Grief in the digital age

It's 2 calendar months today since Miss T died, I actually only just realised this late in the day that it was the 13th.

Now that sounds ridiculous, everywhere you looked yesterday you were reminded it was the 12th - reminded that it was the 12th of the 12th of 2012.  So of course today was the 13th.

I would have written the date dozens of times today in file notes, looked at it in the calendar, seen it everywhere.  Somehow, it hadn't actually sunk in it was the 13th.

I think it might be one of those strange things that happen to make sure you keep going, I think my mind has shut off from the countdown of how many days since.  In its place I am instead constantly thinking about what if Miss T was still here - that she'd be nine months now, that she would be sitting up, that she might even be crawling or at least moving around a bit.  That the constant worry about coughs and colds probably would have disappeared and instead been replaced by worry about keeping her cool and hydrated in this heat.  And of course the game of what outfit would have she worn today...

I keep going to the reference points I have created, looking at the babies I know that were born within days of Miss T and looking at their progress.  Looking back at the photos of R and R when they were 9 months old, just to remind myself of what she might have looked like at that age.  In my mind's eye she is stuck looking like she looked at about 12 weeks, not even the bouncy baby she was when she died at 28 weeks.

It's funny that even when I wasn't really clicking that it was the 2 month mark today, without even thinking about that consciously, I found myself wanting to talk about Miss T, heard myself cautiously mentioning her name in conversation a few times today.  Saying her name out loud is hard, once it is uttered it spookily sounds as if she is still here.  Plus there is the shudder of people who hear you say it.

It wasn't just me feeling like that today though.  Raff clearly had a day full of Thommy thoughts and for the hour after he on arrived home tonight he managed to bring every conversation back to his Thommy - an explanation of what he would say to someone if they asked where she was (she died so now she is in heaven with God), a description of how her coffin was lowered into the grave and did it land gently or with a bump, even hypothesising how she would have been reacting to him teasing his brother at the dinner table.  All delivered very matter-of-factly by an amazing kid with an incredible ability to think things through, at the age of 3.

I have often thought about the many empty spots in family trees, the many of our ancestors who had children die.  In my maternal grandfather's (there's a phrase only a family lawyer drops into conversation so easily) this was to the extent that one family had a number of names repeated when a later baby was given the same name as their pre-deceased sibling.  I have thought about how those families coped with such grief, was it easier or harder because the death of a baby was more common.

One thing that keeps striking me is how different is grief in the digital age.

Those grieving mothers probably packed up a box of memories of the baby and tried to move on - the box is pretty unwieldy in the digital age.  Turn on the iphone, there's Miss T, turn on the computer, there's Miss T on the screensaver, same for the iPad.  Scroll back through your facebook feed: it's her life in a nutshell.  Feel like remembering with a photo, there's thousands of photos carried with you on the ipad ready to be looked at any hour of the day or night. 

Gee,  if you are feeling brave enough sitting on your phone are the photos of the family holding the still warm but gone Miss T in a random back room of the ED.  Yep, the digital age means you have your camera with you everywhere.  

But the digital age also means we have amazing instant connection.  Amazing support from wonderful friends, interesting banter, constant knowledge to occupy your thoughts.  The ability to engage in 140 characters when it is too hard to hold a whole conversation.

Yeah, I think I'm grateful that I'm not stuck with some small print from a box brownie, even though sometimes turning on my phone causes me to gasp.