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  Star children in Berlin: A grave, small as a towel – Berlin | Bit Updates
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Star children in Berlin: A grave, small as a towel – Berlin

Wednesday, October 11th, 2017 | bitcoin updates

Nadja Stadler's daughter is one of the youngest in the Old St. Matthew cemetery. Abortion in the 12th pregnancy week, the female doctor said soberly. And, "They can get children again." Then she pressed a crate into her hand, a tissue test, as she explained, which she was supposed to give in the pathology of the nearby hospital. When her friend and she opened the box before the practice, they came upon a glass tube, in which she was a granddaughter. "With eyes, hand paddles, foot paddles," Stadler says. Four years ago. Nadja Stadler is still stunned at the burnt-up sound of the doctor. Stadler is a delicate, girlish-looking woman. Short, curly hair, percussions, garden shears in hand. Losing a child is a life-changing event, she says. "My boyfriend and I felt like we wanted to give the baby a name." They wanted to bury it, too: preferably at home under the apple tree. But they did not get the child back from the pathology. For reasons of hygiene, it was said. Stadler turned helplessly to a foundress. She called to the clinic: "I am sitting here before the child's mother. She would like it again! "Nadja Stadler says it was pleasant that she finally called someone a mother. For that was how she felt. The funeral director also gave her the tip with the Old St. Matthew cemetery on which miscarriages can also be buried. Late abortion: He would have survived for a maximum of one year. The tomb is small as a towel, half overgrown by a little tree on the neighboring goblet. Nadja Stadler cuts back the branches. The mother, whose child is next door, had expressly allowed her this, she says. There is a pebble stone, written in yellow Felice, two wooden beetles, penguins made of clay. As in a graveyard, it does not look as if in a colorfully decorated herb garden. Behind the wall, which separates the cemetery from the Schöneberg part of the monument road, is a patchwork carpet of hundreds of small graves, on which windmills rotate and toy cars park. In between, men, women and children sit on blankets and eat cakes, noodle salad. There are garlands hanging from the trees. In addition to a stele in memory of the deceased babies who could never be buried, there is a wallpaper table with drinks. The "first aid kit", a circle of parents, whose babies are buried here, invited last Sunday to the annual picnic.

A children's group inspects the toys, which are decorated with many of the graves, while the adults follow their own conversations. They do not necessarily revolve around death. Party banter. This can suddenly take a turn to seriousness. For example, when a woman introduces herself to the others, who buried her son here three weeks before. A late abortion in the fifth month, after having come out with severe malformations with which he would have survived for a maximum of one year. "I always hear the decision was good for the child. Who wants to know that? The decision was good for us, "she says, beginning to cry. The birth was cheerful. But the doctor did not return at first, says Nadja Stadler, "she felt almost ashamed" when she met mothers in the cemetery, who had lost their children much later in their pregnancy. "Finding it funny, I wondered if I mourn my mistborn child here?" Three months after Felicia's death, she was pregnant again. She remembers how she was standing at the grave and thought, "Hopefully I will not have two children here soon." Over time, their fears have vanished. The birth seemed to her even cheerful. They laid the baby on her breast: a boy. Her friend encouraged her to cut the umbilical cord. "They would never have done that if they had been alarmed," says Stadler. Then the doctor took the boy and ran with him out of the delivery room. "He needs a bit of start-up aid," she said, still in a quiet tone. But she did not return. Once a clinician looked at her briefly, her friend took his diffuse fears into a concrete question: "Does his heart beat?" The answer fell again placidly: Yes, but irregularly. After two hours the doctor returned the dead child to her parents. The next morning two detectives were standing in the sick-room, where the couple were still taking leave of his son, Jakob. The officials tied the boy a shield around the foot – inscription: seized as an item of evidence according to paragraph 94 of the Code of Criminal Procedure – and took him with him.

It is her a need that all her children have lived. This is all hard to bear: a second child in pathology. "One swells over with love, and the essence is gone," explains Nadja Stadler. She was then new in the city. Her position as a research associate at a university in West Germany had been limited, and so she moved to Berlin with her friend Timm Meiser, who had become self-employed. Meiser came to the cemetery today, he goes to the one and a half-year-old son Levi, who is following a squirrel. In her third pregnancy, another half a year later, everything went well. "I'm grateful for that," says Stadler. Some of them were relieved: "Now you have a child!" A sentence she finds hurtful. It is her a need that all her children have lived, even if two had only a short life. This is why St. Matthew's cemetery has become so important a place for them. Here she feels close to her deceased children.Tote babies so lovingly mourning is not long possible in Berlin. By the end of the 90s fetuses were disposed of in most hospitals with the amputated legs and the appendixes if they weighed less than 500 grams. They were incinerated as special waste or processed into granules used in road construction. The TV magazine "Report" made public the practice, which at the time still found advocates such as the health policy spokesman for the Alliance Green Party, Bernd Köppl. "For the women who are affected by death or miscarriages, or for an abortion, there is no personal attachment to the dead body of the body after the event," he said in a newspaper contribution. Earlier, dead babies were taken away while the women were narcotized little fuss around deceased newborns. Even in the 1980s, women even received short anesthesia when a baby was born dead, Clarissa Schwarz, who was then working as a midwife in various clinics, recounts. When the women woke up again, the child had already been taken away. "It was said that the women are beautiful," she says. Boßmann runs the Café Finovo in the cemetery and assists parents in the funeral of their children.Photo: Mike Wolff1985 began to make house visits to women who had recently given birth. "There we suddenly saw midwives what the clinics did." She met troubled women who did not let go of the question where her child is now. Some dreamed that they were still pregnant. Others imagined how terrible it looked. "The imagination is often worse than reality." Clarissa Schwarz sits in her practice, which is located in a clinker building behind the Jewish Museum. She is a gray-haired woman, dressed in turquoise and purple, with a warm, dark voice. She tells how the book "Good Hope – sudden end" ended the secrecy after the psychologist Hannah Lothrop pleaded in 1991 for a farewell to the deceased child. "Then we dared to show the women the babies," says Schwarz.Mittlerweile Kreisssäle are furnished with candles and baskets, in which deadborn babies are bedded. By the end of the century the hospitals finally changed their burial practices. Since then, every few months, there have been burial burials for the dead-born children. For nine years now, they have even been able to be buried separately in St. Matthew's cemetery. It was the first inner-city cemetery in Berlin to offer this. 700 children are buried here. To the founders of the so-called garden of the star children, Bernd Boßmann, who is also an actor, gay activist, theatermacher. Artist's name: Ichgola Androgyn. On a visit to the grave of a friend, he had discovered the little house just behind the cemetery gate, he says, which at that time was empty, and a café made of it: Finovo. Before that he sits now. A lively man around the 60 in turquoise musicals. An acquaintance whose son died at the beginning of the 20th century and was buried in the St. Matthew cemetery had raised the idea of ​​providing funerals for star children: including miscarriages and stillbirths, as well as babies who live only briefly.First, the cemetery management has 73 individual graves expelled. "It quickly became clear: the demand is much greater," says Boßmann. In the meantime 700 children are buried here. He sees his task, he continues, to satisfy the needs of parents in this difficult time, "as simple as possible." He organizes the funeral and even transfers the corpse from the pathology.


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