007a - The Inescapability of Karma--Maybe (comment)

he death of my son lev, at 38 weeks, left me in a spiritual crisis. getting pregnant after ttc for a while and then finally being pregnant, i felt so blessed, like my prayers were finally answered. i believed our child was special and we needed to wait for him. in my moments of worry i put my trust in a higher power and prayed for my baby to be healthy and strong. i had faith. and then when he died i felt deeply betrayed and cursed. i felt like god really got me good.

i believed that karma had something to do with my loss. i believed i was being punished for my mother giving up a baby. i believed lev was the sacrifice.

i have also been drawn to buddhism. i always dappled as well but now i feel like i've sought out the teachings for my survival. also feeling like the jewish spiritual beliefs and practices i had no longer work for me.

i don't know what i believe now. sometimes i still feel cursed and karmically chosen. but most of the time i try to focus on the teachings of suffering and attachment. i have been listening to pema chodron and eckart tolle and these teachers have helped me. but honestly in the weeks and first months after lev's death none of those teachings felt relevant. i read every book on babyloss and still birth i could find. every mother's story. and i read 'why bad things happen to good people'. but could not reconcile my loss and suffering with a belief in a just god.

i could go on and on to say that i am still struggling. i don't think i'll every understand why lev died, i don't think there is a reason or some deep important meaning. but i am trying to find some way to survive and grow.

oh and therapy. yes, i have been seeing a therapist. but i don't know if i'd say that it's helped that much. it's a piece, a place to talk and be heard.

008a - No Two Are Alike

It was January and it was snowing. Great big fat flakes were floating down and, even more exciting, they were sticking to the ground. It was enough to make two young boys nearly hysterical.

I helped them piece together whatever suitable outdoor clothing we could find and sent them out the door in ill-fitting snow boots from last year and adult sized stocking caps that kept falling down over their eyes. They whooped and hollered and started scraping together snowballs from the wafer-thin blanket of snow that had accumulated on the grass.

I retreated upstairs to my bedroom, my sanctuary, and leaned on the windowsill watching them from above. It had been less than three months since I had birthed, held, loved and said good bye to my other two - the two that now existed only in my dreams. Silent tears slipped down my cheeks as I struggled yet again with my inability to find joy in a scene that was nothing less than joy-filled. Two glorious, living, breathing, sturdy boys. Mine. But my thoughts were consumed by the two that were missing.

During those long three days in the hospital prior to Joseph and Molly’s birth, and then death, I felt held. I prayed only for God’s presence and He was there.

He was there in the nurses who ministered to us with such tenderness and mercy. He was there in the family members who waited with us in silent support even when we refused to see anyone. He was there in our friend, an ordained minister, who abandoned all of the duties of her own life to come to us in our time of need. He was there in the remarkable peace that surrounded us during the hours we held our babies, loving them, memorizing them, struggling to figure out how to let them go. I felt sustained by the prayers and rituals of our faith that were offered up on our behalf. Tears were everywhere, but so was grace.

I thought that presence that had been so easy to recognize in the hospital would follow me home. It didn’t.

I thought the peace I had felt when my babies were here would continue in their absence. Again, no. Life moved on so quickly, it had to.  Boys at the ages of five and eight don’t understand periods of mourning, or a mother who can’t find the energy to help them with their homework or to volunteer in their classroom. Guilt heaped on top of grief and I found myself drowning.  

Through it all I tried to pray. I tried to cling to all that I had always known to be true in the hopes that it would bring some kind of comfort. I tried. But most of the time my prayers didn’t get any further than, God, please help me...

Help me what? Help me heal? Help me still be a mother to the children who are here with me? Help me stop torturing myself with all of the things I believe I should have done differently? Help me stop doubting my babies value, and my right to grieve their absence? Yes, all of that. That, and so much more.  

I gave into many demons during those days. I agonized myself with all that I had done wrong, and shut myself off from everyone who cared. But the one voice I never gave credence to was the one that tried to claim this was God’s will. The devil didn’t win that one. I had reconciled long before this tragedy that I was a part of a larger story; a story of a broken world and a broken relationship with God. Accidents, illness, disease, all evidence of a creation gone wrong. Death is not the work of God. As a Christian, I believe the Incarnation and the Resurrection restored our relationship to God, but Creation is still in need of repair. The Kingdom has not yet come. The world is still broken and we see that brokenness in a thousand different ways every day.

Leaning on my windowsill that snowy afternoon, I felt myself slipping into doubt, into despair. Over and over I thought of the cry of that anguished father in the Gospel of Mark: Lord, I believe; please help my unbelief. And in that moment I felt something. It wasn’t peace. It didn’t erase the sorrow in my heart. It was more like awareness, a window opening to a place that I hadn’t seen before.

In that space, for just a moment, I heard His voice.

I’m here. They mattered. They matter to me. They were my beloved. You are my beloved. They are with me and they are perfect. You will be okay, I promise. I am here... I am always here.

In the quiet of that blessed assurance I looked out the window and saw my boys working together to try and gather every ounce of snow they could find to build a miniature snowman. From the depths of my soul, I smiled.

It’s been almost five years now and I still hold onto that moment of clarity.

It is the voice that tells me it is okay that I am still here, still writing about them, still remembering them, still missing them. It is also the voice that tells me it is okay that I am happy again, that joy returned. It is the voice of love in all its forms. The love that weeps over those we miss, and the love that rejoices in the blessings of today.

I believe in love.  I believe that God is the source of that love. I believe we are called to love and that in doing so we assist God in repairing the world. And I believe that my babies, my son and daughter, are wrapped forever in eternal love - both mine and God’s.

I believe.

009a - The Inescapability of Karma--Maybe (comment)

Karma. An eye for an eye. I've been thinking about that, too. That because my body was the vessel, it must be somehow my fault, even though I almost died delivering the 2nd of my lost twins, 3 weeks apart, it's may fault they died, because I was complaining about the cost of a triple stroller, the need for a triple stroller, scared of taking care of 3 children under the age of 3 basically by myself since Hubs works 70 hrs a week, etc, etc... So not only did I labor and deliver and lose my baby girls twice, but almost lost my life in the process as well, I felt that must be some payback for the less than perfect person I am. Plus, a mother should sacrifice herself for her child(ren), not he other way around. They were not supposed to go first.
And nobody does guilt like the Catholics!
Thank you for including the part about your child fulfilling her karma. I needed another perspective to consider. The preist from my chruch offered an ear anytime I needed one, but I really didn't want to hear all the "they are in a better place", "God and his mysterious ways", "pray to them, not for them" cliches. 'cause frankly, I wanted to pucnh God in the face for letting this happen, and in the beginning I actually felt and said I hated him. Ive actually been thinking about learning some about Buddhism, partially because I feel let down by my religious upbringing, my own sense of faith, and thoughts of what God is, does, and means. There is actually a monastary nearby that I may check out during public hours.
I have seen a counselor, but for the same reasons as Eliza, and it's basically only given me vaildations for my feelings, rather than tools to deal with the anger, pain, and loss of faith. It's been kind of a let-down, but maybe I had too high expectations, and I'm thinking I need to look more within myself for my releif and answers than find them in someone/thing else. I the meantime, I'm looking for someone else before my meds run out, I can't sleep without them. This person suggested I start yoga to help with anxiety since "some of those ppl can even reduce their heartrate" !!!??? I am hoping to start out with some guided meditation, but my dad reccommends the book, "The Relaxation Response", which I haven't found yet.

009c - correspondence (comment)

Most of [my would-be letters to friends and family] are "thank-you" notes:

...

Dear Catholic friends and relatives,
if any of you speak of God's so-called "plan" or say it was or wasn't meant to be one more time, I'm going to shove some of my own "myterious ways" up your f-ing asses.

...

I dont know why I haven't done this before, that felt GREAT!

010b - La Llorona (comment)

I haven't worked out what to do with Halloween. We never celebrated it as a kitsch holiday with bowls of treats and witches hats - we still don't. And I haven't worked out any rituals for this date. Possibly because I'm from a Protestant tradition that seems to be about stiff upper lip and glossing over death. My church have never really known what to do with me, since Emma died. I LOVE, love all the rituals you have created for Dia de los Muertos but Idon't have the same connection to this date.

Or possibly because, coming just two weeks after her birthday, I'm usually too wrung out to cope with the day.

010d - As If Losing a Baby Wasn't Enough (comment)

I read "Empty Cradle" about a fortnight after Emma died. I can't remember exactly but something in that book triggered the idea that after losing a child, I might end up losing my husband too. Like others here, it was a case of saying "No. I've lost too much already. I'm not giving up on my marriage without a fight." And my husband felt the same. In those early months, we were so close. We celebrated our tenth anniversary about five months out and I described us then as clinging to each other. We had bereavement counselling together. It wasn't marriage guidance but it still helped.

It hasn't (and still isn't, in the newborn stages with our subsequent child) been easy. Two tensions for us are faith and family. We are Christians. I'm no longer sure what I believe. My husband has held fast to our beliefs. Suddenly that is a gulf between us whereas before religion was a support and a lifeline to us both. We both come from close knit families. My husband's sister gave birth to a living girl five weeks before I gave birth to our stillborn daughter. It hurts him that I feel very distanced now from his family and try to avoid contact as much as is politely possible.

From that perspective, the statistics don't surprise me because the two things that might have the potential to be "deal breakers" now will still have that potential in nine years time.

That said, we love each other and I can't imagine ever NOT being with him. I truly hope that that is enough to keep us strong.

011a - Milagros (comment)

i continue to be jealous of those who come from a background that offers ritual. i have wished i were hindu or catholic, burmese or chicana... but i am 3/4 white protestant and 1/4 cultural jew and not practicing either religion - so i'm floating out here in the secular world. before this loss i had a lot of my own rituals for grounding and meditation and selfcare and prayer. but tjheir flimsiness was revealed pretty quickly when the sh*t went down, and i haven't gone back to them.

i wonder if i before my loss i had been connected more deeply to family, church, or cultural rituals - would i have stuck with them and found comfort there? or thrown them out the window? like the practices angie describes here, some of these rituals have such deep roots and have accumulated so much meaning, i can imagine it being hard to shake them. i wish i had those things in my life. yet i don't see myself going out and adopting them now.

012a - You Keep on Walking (comment)

we had a very similar backyard ceremony for our son. and i did sometimes wish i were able to believe in something that might make me feel more connected to him, that might allow me to feel i'd see him again someday, but each time my mind danced over that possibility it came up barren and dry...so in a sense his death coalesced my lack of belief, assured me that this was indeed my core inclination.

there is something profound, for me, in that, though, and something beautiful...because all is heightened - memory included - by the sense that moments with others may be a one-off, a one0time privilege.

013a - The Inescapability of Karma--Maybe (comment)

This post rocked me. I am sitting back on my heels and shaking my head to clear it. Wow.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about the things I must have done. I guess I've believed in some form of karma and am open to the idea of past or future lives, even though I am Christian. I have spent a lot of time assuming that something I did caused our losses, because it's the only way I feel I can reconcile this to my idea of God, I guess. And boy does that make me feel awful. Everyone tells me it's not my fault (hard to accept when it is your body that failed your child and continues to fail again and again) and that that isn't how God works - He doesn't do tit for tat and he doesn't want to hurt us. But how does that reconcile with so much pain and suffering? And I remember thinking shortly after, 'Ok, yeah, fine. If I fucked it all up that's fine. Punish me, but why Gabriel? What did he do to deserve that?'

And this has given me a whole new way to think about things. What a gift.

As for the question, yes, I'm seeing a therapist. It was a requirement of my new doctor - she would not give me a prescription for anti-depressants unless I agreed to see a counselor as well. Which makes for a great doc, I think, and gave me the push I needed to do it - and more valuable, a list to choose from. I found my therapist from her list, which is great because she was recommended, she specializes in pregnancy loss and high risk pregnancies and works with my doctors. It's a great balance.

We work a lot on being present in the now. I used to joke about my high levels of anxiety and vivid imagination that I didn't have an off-switch. Once I got started spinning myself up, I was unable to stop and I would just get more and more anxious and worked up. She says she's helping to build me an off switch by teaching me techniques to help me cope.

She says I've suffered a big trauma and it should be addressed as such, reminds me that it is a profound loss and that I have every right to experience the loss my way, and every right to have a range of emotions surrounding it. She helps me give a voice to how I am feeling, and a space to express it that is free of judgment - that last bit is especially valuable, since the further you get away from it, the more you need a place to talk about it.

We're focusing a lot on future pregnancies, since we are trying again. Her big phrase is that she 'holds the hope' for me. That it is not my job to be hopeful or to force happiness or excitement or hope for the next pregnancy. That my job is simply to be present throughout it and plow through it. She said that she wants to help me exist in a place between the terror of the future and grief of the past and not let either one overwhelm me. That because something has happened before doesn't guarantee it will happen again. There is a lot of meditation involved, a lot of focus on getting me to slow down and breathe and reconnect with my body instead of hating it and blaming it. It has been very helpful, but is missing a spiritual element.

I'd like to seek out a spiritual mentor, but I don't attend church regularly. I have a friend who is a pastor - who married us, actually - but I don't feel that she can really answer my questions. I don't want Bible verses, I want someone to listen and try to explain. I thought about seeking out a priest I used to know during my brief flirtation with Catholicism, but what can he really know about these kind of losses and pains? I did reach out to a minister, who was helpful, but when I asked to schedule a second time to meet, she never responded. I felt blown off and haven't pursued it again. It's sort of lonely to be out here with no answers, feeling lost and uncertain of how to find my way back, how to reconcile what has happened to us with what I thought I knew or believed.

013c - am I the only one?

I'm not 100% sure what I believe about the afterlife, except that I believe there is some form of it. I feel Gabriel near me sometimes. My husband does too. For crying out loud, I've had two friends both sheepishly and nervously tell me that they thought they felt his presence, as if I would be upset or angry. Instead I was enormously pleased - it's a sort of confirmation of how I've felt from totally separate and uninterested parties (well, not invested as my DH and I are). And if Gabe is light and spirit, why couldn't he go visit? Why shouldn't he?

And why should they [our dead babies] not be together, playing and watching?

013e - I'm home again

Things are well enough here. I'm feeling tired and lonely, but have found a great deal of unexpected consolation in CS Lewis. I've been avoiding his work for some time, because I simply don't feel close to God anymore, I feel more angry than anything, but I picked up his book 'A Grief Observed' which is stuff from his journal after his wife died and is so raw and honest and there was so much I just nodded along with and held in my heart because oh, it is exactly what I've felt too, oh yes. I feel a bit more at peace, a bit like - if he can feel this way too and still find his way back, maybe there is hope after all. I'm not yet sure that is in fact, what I want, but still, a comfort.