you.
Now will you give her all your love,
Nor think the labour vain.
Nor hate me when I come to call
And take her back again?
I fancied that I heard them say,
Dear Lord, Thy will be done!
For all the joys Thy child shall bring,
The risk of grief we’ll run.
We’ll shelter her with tenderness,
We’ll love her while we may,
And for all the happiness we have known,
Forever grateful stay.
But should the angels call for her,
Much sooner than we’ve planned.
We’ll brave the bitter grief that comes,
And try to understand.
‘A Child of Mine’, adapted from Edgar Albert Guest who wrote the original version for a male child, circa 1930.
I loved this poem from the moment I first read it. It’s curious how poetry can sometimes fill the void, expressing the right thing in a way that somehow fits. Helping the senseless make sense, lending some structure to chaos, backed by the reassurance and order of its predictive iambic pentameter. I love that it singles us out from the throngs, reminding us that we were fortunateto have been Abi’s keepers. I respect its reminder not to think the labour—all we did for her across those years—was in vain. And I hang on to the thousands of memories as ‘solace for my grief ’. As a poem, it fits.
As time has gone by, however, it is the first and last sentences that I return to time and time again. I will lend you, for a little time, a child of mine, he said. For you to love the while she lives and mourn for when she’d dead, but should the angels call for her, much sooner than we’ve planned, we’ll brave the bitter grief that comes, and try to understand.
That’s what I do: try to understand. Again, and again and again, we try to understand. It’s not like I wrangle with the hows and whys of how it happened—I won’t let myself do that—but hardly a day goes by when those four words don’t enter my head as I perpetually try to understand that it did happen. As I try to grapple with her loss, the emptiness, the longing, the confusion and disbelief. Come on, brain, I urge, get on with it, catch up. But it takes time, this grieving, and I know the process cannot be hurried.
Death challenges our assumptions about the world we live in and the life we lead. Bereavement invokes serious questions. What was the purpose of her life? How can I go on living normally in this world when I know such terrible things can happen at any time? What’s life all about? Trying to understand, making sense of it all, is recognised by psychologists as central to the grieving process. The battle for acceptance is a tough one.
Chapter 6
Secondary losses
IT’S NOT JUST THE LOSS of the loved one that has to be accepted. A raft of what psychologists call ‘secondary losses’ also require adjusting to. Secondary losses are all the dreams, ambitions, opportunities, future life events and relationships that vanish from your life along with your loved one. The term also relates to the myriad specific roles and functions that person played in your life—the breadwinner, the hairdresser, the novel-finder, the handyman, bridge/golf/tennis partner, chief recycler, meal maker, wood chopper and fire lighter, homework adviser, towel folder, car cleaner, map reader, lunchbox maker, ironer, sober driver, Christmas wrapping expert, dog walker . . . and so the list goes on. Secondary losses may also be financial, or involve the loss of friends, a job, or a home. They can include the loss of the family unit and former stability, loss of faith, andeven the loss of confidence in the security and safety of this world (particularly after sudden or violent deaths).
Who are you now that you’ve lost this important person? Where will all the love you gave them get channelled? What do you do with your future hopes and dreams? What do you need to learn to do, however begrudgingly, now that they are no longer in your life?
In losing Abi, I lost my personal identity and seem to have experienced a
Now will you give her all your love,
Nor think the labour vain.
Nor hate me when I come to call
And take her back again?
I fancied that I heard them say,
Dear Lord, Thy will be done!
For all the joys Thy child shall bring,
The risk of grief we’ll run.
We’ll shelter her with tenderness,
We’ll love her while we may,
And for all the happiness we have known,
Forever grateful stay.
But should the angels call for her,
Much sooner than we’ve planned.
We’ll brave the bitter grief that comes,
And try to understand.
‘A Child of Mine’, adapted from Edgar Albert Guest who wrote the original version for a male child, circa 1930.
I loved this poem from the moment I first read it. It’s curious how poetry can sometimes fill the void, expressing the right thing in a way that somehow fits. Helping the senseless make sense, lending some structure to chaos, backed by the reassurance and order of its predictive iambic pentameter. I love that it singles us out from the throngs, reminding us that we were fortunateto have been Abi’s keepers. I respect its reminder not to think the labour—all we did for her across those years—was in vain. And I hang on to the thousands of memories as ‘solace for my grief ’. As a poem, it fits.
As time has gone by, however, it is the first and last sentences that I return to time and time again. I will lend you, for a little time, a child of mine, he said. For you to love the while she lives and mourn for when she’d dead, but should the angels call for her, much sooner than we’ve planned, we’ll brave the bitter grief that comes, and try to understand.
That’s what I do: try to understand. Again, and again and again, we try to understand. It’s not like I wrangle with the hows and whys of how it happened—I won’t let myself do that—but hardly a day goes by when those four words don’t enter my head as I perpetually try to understand that it did happen. As I try to grapple with her loss, the emptiness, the longing, the confusion and disbelief. Come on, brain, I urge, get on with it, catch up. But it takes time, this grieving, and I know the process cannot be hurried.
Death challenges our assumptions about the world we live in and the life we lead. Bereavement invokes serious questions. What was the purpose of her life? How can I go on living normally in this world when I know such terrible things can happen at any time? What’s life all about? Trying to understand, making sense of it all, is recognised by psychologists as central to the grieving process. The battle for acceptance is a tough one.
Chapter 6
Secondary losses
IT’S NOT JUST THE LOSS of the loved one that has to be accepted. A raft of what psychologists call ‘secondary losses’ also require adjusting to. Secondary losses are all the dreams, ambitions, opportunities, future life events and relationships that vanish from your life along with your loved one. The term also relates to the myriad specific roles and functions that person played in your life—the breadwinner, the hairdresser, the novel-finder, the handyman, bridge/golf/tennis partner, chief recycler, meal maker, wood chopper and fire lighter, homework adviser, towel folder, car cleaner, map reader, lunchbox maker, ironer, sober driver, Christmas wrapping expert, dog walker . . . and so the list goes on. Secondary losses may also be financial, or involve the loss of friends, a job, or a home. They can include the loss of the family unit and former stability, loss of faith, andeven the loss of confidence in the security and safety of this world (particularly after sudden or violent deaths).
Who are you now that you’ve lost this important person? Where will all the love you gave them get channelled? What do you do with your future hopes and dreams? What do you need to learn to do, however begrudgingly, now that they are no longer in your life?
In losing Abi, I lost my personal identity and seem to have experienced a
Similar Books
