I’m over half way through my graduate degree in marriage and family therapy. This is the path I’ve chosen to take as a result of losing our son. I credit my boy, Jasper, for moving me to help other people that are learning to navigate loss and the sort of new life. The new life we have all been forced to rebuild from the pieces that were left when our children died. Last quarter at a residency I had for school, my instructor said that there would be a lot of people not getting the help that they needed if I had chosen another path. I find comfort in this. This was not the path I had chosen for myself before, though…
My undergraduate degree is in studio art and graphic design with a minor emphasis on art history; which I love. I feel that the creativity has been drained from me since we lost Jasper, but back in the day, I was inspired. During my last quarter of school, I was very pregnant. I had the idea that he liked art history also. He helped me stay up and alert in this class particularly with plenty of wiggling and kickboxing. I miss that so much.
That last quarter, I was studying Vincent van Gogh. I’m sure you’re familiar. Everyone is aware of the sad and tragic life that Vincent lived. People see the tortured soul that he was and the creativity that emerged from this brilliant man. Many know that he was not accepted while he was alive. His art was dismissed and it wasn’t until after his untimely, self-caused death that his art opened the eyes of the important people in the art world. Are you familiar with the Don Mclean song entitled Starry Starry Night? If you’re not, you should be. Youtube it. Go ahead. I’ll wait.
I had heard this song before but never in the context of Vincent’s life. In light of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month, I wanted to share with the loss community, a very famous loss which many are not aware of. A rarely known fact about this brilliant man that I would like to share may come as a surprise. I learned from my passionate art history instructor that Vincent was not the oldest child, contrary to popular belief. He was not even the first Vincent van Gogh. March 30, 1852, the first Vincent van Gogh was born—silently.
You think being a bereaved parent is hard now a days? It was a much different time and culture then. Vincent’s parents ‘tried’ again, after burying their first born, conceived and on March 30, 1853, exactly one year after losing their first child, they gave birth to an art history legend. It was acceptable that this new boy was their second take on their first try, so of course, he should have the same name. My art history instructor suggested that the parents were simply trying to replace the lost child and succeeded. He didn’t know. He just didn’t know.
In fact, Mrs. van Gogh would go on to out live all of her children, leaving her a Still Mother.
Now add this idea to the context of Vincent’s life. Growing up, raised by bereaved parents, he had a tombstone in the backyard with not only his name, but his birth date (short of the year) etched, on display. This little fact adds so much substance to the story of Vincent. From a therapist’s view, there is evidence suggesting compromised mental health to babies carried by depressed mothers. From a therapist’s view, seeing a tombstone with your own name and birth date on it, may cause a person to feel like they were a second try or otherwise lesser value to their parents.
I disagree that the parents were trying to replace their first born son. I think they were victims of the constructs and the culture around them. So are the bereaved mothers now, especially Still Mothers; since everyone thinks a replacement baby is coming for us and that will make our lives better. There are different constructs and guidelines but really, we are all victims of the culture’s ability to process grief. I explained this to my instructor in an email after Jasper died and I suggested he change his notes for future classes as this was really not constructive to the culture of loss. He never responded.
The night that I gave birth, via c-section, to my perfect little boy, Vincent popped into my mind. Starry Starry Night popped into my mind. Nobody can ever replace my Jasper. I’m not sure that we will ever have any more children at all but even if we do, the hole is there and always will be. I remember kissing him on his forehead and singing in my head, the words that had such a strong new meaning to me after learning about Vincent, “This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you…”
They knew they wanted more children and have since suffered many early miscarriages during the process of multiple IVF and IUI cycles which have left them with broken hearts.Feeling defeated and alone, the bereaved parents moved to Connecticut in search of a much needed new start.
Amber was inspired to work towards becoming a therapist during her process of trying to find support after her loss. She is currently a freelance graphic designer, artist and marriage and family therapy graduate student. She takes comfort in the idea that their son was a driving force for her to help other people through a time that she and her husband felt so alone.
- On Being Too Sad To Support Me In Celebrating My Son. - April 9, 2018
- Therapeutic Endeavors III: The Letter - January 26, 2018
- Therapeutic Endeavors Part II - January 24, 2018