Baby angels and, more especially, sentimental baby angel poetry, drove me absolutely up the wall the first few months after Teddy died. Partly because I didn't and couldn't buy into the idea that my baby is an angel, and partly because deep grief isn't a time for bad poetry. It's a time when you bring out the good stuff. While I was ranting in my head over the poetic attempts of friends and family to comfort me, though, I realized two things: 1) I am a horrible, cruel poetry snob, partly thanks to too many years of studying English Lit., and 2) I was still able to be a horrible, cruel poetry snob even after my son died. It was the first part of "the old me" I got back. Which probably means I should be grateful to bad baby angel poetry, but, um, I'm not.
Now I can look behind the bad poetry to the intent to comfort that's behind it, so it doesn't sting as much. "God has a plan" comments will still raise my hackles good and high, though.
- bothered by platitudes and poetry about babies as angels and "God's plan"