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I sat through a (Unitarian Universalist) sermon yesterday, about the Universalist idea of salvation - that everyone is equally loved by some higher power and that that love isn't dependent on how 'good' we are - almost the opposite of karma. I wanted to really like that idea, but I had trouble placing the other half of what that means. It doesn't matter how good we are, so my son didn't die because of some wrongdoing on my part - but what does that leave me? Did he die because the universe is cruel and random?

I am by no means, well-adjusted or healthily coping but I am Auggie’s dad and this is what I have to offer.

Most people on Glow know my wife, Jill and this is the first time I have written anything although I have been known to lurk on Glow and truly appreciate the people from Glow that attended Auggie’s service.

Heather - I seethe on your behalf. What a truly shitty thing for this 'friend' to do to you.

Your daughter is perfect, but for whatever reason she died. If 'God' only allowed the perfect to live, then we would be immortal, no? We all die, but unfortunately for us we have reversed the natural order of things and said goodbye to our children instead of them watching us decline and go.

I know that I am extremely late coming to this tread but I wanted to put in my two-cents and to share some thoughts on karma that have brought me comfort since losing my son just over 3 months ago. (Ellis was born, perfect, at 39 weeks and stopped breathing 32 hours later, we do not know why and do not expect to ever get a medical explanation.)

(God, faith mentioned)

Oh Susan, I'm sorry for your struggles. It is so frustrating when 'people' tell us (mostly who have never known babyloss) not to question our faith. The best conclusioin I've come to is that God can handle any anger and questioning we put his way. He does not push away even when we push him away.

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.

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.

It's true as anything I know. Because being babylost means having to resolve the mindbending gap of alive and dead, and that work is never finished. Which somehow makes the doom both real and illusory, but never strictly bullshit. Out of all the reams of grief lit thrust my way, the only thing I read that really hit home was about "the myth of acceptance", which stated that acceptance is not an expected stage of losing your own offspring because it is too devastating. It is beyond the beyonds. Hence, The Ride.

I'd be in a world of fury and anger if I believed we'd lost Natan because I was supposed to learn or do something differently from it, because I needed it, or God thought I could handle it. The only reasons I look for from it are physical--as someone whose preterm labor still cannot be explained, the only thing I still want to know about why is what happened medically. For our sake, it no longer matters, but I wish that at the very least Natan's death could have yielded knowledge to prevent it from happening to others--and maybe it did.