Nathalie Himmelrich

How Did You Survive Child Loss?

July 11, 2021 By Nathalie Himmelrich Leave a Comment

This is probably the question that most would want to ask, did they have the nerve to listen to the answer. In fact, some do, because – really, how does one survive the death of one’s own child?

Let me tell you – you will survive this loss.

The perspective of time and the myth of time

Writing this article, I’m now looking back 10 years to the time my daughter A’Mya, the younger of identical twins, died in my arms, just three days old.

But time in itself didn’t do the surviving, the healing.

Grief takes a lot of work. Work dealing with strong emotions, with the bleakness of life without your child, with finding the will to live again, even if it’s hard.

“Time does NOT heal all wounds”, especially not the pain of grief. It does however give perspective because looking back, I can see the gems of wisdom, understanding, and the practice of letting go I have gathered along the way.

The helpful…

So, what specifically does help?

I suggest you try to …

find someone to talk to, preferably someone professionally trained with grief or someone who does understand, because they have been where you are now.
find a community of supportive, understanding companions, such as a peer support group or a grief support group.
find someone specific who you can relate to who is a couple of years ahead of you in terms of their loss and talk to them about what you are experiencing. In the best case, they will normalize what you experience.
find something that you find supports you with strong emotions. This is individually different: for some it is the above mentioned, for others it is reading how others dealt with it, for yet others it is a creative, healing activity or phyisical activity. For me, for example, it was walking in the forest along a stream, which really supported me.
share your story, talk about your child, remember and celebrate them.

And the not-so-helpful…

There are other things that didn’t support me. Some of those, I noticed right away, others only much later. Let’s see if they ring a bell:

people proclaiming grief myths (you can read about some here, here or in the book Bridging the Grief Gap).
people no longer talking to me. I would have wished for them to stick around and say things like: “I don’t know what to say, but I’m here” or “I don’t think I’m a big help… I don’t know what to do” and at least stay in contact with me.
exposing myself to grief triggers early on, in my case identical twins. That really made me angry at the perceived unfairness of life.
people sharing their religious or spiritual beliefs about “there is always a reason for everything” or “God has a plan”. Those sentences really pissed me off!
people implying I should ‘move on’ or be ‘feeling differntly to what I was feeling’.
people giving advice who had no idea of the situation we were in. They were just trying to make themselves feel better.

Do not just survive, thrive

If you’re in your early, raw stage of grief this paragraph might not make sense to you. Believe me, it didn’t enter into the realm of possibilities for me either at that time.

For the first two years, I didn’t even put on any mascara, let alone make-up. I didn’t care. I had a baby to care for and I did my best but I didn’t have the energy for much else. Having said that, we moved from Sydney, Australia to Zurich, Switzerland, 11 months after her loss, so I really don’t remember who on earth I managed that.

I was angry A LOT of the time and remember telling my husband, about 18 months post-loss: “You can leave anytime, I’m stuck with myself.” I was so fed up with the ‘new normal self’ that was supposed to be me. I was angry at my mother, who died of suicide just 4,5 months after my daughter. I wrote a lot, I walked the forest, I growled, I cried and in the second year I was pulled to write the first book, Grieving Parents: Surviving Loss as a Couple.

In writing that book, I interviewed about 20 bereaved parents and support professionals. I got to see ahead in time as some of them were further out from their loss. I understood more and more about my grief, even though I was already a trained counsellor before my loss.

With time, I found that I didn’t want to just survive this. I wanted to thrive. As a friend of mine says: I wanted to gather all the vitamins this life challenging situation had in store for me. Big sigh. It was hard work, but worthwhile nevertheless.

The Truth About “I’m Sorry”

May 7, 2021 By Nathalie Himmelrich Leave a Comment

In the book Grieving Parents: Surviving Loss as a Couple, in Chapter 12 for the supporters of the Grieving Parent, I suggest the three simplest things to say to a bereaved parent, among a whole list of other do’s and don’ts:

I am sorry for your loss
I am here for you
I don’t know what to say, I’m lost for words

Sparked by the varied feedback I received to “I am sorry for your loss” and in line with what I wrote about in Chapter 10 (Inner Support) on meaning making, I have thought about the different ways in which people understand and perceive that simple sentence.

What does it mean to you?

First of all I have to say that English not being my mother tongue I might have a completely different understanding and meaning that I place upon this sentence. This is however not only specific to people speaking a different language but between any two individuals. Any individual word in fact holds specific meaning to each and every person depending on their history with it.

I remember a course with 400+ attendees who were asked to write down 5 synonyms to the term Love. Not two of the people had five identical words written down and only a handful had three identical words. This shows how individual the meanings are that we place on a topic, in the example love, even one that everyone is familiar with.

For me personally the sentence “I am sorry…” makes sense to me when used in a context where someone is apologizing for their wrongdoing. In regards to my daughter dying there was no one being responsible for her death so even though I understand what the people meant, it didn’t completely fit. Still, it was better than the clichés like “time heals all wounds”.

Think about what it means to you and maybe how the meaning has changed since your child passed away.

I scream if I hear those words one more time!

Every sentence, if heard over and over again, can become stale and over-used. It is in fact the most used statement after loss and can become like a broken record for the bereaved. Especially if it’s not matched with real compassion and empathy, it’s useless.

It is understandable that you might become weary of hearing “so sorry for your loss” from people who have never experienced a similar loss.

Maybe it is the best thing for you to scream, or alternatively start by telling those that matter in an honest way what else you’d prefer they said or did. Yes, I hear your tiredness of educating your surroundings on which satin gloves to wear or what to say or do that would support you.

But honestly – and in quoting famous John E. Lewis statement:

If not us, then who?
If not now, then when?
John E. Lewis

There will come a time – if it hasn’t already – that most things that bothered you at the beginning stages of your grief, won’t bother you anymore. Then it’s too late to help people understand what it is YOU needed then.

The ‘complete list’ is incomplete

Really, there are no perfectly crafted sentences, attitudes, or ways of being which fit all bereaved parents. Just as your baby or child was and is still unique, so are you.

Having said this we, the bereaved parent community, can only benefit if we can help those around find better words, if not for us, then maybe for another couple who has a miscarriage, stillbirth, neonatal death, or who lost a child at any age.

Where does that leave you, the supporters, and your desire to know what to do or say?

Whatever my complete list of do’s and don’ts says, it needs to be used in reference to the specific situation and bereaved person. If in doubt, ask the person you are trying to support.

A guide or a list with suggestions is only ever that: a guide. Bring your intuition, at the same time be open to ‘go wrong’ and be humble enough to learn from the bereaved – sooner or later in your life you will be the bereaved missing a loved one and experience grief, even if it’s not for your child.

This article was first published June 3, 2015 in Still Standing Magazine.

Mother’s Day After Loss

May 6, 2021 By Nathalie Himmelrich Leave a Comment

My Mother and her grand-child – Personal Archive

This article was originally published in the Erlenbacher Dorfbott, May 2017

I walk along Bahnhofstraße, past the parish hall, and reach the Erlenbach church. Although I am not religious, I am sometimes drawn there. It is a place of retreat, a place of silence and reflection. I walk through the gate, along with the old and new graves, down the stairs, past the statue of the young girl, and go to the community grave right by the lake. Through the bushes and branches, I can see the vastness of the lake with its mirror-like surface. This is my mother’s final resting place, the place she chose before she died.

The funeral

I was here for the first time when my mother was buried a little over five years ago. We had arrived from Sydney a few days earlier, from summer to winter. I remember walking as a family from my parents’ home to the church. It was a cold January day, but I didn’t feel much of that. I met familiar faces that I had hardly seen during my 15 years abroad. At 2 p.m. the church bells rang to signal the beginning of the funeral sermon. Even today the church bells remind me of that day. The church was full to bursting. We sat in the front row, in front of us on an easel a picture of my mother. I still couldn’t believe it. It had only been a week since my father called to tell me she had died. I turned around and saw the crowd, all the friends, acquaintances, and relatives who were here to honor my mother.

Mother’s Day without a mother

Soon it will be Mother’s Day again. This day, which is for all mothers, is emotionally complex. On the one hand, because my mother is not here. On the other hand, because I have another daughter besides my bright, soon-to-be six-year-old daughter. One that no one sees and few people remember: her twin sister, who died on the third day after her birth. In the span of four and a half months, I became a mother, a mother without her younger daughter, and a motherless daughter.

…and without a child

My first Mother’s Day five years ago was also my first Mother’s Day without my mother. As a half-orphaned daughter, the well-meaning sayings of Mother’s Day cards burned me like salt on a wound. I became painfully aware that on Mother’s Day my younger daughter would never make a drawing, leap towards me and fall around my neck. It’s a fact I’m still acutely aware of today and one that requires me to take a deep breath. I’m hardly the only one who feels this way. That the mother will eventually die is to be expected. But did you know that one in four pregnancies ends in loss? Losing your baby through miscarriage, stillbirth, or having to bury your child happens more often than you think. Mother’s Day has become so commercialized that it is impossible to avoid it. In my case, it inevitably reminds me of what I no longer have.

Many people carry their grief in silence. Pregnancies, according to the advice of gynecologists, ‘should’ not be told before the 12th week, as the percentage rate of loss drops noticeably in the second trimester. Even if people may not show it so openly – a loss (of one’s own mother or a child) never passes someone by without leaving a trace.
As a psychotherapist, I have been working with people in grief for 15 years. So one might assume that I should have been prepared for the grieving experience. But that knowledge, while it helped me understand my process, had no diminishing effect on the emotional roller coaster I had to go through.

Do you have other children?

The often-asked question, “Does your daughter have any siblings?” is one that I meet with openness and honesty. However, many react helplessly when they hear my story. The reality that my child died in my arms makes people speechless. Infant death is taboo. It does not correspond to the natural sequence when children die before their parents. Parents do not even want to imagine this situation. Some break off the conversation, others avoid me. Few continue to talk and have the courage to ask questions. It is my intent to show them that I am not hurt if they continue to talk or ask questions. I want to encourage people to deal more openly with death and grief. Even if we don’t want to admit it, sooner or later we all have to deal with it.

Since I returned from Australia with my family almost five years ago, we have been living in Erlenbach, my mother’s last home. Living here connects me with her. After a period of adjustment, I feel very comfortable today. I cherish my home and Erlenbach is the place my daughter will remember as her first home. People continue to be present even when they are no longer physically in this world. I have been very aware of this since the death of my daughter and my mother. Perhaps you, who are reading this, know a mother who cannot raise all her children, or a daughter who no longer has a mother. Have the courage to reach out to them.

This coming Mother’s Day, I will walk to the cemetery again. Not out of sadness for the loss, but out of remembrance and gratitude to the mother who contributed a lot to what I am doing with my life.

A Letter To The Friend Of A ‘New Normal’ Grieving Mother

April 23, 2021 By Nathalie Himmelrich 2 Comments

Dear Friend,

It’s been awhile since I’ve contacted you. I was busy. Busy surviving. Busy grieving.

I have been more focused on my journey and me than anyone else’s. I had to. For my own and my family’s sake. Otherwise I might no longer be around.

My child has died and even if/though this is months or even years ago, my memory is as fresh as if it was yesterday. For the outside world it has become a story, the story people tell each other at the shop about the woman who lost her baby. But even those conversations have started to die as the news is no longer headline worthy. In the best of cases, it has become a memory. A fading memory.

I might seem better from the outside and in comparison to the first weeks and months I am… Or so it seems. And then grief rolls over me like the unexpected wave that catches me from behind. These were the moments I didn’t recognise myself. The moments I was the crazy ‘new normal’ woman loudly cursing every detail about her life, wishing death upon her to end this pain. This however usually happened (not so) quietly behind closed doors. They have become less frequent… By not contacting you, you were spared those moments. You wouldn’t have liked them. I didn’t and still don’t. You might have been so shocked by your ‘new normal’ friend that you never contacted her again.

It has been a hard road to get used to the ‘new normal’ me, which honestly is nothing like the normal me you and I knew. Ask the husband, the rock – who knows how he managed to not walk out the door. I’ve kept the ‘new normal’ inside a lot because you see, she has no (or little) social grace. I prefer to spend time with her by my own, not that she is pleasurable company but she just doesn’t fit in my life pre-loss. It was my way to save whatever face was left.

I haven’t just been a crappy ‘new normal’ friend I’ve also been crappy ‘new normal’ mother, wife, sister, daughter, human being. Once I’ve realised that I actually had to merge with the ‘new normal’ myself, I struggled with this truth. She or rather I had to relearn what it means to live, to treat people, to care for myself, to be in relationship, to be a responsible human being, to treat things and people respectfully… Most of all myself.

The ‘new normal’ doesn’t have energy nor desire to be pleasing as I was before. I’ve given up on returning to or getting back the self that used to be me – I’ve given in on being ‘new normal’. Resistance is exhausting and fruitless. The more honest and straight-forward I’ve noticed the ‘new normal’ was and is, the less socially digestible I’ve found myself to be. A simple ‘starting-a-conversation’ question like “and how many children do you have?” make the ‘new normal’ a party killer. And for those who know the story, I can imagine them rolling their eyes and thinking: “Here we go again…”

The sad truth is I’ve become quite used to the fact that my friends prefer to stay away from ‘new normal’ and I can sort of understand their potential motivation. As much as the ‘new normal’ has needed to talk about it she/I might have also strained your ears and overused your capacity to listen. I myself would prefer the ‘new normal’ would be able to tell a different life story.

Now I want to be a good new normal friend.

The new normal good friend is honest, real and authentic.

When I integrate the new normal…

I will call or contact you when I truly feel like it.

I will tell it like it is.

I will always mention all my children, dead or alive.

I will learn to love myself, life and what I’ve come here for.

I will appreciate your patience, love and care.

I will be human, fallible and imperfect.

And I’ll hope you to meet your humanness too.

Thank you,

Your friend

This article was first published July 1, 2015 in Still Standing Magazine.

Dear Fear

April 17, 2021 By Nathalie Himmelrich Leave a Comment

Having published my book Grieving Parents: Surviving Loss as a Couple a year ago and being weeks away from having the book published in its German translation, I’ve been reminded of the vulnerability it brings: Having my name out there, my opinions, my story, my suggestions – they all leave room for criticism.

The idea of having your most vulnerable time of your life neatly packaged in 200 odd pages for the whole world to read can bring up fear, as I was reminded in a recent conversation with a fellow grief coach, who is contemplating putting her story into a book. I said: “fear has a role of protection” and “have a conversation with the fear” which I thought was a great suggestion for myself too – maybe even for you?
Here is mine.

My conversation with fear

Dear Fear,

We need to talk. You’ve been with me on and off all my life. I know you protect me from pain, hurt and disappointment. I get it. I appreciate your concern and caring protection.

Whereas in the past you visited from time to time, it seems now you’ve moved in permanently.
In the past few years since the death of my child and my mother you’ve become ever present. I can feel you in my bones. I can feel you in my recurring thoughts, day and night. It’s draining my energy to have you live here with me. Is it that you feel I can’t continue living without you?

You’ve been with me, holding me while I held my daughter as she passed away and you sent your companions ‘numbness’ and ‘shock’ to ease the pain. It worked for a while… Until I noticed that I couldn’t avoid the pain. Even if you would have done anything for me to avoid it, it wasn’t possible on the long run.

You’re with me all of the time

You kept me at home, under the duvet, ignored calls for me and had me stare blankly into the world. You’re with me, every step of the way, alongside my parenting journey. I can even see you in my husband’s eyes, hear you in his ‘be careful, or you’ll hurt yourself’ sentences. You’re right by my side in every step my daughter takes and you make me scream at her for fear she might get hurt – and for fear that I would get hurt in the process of it. That’s when you send your colleague ‘self-judgement’ to come in right after you’ve done your job.

What you couldn’t turn away was the hurt I felt from someone’s thoughtless comments. Friends have disappeared and you make me wonder what I might have done wrong. You’re worried I’ll end up old and lonely. At times you’ve even gently suggested not to mention my daughter, when the question asked was: “Is this your only child?”

You’re present when I talk, walk and even when I sleep. You tell me to become better again, to become a nice sociable person again, or people won’t like me. I worry more, sleep less, question more, think deeper.

‘Anger’ isn’t your friend, nor colleague or companion. You’re afraid of the anger because you can no longer control me, while he’s around. You fear the things I’d do or say when the anger is around. You fear the people that will leave me for my anger. You make me afraid of my anger and its destructive tendency.

I need to be brave

As much as I appreciate your concern and care, you’ve also kept me from stepping out and doing things, trying things in a new way. As true as it is that I’m tired of pain and hurt, I also need to be brave to make a difference, to continue living boldly and allow my daughter to do just the same.

How can we find a way together?

This article was first published August 5, 2015 in Still Standing Magazine.

May We All Heal – Why It Is Good To Reflect On Your Grief

April 15, 2021 By Nathalie Himmelrich Leave a Comment

May We All Heal is a creative healing event, where we reflect on our grief. Participants from all over the world take part in this online event, sharing their images and thoughts.

May We All Heal and its history

Originally created by a few women from the Grieving Parents Support Network it is now in its third year. It lasts throughout the whole month of May. It allows bereaved parents to focus on aspects of their grieving and healing. This is done by using any form of creativity, be that drawing, colouring-in, doodling, writing, talking, singing, dancing, modelling with clay or any other form. Another important part is the reflections on the prompt that is offered for each day.

Why would I want to delve into these memories and the emotions they evoke?

Author David Rock’s book Your Brain at Work: Strategies for Overcoming Distraction, Regaining Focus, and Working Smarter All Day Long explains:
“To reduce arousal, you need to use just a few words to describe an emotion, and ideally use symbolic language, which means using indirect metaphors, metrics, and simplifications of your experience. This requires you to activate your prefrontal cortex, which reduces the arousal in the limbic system. Here’s the bottom line: describe an emotion in just a word or two, and it helps reduce the emotion.” Even though this hasn’t specifically been written in the context of grief, it describes what happens when we reflect on our emotions upon the use of symbolic language which creativity is part of.

This is what we are doing in ‘May We All Heal’, where we are using creative metaphors and words to describe our internal processing. Just by doing that, we are changing the fabric of grieving and allow healing.

You are not alone

As much as the statement ‘you are not alone’ is uttered, it needs to be experienced to be believed. ‘May We All Heal’ harnesses the power of community, the ‘we’ as Sherly Sandberg in her interview with Time describes.

The participants share the creative images and words of reflections on social media like Instagram and Facebook. Using the hashtags #MayWeAllHeal and #MWAH allows participants to find one another and read and comment. On the event page on Facebook, there is also space for the participant to share and communicate with each other.

Participants feel enriched through this experience. They said: “I feel comfort here” or “I’m so glad I found the May We All Heal event because it is so beneficial for my healing”.

Come and join us! You can start any day. All information is here: May We All Heal yearly event.

Buy the May We All Heal companion playbook here.
Facebook peer support group: http://bit.ly/MayWeAllHealFB