An achingly beautiful and of course sad story of Chabbert's miscarriage and (emotional) recovery with the help of her so sweet wife. Waves function as metaphor on various levels throughout, with pastel watercolors. Very few medical details are shared, as the focus is on the emotional sea they both sail on, waves of grief and recovery. Many wordless panels and wave-y clouds and dreams of waves, and wavey hair in the wind and wavey dog tails. Another reason for few details is so that readers, maybe reflecting on their own similar experiences, could better live in the story and experience it for themselves through her.
Chabbert has published dozens of children's books and her journaling the occasion of this experience led to her decision to become a writer, though it took many y/tears for her to be ready to share this story, reaching out as she does now to her readers. In the process she kept a journal, or several books of journals, and also wrote her first children's book for her unborn child.
One special moment: In the process of grieving she sort of spontaneously begins to laugh, and her wife asks, "What?" and she says, "Oh, nothing. I just wanted to see my laughter in your eyes." I wish I could say that made me laugh, but it actually made me cry, it was so lovely and insightful about what grief and depression do to others you love, not that you can help it. You see yourself in the way others see you sometimes. Been there.
I won't (completely) spoil the ending, but it involves the reading, by her wife, of her first published book, sitting with her on a dock at the edge of the water. I am thankful for this book.
On a personal note, I was well into my thirties when I discovered my mother had had a miscarriage (and she had been pregnant for more than three months) a couple year before she had me. Why hadn't I known this before? I think in part because miscarriages work for some women/families as a kind of failure, a secret shame. Then, I am a man and this (in my family, and at that time--it may just have been contextual in my family at that time and place, I don't know) seemed to be a "women's" issue, connected to the intimate secrets of menstruation and childbirth and so on. Not for boys to know about.
I was a little hurt, though, as the closest person to me ever on this planet was my mother, and I had not known this (what I learned to be) serious loss for her. And yet it explained something: My mother was 38 when I was born. She had already had 4 children and didn't "need" any more children to be happy or fulfilled or whatever. But the family story about me is that I was welcomed into the world with more joy than any of the others. As my mother said to me, "You were such a happy baby. I think it was that we were so happy to see you come into the world. Most births are causes for celebration, but yours was kind of special, everyone was particularly excited."
But it was not until I was in my thirties that I knew part of the reason for that joy, that my birth was part of her and our family's recovery from grief. And now you know another reason why I so appreciated this book: That it was not just written for herself or grieving women, though those are the most important audiences for it. It also spoke to me (and I also have had other experiences with miscarriage, as well).