Five weeks after Emma died, we staggered into our first support group. I might have managed to comb my hair before leaving the house but I probably didn't. I don't think I said much - I don't think I said anything. I let Emma's daddy introduce us and our baby daughter. I sat, still wearing my coat; hunched over my saggy, still pregnant looking belly, staring at the floor. I don't remember crying - I don't like crying in public.
During coffee, a woman came over to talk. She seemed familiar and it turned out we'd been to school together. Small world, with lots of dead babies in it. She was two years out from the death of her daughter and she smiled ... she actually smiled. Her daughter was dead but she smiled. And her face didn't crack in two and her eyes weren't dead and I had a glimpse that maybe one day, I'd hang my coat on the back of my chair and sit up straight and, maybe, I'd even speak. She's five years out now and she still smiles and reaches out to people arriving, hunched and broken and hurting like they've never hurt before.
Last Saturday and Sunday, I parked my car outside a neat little office block. Inside, was a familiar set up. Chairs in a semi-circle. Thirteen bereaved parents all sat waiting quietly. I talked A LOT this time and listened hard too. Not about dead babies - not all about dead babies - but about reflective listening and about non-verbal communication. About how to move from being supported to being supportive. We were asked why we were there. I said I was there to honour my daughter's memory. It has been a long time coming - finding a way I can give back what I got in the early days.
I don't yet know if my training was successful. I will find out soon. I wish I wasn't needed - that babies had stopped dying, that parents had stopped being heartbroken. But we are needed. Bereaved parents who can come alongside a new, raw hurting member of our group and bear witness to their pain. To alleviate it, not by endless prattle and platitudes, but by silent, attentive listening and gentle care. We are needed.
