By Lisa Manterfield
I’ve been writing and talking a lot about grief—here on the blog, in my fiction, in my personal life, in the novels I’m reading, and in the Life Without Baby book. Even when I got chatting to a stranger on a plane, the conversation turned to the topic of grief.
Over paper cups of tea, this woman—who had lost her brother to suicide—and I talked about how grief stays with us long after we’re “over it”, how the shape of grief changes with time, how it can change us, and how everyone carries around their own personal grief.
My only regret in the discussion is that it didn’t begin sooner on our journey, because I would have liked to hear more about what she had to say on the subject. But eventually we parted ways, she to her office and I to catch another flight, and I didn’t have the opportunity to ask her more about her grief.
So, I’d like to ask you instead.
- How has your grief changed over time?
- How has your loss changed you?
- In what ways has your grief crept out, even when you’ve tried to keep it under wraps?
As a society, I don’t believe the topic of grief gets enough attention. We’re uncomfortable with grieving people, no matter what type of loss they’ve suffered, but it’s especially true when the loss isn’t understood.
So let’s start the conversation now. Let’s talk about this grief. I’d love to hear what you have to say.
I struggle with losing my parents more than not being able to have children, &, with time & work mostly I’ve come to a place of acceptance.
The work I’ve done has changed me fundamentally & brought me closer to my authentic self & more comfortable in my own skin than I’ve ever been.
As you say grief creeps out but it’s more of a small ripple these days than the huge wave it used to be & I have the tools not to be knocked over.
Love it, Lesley.
Grief does definitely change you – it did me. I think of it I was on one road (the road of motherhood, babies, play dates, etc.) and infertility threw me off that road and as much as I tried to get back I never could. I so wanted to travel that road with others, but I soon discovered that I was unable to pay the toll to travel on that road and was left on the side – hoping for a ride, but no one stopped.
So I had to plow – yes, plow! my own road. And all along was the grief of what I had lost, what I would never have – a baby, my friends, motherhood. Grief made this road very difficult to forge. It was curvy, circled back many many times and sometimes came to a complete stop, blocked by my overwhelming grief of loss.
However, I did push through it. Cracked it – so to speak, and carried on, making a life for myself. and my grief, it’s still here. It’s not so overwhelming, it doesn’t coat my daily life like it once did, but I have it. Sometimes I can feel it, almost blossoming like some sort of growth within me ready to once again overwhelm me, but I’ve learned to stop it, slow it down and essentially live with it. It hasn’t been an easy road to travel and I surely wouldn’t wish infertility on my worst enemy (I know that’s a cliché but it fits here) but I do believe that now after all these years I have dealt with it and am stronger because of it. Did I find closure? No. I don’t think I can just close down part of me like that, but I have found away to live happily and with joy. Grief taught me the horrible despair that comes when hope is lost, but from that I learned to be a different person – full and complete even without children.
There are so many kinds of grief Lisa. I feel that I could write for days and days on this topic. Infertility grief is sneaky; I’m doing good then I’m not. The loss of a sibling haunts me at odd times. But one that cuts to the core at this stage, 50s, is the loss of a close friend. I will ponder for hours on this, coach myself with affirming words and evaluate the pros and cons. Yes I was giving far too much of my time and attention. There was little reciprocating. Yes, in the long run, better to end it now. Yes, I tried, was fully honest and fully rejected. All reeasoning in the world doesn’t heal the loss of a close friend. That grief is not as deep as infertility but still somewhat consuming in its own way. Again I could go for hours on this but I’ll stop here.
I lost my mum before I started my IVF journey, if I’m being honest I don’t know if I would have started on it if she was still here. Losing her made me reevaluate my life and make some drastic changes. I knew I wanted children but thought I had all the time in the world.
Going through the IVF process my dad and siblings were really supportive but not having mum there really affected me, she would have done so much research and provided guidance and emotional support as only she could. Grieving for her whilst doing IVF was hard.
Making the decision to cease treatment was not an easy decision and one again where my grief that mum wasn’t here was very noticeable. I felt like I was grieving for mum and for not being able to be a mum.
It’s a year now since my decision and 4 years since mum died and I still miss mum and talk to her a lot, and have days when I get cross and upset at not being a mum and being able to show her all I’d learnt from her, but I talk about her and how I feel to my remaining family and friends, which helps me and hopefully allows them to share their feelings and know it’s ok to do so, I’ve had friends who can’t cope with and don’t understand either situation but harsh as this sounds I’ve cut them off for my own sake.
It’s important to talk about grief and feelings, before they become overwhelming.
Grief has actually helped me in dealing with my childlessness…
I lost my parents and was Grieved then my furr babies, and my aunt and my husband of 39 years…
Having no children seems trivial to not having my husband….
Yes my Grief changed with each loss and I also changed with each loss…and it still creeps up in me occasionally at totally unexpected times
My grief is constant and only grows as I grow older. I’m 45 now and my hope which I have clung onto every month for the last 25 years has gone. I suppose I have to except it, I have to replace the wanting a child with something else? I don’t know how. How do you simply walk down to the shops without feeling tremendous pain whilst everyday life reminds you of what you’re not? I have never spoken about my grief and loss of not being able to have children to anyone. I have 3 beautiful sisters who all have 3 lovely children each, a wonderful mum but I have never felt part of this family, I isolate myself, how can I upset them with my grief? I feel small and useless, I have to leave conversations because they all have a motherhood bond and I don’t fit.
I’m hoping something will click and I’ll wake up one day and I’ll be able to really find happiness