After lunch, Joanne returns with a cup of raspberry leaf tea, which she hands over with a knowing look. “This helped me,” she says, “when I had the flu.” I watch Maya sipping her tea and I wonder how many women carry the memory of a child nobody knew but them. How many women grieve alone and in silence, without sympathy or ceremony, too afraid or ashamed to speak of their loss? And why should they feel ashamed, or afraid, or alone? When there are so many others, when this is so common, why isn’t it something we talk about? And when it happened to my friend, why didn’t I know what to do?
