The Quiet Child

When we pull up in the car, and collect her from the car seat, she doesn't cry out
impatiently - even though we want her to.

When we seat her on the third chair at our table, she doesn't wriggle and squirm
causing people to stare - even though we want her to.

When her Daddy points out excitedly that the bats are flying out of the trees, she
doesn't swivel her head to follow his pointing - even though we want her to.

When we pass the baby photography stand in the shops, her Daddy says, Let's see
how good they are… let's put them to the test, we can't hear her giggle even though
we want to.

When we say goodnight to her and tell her that we'll see her soon, she doesn't cry to
be held - even though we want her to.

When we go on a bike ride and have to leave what we have physically left, behind,
we don't hear her protest - even though we want her to.

When we go to the beach and I see a shallow pool of warm water - she can't splash
us with water from her excited kicking, even though we want her to.

When we have a barbeque for lunch next to the beach, I sit her on the aluminium
seat next to the table. I want to worry about her jumping down and having a run
around, whilst we tend to the barbeque, but we don't have to - even though we want
to.

When the newspaper that her Daddy is reading blows away in the strong wind, and I
laugh as he runs after it in different directions, I want her to join in, but she doesn't.
When I join him and leave her behind, I want to worry that she's left on her own and
might wander off - but I have no reason to worry about this - even though I want to.

When I rub her Daddy’s hair, I want to see her try it with her uncoordinated
movements, but I can't -even though I want her to.

When I see her children’s books I want to read them to her, show her the pictures
and answer her endless questions as best I can, but I can't.

When I wake up in the morning there aren't her cries to greet me or a dirty nappy to
change - even though I want there to be.

When I hold her little pink and yellow bumblebee jumpsuit, I think of how it felt to hold
her and want to feel her little wriggling movements, full of life - the way a person
newly born to this world should move, but I can't.

When I look at her dummy and baby bottle, I want them to have milk on them and
need cleaning again, but they don't.

When I look at the few nappies left on her change table, I want to add them to the
shopping list - but they're not needed.

When I look at the flowers long wilted in the vase - ones that I lovingly held against
her cheek, I think about replacing them, but I can't remove the reminder of that
moment in time.

When I look at her pram or her first set of wheels as her Daddy called them, I think
about how it felt to fold it up and put it in the car for trips with her. I think about putting
it in the car again - but there is no need.

When they ask to inspect my bag at the shops, I want to scream - That's my
daughter in there and I might not look like it, but I'm actually a Mum. What you’re
looking at, is the most precious thing in the world. But I don't say anything whilst they
give a cursory glance.

When we go away on a family holiday weekend, as her Mumma, I set up a teddy
next to her photo, set up the digital photo frame with its ever changing images of her,
and I sit what we physically have left of her in the little back pack on the single
seater. I want her to crawl and explore her environment, I want her to cry out
impatiently, I want to comfort her, clutch onto her and never let her go. I want her to
be alive at this moment in time - but she's not. I want her.

Angela is an Australian Occupational Therapist, working part time in adult palliative care. After the death of her daughter, Rosa, the privilege and joy of experiencing co-occupation with her subsequent siblings felt overwhelming at times. The loss of these opportunities with a child, particularly in the acute phase, was crippling. This poem is an exploration of this concept.

Author’s note: As a supplement to her poem “The Quiet Child”, Angela notes, “There is a resource that was created with Palliative Care Australia - Unmasking Grief. We've had feedback that organisations are using some of the content in their training and people with lived experience have made contact with Palliative Care Australia, saying that it has aided them in their grief journey. Deeply meaningful for myself.” Below is a link and description of the resource:

Unmasking Grief - Paediatric Palliative Care - A PCA-commissioned video series that sensitively illuminates the grief stories of four bereaved mothers. Hoping to make a difference for other families dealing with grief, Rachel, Yvonne, Bec and Angela bravely confront topics with dignity, grace, vulnerability, and humour. “