Nathalie Himmelrich

Inspiring Hope | Finding healthy ways of Grieving | Writer

grief and loss

Dear Fear

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Photo by Melanie Wasser on Unsplash

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.

Accept The Unique Fingerprint Of Grief And Loss

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Photo by Tuva Mathilde Løland on Unsplash

Grief is unique

Your grief is as unique as your fingerprint.

No two fingerprints are the same.

Yes, they are both from a ‘finger’, made out of the unique pattern of whorls and lines on the fingertips but that’s as far as it goes in regards to similarities.

They are more different than they are same but the eyes are not able to ‘see’ that.

The only reason fingerprints are compared is to identify the individual.

There is no healthy reason to compare your grief and loss with another person’s.

It does not help you heal. Nor does it help the other person heal their grief.

Recently there was an article floating around the Internet with the title ‘Losing a dog is like losing a child’ (before you cringe at the title, go and read – don’t make a judgement before you read the article with 1.4 mio likes! and read until the end of this article). It is just one example of a sentence in which two completely different losses are compared. As much as it seems logical not to compare completely different losses, we fall into the trap of comparing seemingly similar losses. There is just no point, absolutely NO point in comparisons!

Even by saying ‘the loss of a child is the worst loss ever’ we are basically comparing. We are setting the loss of a child above all other losses.

It’s not helpful, in fact it’s detrimental and it segregates people, who are all in grieving pain. It leads to feeling ‘I shouldn’t feel that bad because really, I’ve only lost … and not my child’ or ‘I should feel the worst because I lost my child’.

Those of us who’ve lost a child are left to believe ‘I’ve experienced the worst loss’ and some even get stuck in the mindset of ‘I’ll never get over this’ or ‘I will never ever feel better again’ for the rest of their lives.

Then, there is also comparing yourself to other loss parents… It’s not helpful.

Similarities and differences

Grieving experiencing are unique and can be experienced in all different ways.

The only similarity that connects grieving parents is the fact that we are a parent and we’ve lost a child. That’s the ‘finger’ part.

Your experience however is just that: YOURS. At different times you might or might not relate to someone so don’t let yourself be fooled to believe statements like ‘that’s what grieving parents experience’ or ‘this is what child loss feels’. If you can relate, fine, but if you can’t, it’s fine too – you’re unique and so is your grieving experience. 

You can only know how your loss feels and how you experience your grief. Don’t attempt or pretend you know another person’s experience. Do not even use comparisons to find similarities or differences between a mother’s and a father’s grief of a child – two different people, even while losing the same child, their child, still experience the loss differently.

Comparing is about finding similarities or differences. The similarities might help you understand your situation better. That’s where grieving theories come in helpful in normalising the experience by giving a list of potential similarities. Still, allow your own process to unfold.

BE AND ACCEPT YOUR OWN FINGERPRINT OF GRIEF AND LOSS.

This article was first published December 2, 2015 in Still Standing Magazine.

Thank You, Friend

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handlettered quote
Handlettered quote by Nathalie Himmelrich

Thank you, friend, who is still addressing Christmas cards by including A’Mya’s name.
You are one of those who get it. Seeing her name makes my heart sing and my face light up with a smile.

Thank you, friend, who shares Facebook memories with me adding meaningful words. You connect me with the past in a way that is filled with grateful remembrance. It’s through your words that I can hear you remember her with me.

Thank you, friend, who checks in, year after year, on specific dates. Anniversaries don’t just go away because my child is dead. We celebrate her and love her from afar. No presents are given but she is still here with us. In our hearts.

It seems to me that when I write about A’Mya, some people take that as me being sad or depressed. It is not (always) the case. I’m remembering my child. This is honouring her memory because I don’t have the luxury to make memories as we do with the children that are alive.

For many it is inconceivable that there are daily situation that make me remember. Most of those are not even through my own rummaging through photos or memorabilia, which we anyway have very few. They are just daily mundane incidents that are somehow wired in with A’Mya shaped hole in my heart. Many times I can’t even explain why or how – and it is not important. I don’t have to justify my heart’s longing for my child.

She is my child. She is right here with me, even if not visible to the world. This is just the point. Because she is not physically here, some people assume that she does not or no longer exist. We all have thoughts, wishes, dreams and even though they don’t all exist (in reality) they are still here.

Thank you, friend, you who acknowledges A’Mya’s existence, even if you have never physically met her. You validate her importance to my heart. You validate my heart.

Thank you, friend, who understands that triggers are neither rational nor logical. Your acceptance of my vulnerable heart makes me trust your ability to share my tears with, those that will remain invisible to the rest.

THANK YOU, FRIEND.

This article was first published December 7th, 2016 in Still Standing Magazine.

Why We Need To Talk About Child Loss

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Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

Why do we need to talk about child loss, when it is so hard…

When are we met with silence?
When people just don’t get it, unless they have experienced it themselves?

When all we need is to be understood and taken care of because grieving sucks all our energy?

It seems pointless but it’s not, in fact, it’s so important if we want to create change.

Let me tell you why we need to talk about child loss.

The hard conversation about child loss

Many bereaved parents speak to me about the fact that ‘people just don’t get it’. They find it hard to explain the reality of grief after child loss. Child loss is hard to talk about.

‘My child is dead’ is a conversation stopper. The reality of a child dying before their parents make people feel lost for words. The potential of facing strong emotions is avoided at all cost. Grief is one of those cauldrons of strong emotions that many are afraid of.

Understanding grief

Society largely lacks the proper understanding of grief. They still believe in antiquated beliefs or stories based on the past. Grief IS a normal reaction to a significant loss. In order to achieve a wider understanding of this, we need to open up about it.

Change happens after the realization and acceptance of something being outdated. In order for this to be realized, we need to share our individually experienced reality. This is how we bring awareness to what’s not working and what helps.

Adequate grief support

People avoid mentioning our child because they don’t know whether it is ok for us given the circumstances. They fail to give us adequate support because they don’t have clarity on what this is. They fear to do or say the wrong thing and often end up doing nothing at all. They have no idea what to say but truly intend to make things better for us.  Yet, the only thing that would make it better – to have our child back – isn’t possible.

Grieving is the very action required to digest the loss. It is so subjective that each individual story counts towards this wider understanding and acceptance. Grieving becomes harder when we don’t feel accepted in our way of grieving or that we have the right to (still) grieve.

Let’s make a change

Collectively, we can change that by sharing our stories.
We can change the story about grief and grieving.

Do More Than Survive The First Year After Loss

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Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

They did not survive. I did.

Having lost our daughter at 3 days old and then my mother through suicide just four and a half month later I often doubted I would survive this emotional intensity called grief. I was tired of living. I was exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster. Yet suicide was totally out of the question for me as I was acutely aware of the emotional turmoil my mother had left behind in the family surviving her self-chosen death and I was absolutely clear of the important role I played as the mother to my other child.

Did I do more than survive?

How did I survive the first year? I wonder as I’m looking back. Big sigh. Something in me knows but somehow my memory can’t take me there because it’s not necessary to re-live those days? I don’t know. I find it hard to recall the time besides certain moments that have carved their mark on my soul. Luckily I ofter wrote so I can go and read about it. Journal entries, notes to my friends and family, emails, poems and I wrote a blog. All these writings are what lead to friends encouraging me to write a book.

Writing a book wasn’t part of my life’s aspiration. I regularly wrote articles as part of my professional website as a psychotherapist. Even though I had no idea what writing a book would entail, I knew everything could be learned. Fast forward to today I have written and self-published three books and am working on a not-for-profit community project book. The fourth book I’ll be publishing will be an anthology containing the writing of many mothers and fathers like you. They describe the challenges of the first year after the loss, an account of how they managed to survive.

Writing helps

Having just emerged from reading the submissions we’ve received I was taken on a journey back into the experience of the first year. Not just mine but in fact over 50 mothers’ and fathers’ experiences that they candidly shared with me. These essays took my breath away, left me gasping for air and drying my tears. Even though each parent’s experience is unique I could relate, as a mother, as a bereaved mother and as a human being, touched by their loss in the many-faceted challenges it brings.

What I didn’t fully realise when calling for submissions for this new book, was the potential for healing that this project offers. Writing and its healing potential has been researched widely (for example here and here) but reading the essays I noticed so much more. I remember now that I had already noticed this when doing the research and interviews for my first book Grieving Parents: Surviving Loss as a Couple. The intense involvement with my own and other people’s stories, their ways in which they confronted and handled challenges and what happened inside of me in effect to all of this offered a huge shift in my grief towards healing. And it won’t end with me because given the end product is a book many people will receive; it offers this potential to all those who read it.

This post was originally posten on March 1st, 2017.

Don’t Apologize For Your Grief

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grief quote
Handlettered quote by Nathalie Himmelrich

Grief caused collateral damage in my life, my relationships and myself. Almost six years ago, my younger twin daughter died on the third day after her birth, followed by my mother’s death through suicide four and a half month later. The experience of death changed me so intensely that it took years upon years to get to know myself again. And it still continues to some degree.

I hated the wreckage grief caused in my life

I missed the parts of myself that were lost and hated the person I had become: full of anger, resentment, impatience and lack of trust. The first years, I struggled so much that I told my husband “you have the luxury to leave me, I’m stuck with myself”. I would have left if I could. Luckily, I am blessed with a patient and understanding person at my side. More patient than I would have been able to be given the circumstances.

My twin pregnancy was the miracle of the first round of IVF. A miracle because we implanted one fertilized egg and on the first ultrasound found out – to everyone’s surprise – that I carried identical twins. Even though I was considered to be an ‘older mom’ I was somewhat naïve at the things that could possibly ‘go wrong’ to bring a healthy child, let alone two, into this world. I was nineteen weeks pregnant when the ultrasound showed multicystic kidneys in twin B. My journey of grieving the life not yet born and most probably not meant to survive outside the womb started.

At least you have one child

Having one child is better than no child, at least for those who were trying to make me feel better. I stopped counting the times I heard platitudes like “at least you’ve got one and she’s healthy”. Did this mean that there was no reason for me to grieve given the fact that I “at least” had one? Did they want me to apologize for my grief? Of course not. People who haven’t experienced the loss of a child can’t or don’t want to imagine it. Even if they do, this kind of grief is so far from imaginable that it is difficult, if not impossible, to empathize with.

In addition, I had these old tapes playing in my mind; society’s old grief myths tapes. When I wasn’t ‘feeling better’ after one year, I was wondering what I had done wrong. My grief support network supported me saying “this is normal”. Maybe the fact that I felt anything but normal. My experience, compounded by multiple death, both unexpected and at least one through violent force, an intercontinental move and having to care for a newborn – I felt like a zombie.

What does grief really look like?

Trying to make sense of the very thing that never makes sense: the grieving experience. Somehow society in general still hasn’t managed to learn about and teach an accurate image of what grief looks and feels like. This fallacy leaves the bereaved question their experience and fear they are going crazy.

I still notice that I apologize for the fact that I include my dead child in the conversation. I answer honestly when asked, “how many children do you have?”. They look at me even more puzzled when I add “I have twins” when clearly, they only see one. The rewiring of my brain is still in process.

Don’t apologize for your grief – it is the homeless love in action.