In the blue hour, give space to what had no farewell
"Only for a brief moment between darkness and light, only during the blue hour, are we able to recognize each other."
This sentence concludes a passage in White by Han Kang
A sentence like a breath. Fleeting. True.
And perhaps it describes no moment better than the one in which grief is finally seen.
The silent grief of early losses
Many women experience premature birth in the first three months.
And many of them grieve—without knowing it, without being allowed to, without having space for it.
"It can happen, especially during your first pregnancy."
That's what doctors say. Friends. Family.
Well-intentioned. Meant to be comforting.
And yet often like gently wiping away what was there.
Because something was there.
A life—short perhaps, but real.
An inner knowledge. A changed perspective.
Dreams, images, initial plans.
A quiet "you."
What is missing is not just the child.
What is missing is the farewell.
When grief has no name
This kind of loss is often carried on—silently, deeply, unrecognized.
Sometimes it only becomes apparent much later:
during mental dry spells
during transitions such as menopause
in moments of emptiness
Or when children ask:
"Why don't I have any (or no longer have any) siblings?"
Then something emerges that has long had no place.
A grief that was never processed—
not because it was too great, but because it seemed too small to be seen.
Farewell to a life that was
A ritual, a ceremony, a conscious farewell can bring about a decisive change here.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
But clear. Dignified. Gentle.
A farewell to a life,
that may have been only brief in your life –
and yet very present.
A moment to acknowledge:
I have received life.
Maybe once. Maybe twice. Maybe more often.
And even though it was brief, it was part of me.
Gratitude and letting go are not mutually exclusive
A ceremony does not mean increasing the grief.
Often the opposite happens.
When something is finally named,
it can change.
Gratitude can stand alongside pain.
Letting go alongside remembering.
Calm alongside movement.
These "miscarriages"—a harsh word—
can be seen for what they were:
a wonderful part of your story.
Perhaps now is the moment
Perhaps you will read this
and feel a slight nodding inside you.
Perhaps this is now the blue hour.
That brief moment between darkness and light.
Between then and now.
A moment when you recognize yourself.
And what was.
A farewell – very discreet.
And yet deliberate.
So that peace can emerge.
