029b - Her Name (comment)

Oh my Lord Angie, this is beautiful. Word.

One year ago today my boy died. On the 21st of December. I knew Lucia was December, but didn't know she was the same date. Gasp.

Joseph Gabriel.

I've always loved the name Joseph and wanted it for our first if he was a boy (which he was). D didn't want Joseph, he thought it sounded 'too religious'. Other than Joseph, we both liked Xavier (after an Australian singer called Xavier Rudd), or Luka (after and Irish singer called Luka Bloom). Xavier Rudd is blonde and Luka Bloom is dark. If our firstborn was a boy, with blonde hair, he would be Xavier, but if he was dark haired he would be Luka. Either way, his middle name would be Joseph. He was born with lots of dark hair, but was named Xavier Joseph. There went the blonde hair/dark hair naming. Little did D know how religious a name Xavier is.

I'm not a particularly religious person. Lapsed Catholic, that'll do. But, when the next 2 boys came along we settled on Augustin Vincent and Eden Dominic. Here started the theme. Our boys had Saints names and I liked it like that.

As Joseph was our last, I figured if he was a boy, he must be Joseph. There were many girls names tossed around, but Joseph Gabriel was always a definite. Again, not for any religous beliefs, but to continue a theme, and I just always, always loved Joseph. I would have nicknamed him JoJo.

I was given a recipe for St Joseph's day pastries, but haven't made them yet. Maybe one day.

There is certainly a holiness attached to his name name and I do feel like I worship it in some ways. If I get this right, Joseph (Mary's husband) came back to save his family. He was shamed because he wasn't the 'real father' and left, but then returned to her. Decided to honour his God and raise the boy as his own. D and I were heading towards splitsville when I was pregnant with Joseph. We were in counselling for separation to be honest. I'll never forget when we were still in the hospital in those 5 days between Joseph's birth and death and D said to me "he's come here to save us, that's why this is happening". He was grasping at anything. He was totally unaware of the stroy of Joseph. But, what he said was so true because his birth and death did save us. It did save his family. Profound? Mystical? I don't know.

I don't believe that there are any 'gifts' from the death of my child (people say that shit all the time to me, about what his 'gifts' are), BUT, if there were a gift, this would have to be it.

So far, there are no yearly rituals or practices as yet but I'm sure they will emerge as time goes on.

Again Angie, beautiful, beautiful post.

Remembering your Lucia Paz and my Joseph Gabriel and this, their death day. So much fucking worse (for me) than the birth day. x

030a - am I the only one?

Another difficult question, the whole religion afterlife debacle. But yes, I do imagine them together, I do imagine that somehow all of us here are linked in incredibly important ways. I have only seen your words, and you have only seen mine, but there are volumes here, so many incredible levels of grief and longing and wonderment at what has happened to us. I dont believe in a benevolent God anymore, I dont know what I believe frankly, but I do think that Henry watches me, some part of him that was un-destroyable remains with me. I do believe that the strongest force that we humans have is love, and the links to our children are love in its most purest form, I believe that is unbreakable.

030c - Early May Due Date

I dont think you need to punish yourself on your due date, not at all. You SHOULD go for a massage or do something that makes you feel good. I firmly believe that if an afterlife exists then our babies are rooting for us in the most positive ways -- I think they truly and wholly want us to heal and be happy. Don't feel like a jerk getting a massage because your baby passed away, that's just another guilt mechanism that derails us I think. My love to you both.

031a - how do you deal with friends having babies?

Oh Mandy, I wish I had a wise answer, or even some thoughts that might hold bits of wisdom...but all I can say is "Yes, me too, I understand."

One of my very best friends gave birth five weeks after Otis died. Over three months since her baby was born, and I still cannot look at pictures of her baby, and I haven't spoken with her since then, either. (She lives far away. We have emailed, but it's been tricky, at best.) I feel horribly that I've let the friendship dissolve to the extent that I have, and yet, I can't bear to talk with her - it's just too much for me. Even just seeing her name sometimes reminds me of the unfairness that her baby lived while mine didn't, and can send me into a tailspin. I don't know what will happen to our friendship. She doesn't either. (Our email exchanges have mostly been around the topic of how sad it is that we can't be friends right now. She understands, but also doesn't know how long a hiatus a friendship can withstand...)

And today she called me, to "warn" me of another mutual friend who has just announced that he and his wife are expecting...And I couldn't take her call, I just heard the message, and it pissed me off for a few reasons - because of the pregnancy announcement, but also because she assumed my fragility in not being able to hear news like that (rightfully so - I really can't hear news like that, but it pisses me off that people are so nervous and cautious around me, even though they need to be!)

My husband tries to remind me that the feelings evoked in me when I see/hear of new babies coming into the world are a sign that I want that for myself, and he tries to believe it's "the universe's way of showing us that life is all around us, and that it will be coming our way soon too..."

I can't quite find my inner Pollyanna enough to be so positive. Like you say, I feel horribly that I am such a monster, so incapable of feeling joy for anyone else when I am in so much pain.

I am really sorry that your friend's email made the implication that God has a selective hand in taking lives off the earth and then putting them here as well - and that the implication would then make you feel like God took your daughter. I have heard of people saying "God must have needed another angel" in reference to one's baby dying, and I think it's very, very, very fortunate that no one has ever tried to say such a thing to me, because I don't think I'd be able to control any violent impulses....

032a - God are you real

Anon, I struggle with this too. bah ask forgiveness. I think like others said that's just silly. I think it's perfectly okay to be pissed, angry and question beliefs.

Most of the time I find little to no support from God. I'm still in so much pain. I'm still struggling with loss and infertility. I continue to pray and sincerly try not to pray just selfishly. There are so many who are hurting. I'm angry that I don't feel guided by God and that my prayers haven't been answered.

That being said, I believe in God. I just can't let go of that belief. It's part of me. I guess God is a part of me. A big part of me actually wants to let go of God. Because I'm so angry and missing my Caleb so, but I just can't stop praying. My Dad died the year before we lost our son. Unexpectedly he was gone, but in my core I believe my Dad and my son are in a place with no pain, just happiness and comfort.

Some days it is so difficult to see the positives. In fact today I've struggled, but eventually I am able to sit back and take a deep breath and remind myslelf that I am so thankful for all the blessings. My Caleb was and is a blessing. He gave us so much hope that a family is possible. We seriously had begun giving up hope when we concived him. Yes, I believe God blessed me with my boy.

I'm so sorry you lost your son. I hope you don't let yourself feel guilty over these completely normal questions and feelings. I think so many of us completely relate. I'm wishing you more good moments than bad and some peace, somehow. At minimum we'll support you here.

033 - In the Absense of Miracles (comment)

You put into words EXACTLY how I felt. My faith was tested and I was angry, but I was oh so fearful that He would take something else I loved away from me. So I kept silent. Four years later and I am closer to God. I pray that even though your faith has been tested by fire, you will be able to find your way closer than ever to God. (1 John 1:7)

035a - Strength in the Ashes (comment)

Thank you for that verse, as I sit here at work nearly in tears. Beautiful. "A crown of beauty instead of ashes" What a gift.

My story is much the same. Knowing at 20 weeks that aside from a miracle, my son would not live. It was suggested to me that I abort too. In the end, as my son started to slip away still in me, I opted for an Emergency CSection. And even though he didn't have a chance, I never regretted that decision. I did everything I could and gave God every chance.

I think that's why I am still once in a while angry (it's been nearly 5 years) because I feel like I did every single thing I could in hopes that God would do what I KNEW he could do if he chose.

I do not understand why some people receive a miracle and why I didn't. But I still believe in His sovereignty. I am awed by Him and I am sometimes angry with Him. But I am unable to not believe.

Thank you for your beautiful post and your perspective. And I wish like anything I'd have had the presence of mind to have a camera available for beautiful pictures of William, the way you did. It just all happened so quickly.

036 - the passing through of necessary spaces (comment)

All I can do is gasp and nod and let the tears come, if they want.

I *hated* hearing, "at least you have Joshua;" *despised* receiving the "Congrats on Your Baby Boy!" cards only after my surviving son came home from the hospital; *resented* keeping silent because talking about our birth/death/NICU/what-have-you experiences were "too upsetting" for others.

I can't stand the fact that my MIL parades my youngest son around as the 'healthy' one, the 'natural' one-- the one who "came out perfect"... the same woman who told me that "God knew I couldn't handle two at once."

My son's death has given me my voice, among other things.

038 - Of Magic and Faith

Dakota's entire being was made up of faith and magic.

I first visioned this child as a young girl, showing up randomly in my dreams and meditation. She gave her father and I the same night time dream one night. We were both floored to discover we'd had the exact same dream, down to the details.

We went up to Paradise at Mount Rainier, and there in the snow, in all capital letters: DAKOTA. We drove up to Neah Bay, stopping at an overlook along the way, and there on a boulder, in all capital letters, spray-painted in blue: DAKOTA.

We weren't going to get married at first. Instead we tried for two years to just get pregnant. Nothing. Then we decided that our love, our partnership was worthy of commitment. The day after our wedding ceremony, we got pregnant. Summer Solstice pregnancy. Spring equinox birth predicted for our child who turned out to be a son. Every moment seemed like magic. I had faith in the magic.

And then I heard the words this baby is dead.

To say I shut down is an understatement. I was so angry at the Goddess. First for taking my child from me. And then extraordinarily angry at Her because I realized the grief was overwhelming, and I would need Her help to make it through this. The last thing I wanted was any help or renewed sense of belief in a Being who betrayed my dreams so deeply. How could She do this to us? How could she take my devotion to beauty and leave me transformed into a mad woman with a head full of snakes that seemed to turn people into stone?

People would ask how I was doing, and I would scream. They stood dumbfounded, staring at me.

Stone.

People would ask when are you going to try again? and I would scream that another child would not fix anything. They stood dumbfounded, staring.

Stone.

People would say Okay Kara, it's been three years, now it is time to move on and I would scream.

Stone.

I became incapable of maintaining or forming relationships because others would look at me, especially others who were happy or pregnant or had living children, and...

Stone.

Ultimately, I did not just lose my son. I lost myself. We lost relationships. We lost everything. We found ourselves homeless in our car on the infamous September 11^th. There was nothing left to lose now except my mind.

At that point, we found our way to this magic little island in Puget Sound where I met a few other mothers of the Earth. Friends who understood what it meant to make ritual a part of every single day. Magicians who led the way to everyday miracles, Reiki, retreats, re-engagement in a sense of being part of the air, water, earth, fire, and spirit.

The Internet also had been a continuous blessing as bereaved parents from all over the world began contacting us about our books, offering to contribute writings to our site, to the Dictionary of Loss, and to the Different Kind of Parenting zine we'd created. It was through the MISS Foundation that I reconnected with my ability to create relationship. Dr. Jo from MISS reached out to us and her model of living life in the presence of grief changed everything for me. I began writing with her and Dr. DeFrain. Hawk and I began offering creative arts sessions at the annual MISS conferences. My online relationships were becoming flesh and blood.

++++

It was probably the gift of my good friend Lisa that brought me the whole way back to magic and faith. She simply asked me this:

What if we behave
make choices exactly where we are
given the options open to us in this moment
as if we are living our most cherished dream?

This little tool was the first that didn't try to fix what happened. It didn't require that I give up my different kind of parenthood. It acknowledged the grief and at the same time explored life after the death of a child, rather than make grief and life mutually exclusive.

It simply said This is where you are. This is what has happened. Given exactly where you are, with exactly what you have at hand, how do you cherish your dreams again? How do you dream again?

And so I found myself back in the present moment. If there is a Goddess, She could take care of the past and the future. All I have is right now. And if I think of NOW as my most cherished dream - always as my most cherished dream, then anything is possible again. Even happiness and play.

My son cannot be brought back. I can never be my pre-grief self again. The dreams of that previous self do not hold meaning here now.

++++

In this moment, I have a sink full of dirty dishes. So in my most cherished dream, I take the time to play with the soap bubbles. In this moment, we have a house full of hungry people. So in my most cherished dream, I take the time to make pancakes with our grandchildren. In this moment, I miss my son. So in my most cherished dream, I take the time to play with sugar, beads, foil, and icing and make sugar skulls for his altar.

The energy and experience of my different kind of parenthood has come back around to being part of everyday sacredness. And though Dakota is not here in the ways I originally visioned, he is still here - in all capital letters - he is still a being made up entirely of faith and magic.

DAKOTA.

040 - Opening Windows

Do I really want to be a part of the Dead Babies Club? Can't I just do this myself, keep my feelings and perspective away from anyone or anything that I feel like I have to defend against?

I could be in the park right now. Sun, shining down. Me, dreaming up. Blue sky, above. Green grass, below. Is not this the purest connection to God? A clear head, feeling no differentiation between me and God and no distance from Source?

Sounds great.

Who are you kidding?

I hear You. It actually sounds boring.

I do like this ride, although I don't know about the DBC.

Afraid? Why make life experience conditional? Why not dive into all of life?

This is the Jewish way.

I did come here to mix it up. I came for experience and expression. I am alive to explore. I live to be here, desire there, find peace in the here and enjoy the journey to there.

But where I am is no longer here and not quite there. A liminal state of being. Can I enjoy being neither here nor there? Can I trust where I am even if I don't understand it?

You can, if you let yourself be where you are.

Does this lead me to becoming a better rabbi, too? More questions than answers. My response to a person saying, "This will make you a better rabbi," is "I would settle for becoming eighty percent of the rabbi losing Tikva will make me," is a lie.

I will settle for nothing less than the fullness of life's experience. Tikva's passing is, on a feeling level, exactly the depth of life I desire. I wouldn't have asked for the conditions in a million years, but the 'why' of it isn't for me to answer. I can give that question over to God simply because there is absolutely no way for me come to a satisfactory answer. I'm totally off the hook for that one, and making myself crazy or miserable isn't my way.

It unsettles me to admit this, but when I take the labels of 'desired' and 'undesired' off the piles of life, I have so much more freedom in my life.

In the Torah, upon sending Abram upon the adventure of his life, God says to him, 'Lech lecha'. In English, it translates to, 'Go for yourself'. Or, we can translate it as, 'Go to yourself'. Every journey to ourselves is for ourselves. And Tikva's life gives me gifts for my journey to self that I am only beginning to understand.

Whether I want to be or not, I have a lifetime membership to the Dead Babies Club. Since I'm stuck here, would you mind if we open up a few windows? And while we grieve, I'm going to throw out a few thoughts.

Losing a child is not my whole life. Do you know how uncomfortable I am that there are all these people out there who only know me from this experience, only know me as Tikva's dad? I am so much more, way, way more than just her dad. I am made of the same stuff as sunshine between tree branches and nothing less than the moon rising above the Red Sea.

I am a part of God. Without me, there could be no You. The Sh'ma, whose words carve the foundation stone of Judaism, demands my particpation in comprising God, declaring: "Listen, you who wrestle with God, the Unity that is our God, God is One." You need us. And we, as a part of You, are eternal.

So why so much attention on this one little soul, this little piece of God consciousness who projected herself into a body that gave her exactly the experience she, and our collective consciousness, desired? Because if we're going to give her all this attention, let's look at the glory of the life she lived.

How many people do in eighty years what Tikva did in eight weeks? How many of us inspire hope, real hope, real oh-my-God-oh-my-God-oh-my-God hope in our lives? Tikva doesn't only mean ‘hope' in Hebrew, Tikva is hope. That's what she was and that's what she is. And I got to be the parent of the physical manifestation of the feeling of hope. I got to hold Hope in my arms.

And you want me to mourn that? Are you kidding me?!

And yet, I grieve. And that makes me feel so mortal. So ordinary. So. There is no escaping it. There is no winning in life and no losing in death, only love and our capacity to give and receive it.

Tikva's middle name is Ahava, ‘love' in Hebrew. And the only love worth a damn is unconditional love. It's a real thing and Tikva gave me the chance to feel it. I'd heard all about unconditional love in the past, but I was never able to separate the message from the messenger. I always suspected that deep down inside the person yammering on about unconditional love was really trying to set himself up to get a piece of ass. Nothing wrong with that, but don't kid yourself about unconditional love. Until you've lived it, you can't know it. And the separation between those who can grasp the concept and those who have held the feeling is a yawning chasm that nothing but experience can bridge.

Until you love your child without ever knowing whether or not you'll ever get to hold her, you don't know unconditional love.

Until your love for your child is greater than your need for her to live even one more day with anything less than the dignity she deserves, you don't know unconditional love.

I grieve the loss of Tikva, but can't and wouldn't change a thing. It doesn't all make sense to me and it feels like it never will, but in Man's Search of Meaning, Victor Frankel wrote this from the concentration camp in which he was held:

The last freedom is ours - to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way.

042 - You Keep on Walking (comment)

5 weeks ago our baby Alice was born at 20 weeks and died a short time after. I am not religious. I don't believe in God, or heaven or the power of prayer. My husband is a scientist and his parents are atheists and although I was sent to church as a child, I have not believed in God since I was a child.

When Alice first died I thought it would be easier if I did believe - easier to explain to our 2 1/2 year old where Alice has gone. But we didn't. We explained the facts the best we could and continue to talk about it.

Many kind people have sent us their prayers and I always thank them regardless of my beliefs. What I don’t enter into are discussions about it being ‘God’s will’ that Alice has died. I just hope that people respect my beliefs in the same was I respect theirs.