Mr. Smak and I have been watching The Tudors, courtesy of Netflix streaming over AppleTV.
We're both enjoying it, lots of political intrigue and character building (and a bunch of good-looking naked people). Wow, can't imagine what would have happened when someone brought gonorrhea to court. Wildfire. Anyway, it's the story of Henry VIII, and his court, and his wives (we're still on wife number one).
In a recent episode, Henry's bastard son, Henry, died suddenly, at age 4. They showed him, pale and bathed, gently lying in bed. The parallels were uncomfortable (but have happened often enough by now that they were tolerable.) The scene was first of his mother, and her seeing his body, and then of the king's grief.
Even as we spend time in a cancer sibling support group, it's often that we are the only bereaved family. Childhood leukemia, thank goodness, has cure rates over 90% these days. 90%! Forgive my apathy, but it doesn't seem that should be in the same category as advanced neuroblastoma, or the various brain tumors, or the soft tissues cancers that require surgeries and extensive chemo with long term side effects.
Anyway, back to The Tudors...I found myself strangely jealous that this mother of Henry would be in the company of so many other women who had lost a child, due to the era. That she wouldn't be the only one. Having a child die is so isolating today. It just doesn't happen to people.
Unsettling to find myself wishing for more bereaved parents in the world. Guess I'm still struggling with the "why him?" of this, though I try to convince myself that I'm not.
I think I can understand more the attachment to community and place that people have after experiencing a disaster. I've always thought that if I went through a community tragedy (ie Katrina) that the impulse would be to get away. No one would understand as well as those who have lived through it too. I guess that's my pining, still feeling somewhat alone in this journey. The last thing I want is more childhood death, from any cause...but I wish for that unspoken understanding a little more often.