are stunned and saddened and heartbroken.  We are bereaved parents and I still don't know how this is possible.

This is a link to Kate's speech.


  1. I am so, so sorry. My thoughts are with your family.

  2. Hi Brooke,

    I followed this link over from GITW. I just wanted to give you and your husband my condolences. I am just so sorry for the loss of your daughter.

    Don't worry about finding your voice through the sobs. It is still there although you will find that it has changed. It will be stronger and at the same time softer. More full of love but also always tinged with longing and grief.

    Your loss is so new, I can remember how inexplicably lost I felt during that point in time. I know you probably feel much of the same way. I think I finally started feeling less lost and lonely when I started to realize that there were other women (sadly) who had gone through the same thing.

    I am glad you found Glow in the Woods. It is quite a remarkable place.

    Thinking of you and Eliza.

  3. Take your time, I remember being totally and completely overwhelmed by Glow the first time I found it. When you're ready, you'll find an amazing community of women ready to hear the darkest of the dark thoughts, the saddest of the sad sobs, willing and able to sit with you through the scariest nights, the moments where you're not sure where your next breath will come from.

    And again, I'm so sorry.

    You and Eliza will be in my thoughts.

  4. Oh, Brooke. It's Christmas Eve and I'm thinking of you tonight. Let me know if you want to talk, or if there's anything I can do. Just know that every part of how you're feeling is normal. It's okay to feel crushed, to want to be alone, to need whatever you need. It won't always feel this way. It'll stay with you, and change you forever. But it won't always be so dark. You'll learn how to breathe again. You just need your gills first.

    All my love. Be gentle with yourself. xo