Charlene Carr

CLEO DANG WOULD RATHER BE DEAD is a window into grief: its ability to make us our worst selves, but also how, over time, it can turn us into a person who sees life for how precious and beautiful and exquisitely improbable it t

CLEO DANG WOULD RATHER BE DEAD is a window into grief: its ability to make us our worst selves, but also how, over time, it can turn us into a person who sees life for how precious and beautiful and exquisitely improbable it truly is. Nguyen’s writing is open and vulnerable and so very raw: I cried a lot, but I also laughed and was reminded that grief is a journey that never ends but shifts and morphs and should be tended to as long as is needed. It is a testament to the healing power of connection, and I’m so glad this book exists.

My more personal one: Everything above - PLUS - I've never experienced the pain of losing a full term child. But I can imagine it. I have imagined it over and over again. I've lost enough pregnancies that it feels embarassing to say the number, like people will think I'm a masochist. And during my last pregnancy, the second to give me a living child, I thought of her possibly impending death far too much. For months, I wouldn't let myself think of her as a baby, but rather another impending miscarriage. I didn't truly believe she'd live until I was holding her in my arms, and then, five days later, I thought of her death when we had to take her to the ER and a flurry of doctors and nurses surrounded her and I thought I would be going home without my child.

I thought of her death in the weeks or months after, when I was afraid to sleep because I feared I'd wake up to find her dead, when I was afraid to let my husband hold her, because what if he wasn't paying the close attention I did, and she died from positional asphixiation in her arms.

And so, when I was asked to read an advance copy of this book, debated, and then said yes, I wondered what I was doing. Many times as I read, and cried, I wondered why I kept turning the pages. But I persevered because I knew the author had lived through my worst nightmare, and then lived to write a book about it. Because I trusted if I made it to the end, rather than this book simply being a deptiction of my worst nightmare, it would be a depiction of continuing not despite of, but because of that deep loss, in honour of it. I continued because I imagined her writing about this would help other women who'd lived through that same nightmare, (or ones, like me, who'd come close), feel more seen, and by feeling seen, feel less alone, and I wanted to be a part of that. I'm so glad I continued. This is a beautiful book.