On Instagram, the journalist and author Camille Anseaume returned to the day when she was told that her little sister had “gone to heaven”. A poignant text that shows the harshness of perinatal bereavement in children.
Perinatal bereavement is a very difficult ordeal for parents, and especially for mothers, who have carried this baby for several weeks or months. But if we often think of the pain of adults, we must not forget that of children. These little ones who are impatiently waiting to meet their brother or sister, and to whom we must explain the insurmountable. They too, in their own way, feel this pain. They experience the event in a different way – above all, depending on their age – but none the less are marked.
As evidenced by the poignant text of Camille Anseaume, journalist and author of several books including “Four walls and a roof” published by Calmann Lévy editions. On Instagram, she has indeed told with right and moving words, the day her little sister was born and the void she left. A writing in which many people will find themselves who have experienced perinatal bereavement through their parents and which gives an idea of what children may feel.
See also: “I want my girlfriend’s sister to die”: this mother confides in the perinatal mourning experienced by her daughter
“It was 32 years ago today.
I remember my big brother, little sister and I being excited when we got home.
From my “So where’s the new little sister?” »Launched on the threshold of the door.
Of the silence that followed.
Shutters closed, my father sitting on the sofa, and his head that was nothing like that of a fulfilled dad.
In his voice when he told us to approach, in a tone that I did not know him, but which whispered to me that I had to listen.
I just wanted to know her name, how much she weighed and who she looked like.
She had a lovely name, but she was in heaven. Mom was very sad, and very tired. It would be necessary to be courageous, and wise as images.
Afterwards there was silence, a mother who came home empty-handed, and a few hours later her tears which crashed on my Astrapi when I had the delicate idea of asking her to read me the report on motherhood.
There was tenderness, kindness, and awkwardness. Elders who told her that it was like a miscarriage in the end. And little ones who told me it’s okay, I hadn’t known her, so I couldn’t miss her.
What I missed were memories with her and the smile from my parents.
The following March 21 tasted like the first day of Fanned Spring.
It must be said that she had the funny idea, for her quick visit, to choose the birthday of our Mom.
For a long time, we did not wish him.
Then little by little, life took back its rights, and another little sister even agreed to join the clan.
Mom has recovered enough courage to be wished for her birthday, and enough breath to put out her candles.
Now, on March 21, we lift our cups, we laugh, we sing out of tune, and we offer gifts to our Spring Mum. The kisses and the looks are just a little more intense, and when you toast she knows without being told that you are thinking of her with an “s”.
There it was, it was the story of a big flower and a shooting star. “