Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Angie Weeping

This week, we have out of town guests. Normally, I love having guests, showing everyone around this city, especially people that think that Philadelphia has no redeeming qualities. I like pointing out the history and art, the beauty of the city...I like telling those goofy Philly stories, showing them it really is a small town by walking around and running into people everywhere. Of course, it is different now. I wasn't sure I would have the energy to do it. Everyone seems a little bored with my stupid banal knowledge of the city. Perhaps I've truly lost my joie de vivre, or maybe, closer to the truth is, no one ever really enjoyed my ridiculous tour guiding.

Still, we hit the Art Museum yesterday, which is impressive without me having to do anything. Just by its mere existence. Now, I have a membership, and have gone/go quite a bit, but it has been a while since I wandered around the permanent collection. I generally go for a new show, or just head up to the Asian art section and Buddha-gawk. So, I was delighted to have an excuse to look at the European collection. The Philadelphia Art Museum has an amazingly vast collection of truly beautiful work. I was impressed with us. Go Philly.

Then, we decided to hit the American collection. I had forgotten that the Gross Clinic had become part of the permanent collection, and was excited to see the other Eakins. We walked into a room filled with quintessentially American furniture, and glassware, and I walked around. Wide-eyed, taking it in, and then BAM, there it was. Rachel Weeping. And the room began spinning, and I searched for an exit. My niece, age 7, stood next to me, and said, "Is she dead?" and I was faltering, "Yes, I think so. I have to go." And I turned around, past my family, past my husband, just saying, I need to walk, I need to walk. and the tears were streaming down my face.

I couldn't pull it together. I couldn't reign it in. I was just simply a wreck. Why didn't I notice these paintings before? Or the songs, or the poems, or the anything...how ignorant I was. I felt such a pull of two emotions. One screamed like an insane women, "Get me out of here. Get me out of here." And the other wanted to pull each person to this painting and say, "See how sad she is. This is how sad I am too." Of course, these incidents always remind of how universal this is, how very human losing my child to stillbirth is, but that doesn't make it any fucking easier. Sure, I feel very very human and very very fragile.

Yesterday was such a beautiful day, a day I have been waiting for since Lucy died, and I was a mess. When we got home, everyone wanted to head to the playground, while I just lay in bed and sobbed. It took all of my energy, all of my everything to get up when I heard them, and try to make it look like I hadn't been crying for an hour and a half. Last night, I looked up the painting on line, because I was ready to look at it. I was prepared, unlike the chance encounter we had in the American collection. And when I found the painting on a blog, it said, "Rachel Weeping, by Charles Willson Peale. Above is a painting by Charles Willson Peale of his wife Rebecca weeping over her dead little one. This painting is a poignant reminder of one of the blessings of modern life: the drastic lowering of child and infant mortality."

Fuck you, blog writer.

12 comments:

  1. Yeah. A giant fuck you from me too.
    Angie it is still so early for you. These days are going to come so frequently. You cry as much as you need, regardless of whether you have a house full of visitors. They're family, they'll just have to cop it on the chin.

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  2. I second what Sally said. Some days are just crying days, they have to be. xoxo

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  3. I third these girls.

    You cry Angie - those tears need to get out.
    x

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  4. I haven't been there in a few years. And like you I never noticed these paintings either. They take on a whole new meaning now. I still think about the gorilla at some zoo (or similar type animal) who's baby died last year and how she carried the babe on her back for days before she would give it up. I swear I would carry Hannah around with me still, if I could. It's sad that we can relate to gorillas better than most humans. And now we can relate to the people throughout history who have endured this type of loss. I just commented on Julia's (I Won't Fear Love) blog a little while ago that I sometimes wish I could live in another time. Then at least people would know what this feels like and I wouldn't feel so alone. At the same time, I am glad that the mortality rate has decreased dramatically. But it hasn't decreased enough, because here we are.

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  5. Fuck that.

    Years ago I went on a field trip to an exhibition of early american portraits (can't remember if it was Stuart or Copley or Peale or who) and there was a portrait someone had commissioned of his wife because he just found out she was pregnant. And back in those days, pregnancy was the leading cause of death in women. And he wanted a picture to remember her by -- just in case.

    It's hard to think that just because it hasn't happened to you doesn't mean it doesn't happen.

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  6. When you're on the other side of the statistics life is just never the same. I often wonder at how did I miss the signs, the history, all this pain and sorrow? But here we are in the midst of it now and as everyone has said above, those crying days just happen and I hope you keep letting them. Thinking of you, Angie. xo

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  7. oh angie, let those tears flow. i know it's hard when you're out in the world and it just hits you in the heart and you are so unprepared. but that is our new life. any moment can bring the tears on full force. i'm glad you took care of yourself by leaving, walking and going home to bed.

    and yes, fuck him. too much ignorance. and really i was there too, i didn't think babies died anymore just before they are supposed to be born. now we all know too fucking well how wrong this misconception is.

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  8. Blessing my ass. I think (in all sincerity) that we should all be allowed to don Victorian mourning jewelry, wear black, and receive no callers for a year if we so choose. It's one of the curses of modern life that nobody knows what the hell to do with grief any more.

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  9. I would like the goofy tour guide routine! But I am a dork like that...

    I also wonder why knowing it happens all around the world and in all times doesn't make it any easier. Anyway, I'm sorry it hit you so suddenly in the museum. And I'm sorry family is there basically expecting you to keep moving through the tears. All I can think is hang in there.

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  10. Some days are for crying and screaming and some days are for not crying but still feeling shitty on the inside.

    What a moving painting. Especially since the mother and I share the same name.

    x

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  11. Wow, I loved dani819's comment. Ditto that.

    And I loved this post, too, Angie. It knocked me back. In a good way. One of your readers nominated you, and you're part of a group being recognized at Glow in the Woods for your writing this spring. http://www.glowinthewoods.com/home/2009/6/24/glow-in-the-woods-awards-spring-2009.html

    Thank you so much. This has lodged itself into my head. You feel so damn isolated, and then you meet so many others who feel isolated too, and that becomes something different, something more. That's a huge thing. Thank you, and love to you.

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  12. I followed the link from Glow as well, thank you for this post. It made me cry...

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