I talked the other day about "signs." Those things that happened in the past which might have pointed to my loss of a child at some time in my life. And then I remembered my Masters thesis.
Before I became a doula and birth photographer and childbirth educator, I got my degree in counseling psychology, and my thesis title was The Archetypal Midwife. I've always been interested in childbirth, since my first baby was born in 1990 - probably even before. It was a natural subject for me to explore, and the journey to the completion of my thesis was long but fruitful.
In the midst of exploring my thesis topic, a classmate became interested in my theme, and he passed me a note, asking me a question: How does the archetype of the midwife respond to the loss of a child, to a miscarriage or stillbirth?
I wrote out a very thoughtful response to his question that night and gave it to him the next day - part of which ended up in my thesis. And later, when he tearfully told me his wife had had a stillbirth a few years earlier (I hadn't known, before I wrote my response) we hugged, and I told him how sorry I was. But, of course, I couldn't know. I couldn't have really known.
But I remembered him, and how much what I'd said somehow touched him, and so I went back and read that part of my thesis recently, and I was both humbled and awed by my own words. It was as if they had come through me, instead of from me:
It is difficult for human beings to accept, but from a larger perspective the value of a human is not based on chronological age or time spent. What the heroic medical profession refuses to accept, and what the midwife honors in her practice, is that the promise of birth is only dying, not life. In birth, shape and form are given to something that will die, and midwives understand that mothers grieve at birth the dying of their child whether the child takes only one breath or if the child lives long after the mother.
Birth is a way into the world, but in its very nature leads to the way out of the world. Life, death and fate are interrelated, and childbirth is a passage, a transition of maiden into mother, a transition of birth into life, or into death, if fate so decrees. The archetypal midwife honors this transition and understands that human beings are on a continuum, a small part of a whole. Human beings are first and foremost in relation to the mysteries of birth and death and life. Unlike the medical world and the heroic masculine, the archetype of the midwife does not see these as puzzles to be solved but mysteries and enigmas never to be answered, only honored, respected and participated in.
Human concerns are fragile, humble, profound and precious, but when seen in a greater context, with an archetypal backdrop, human suffering is seen on a continuum, with meaning and context. Western culture has reduced suffering to only the individual, human, and personal level, and as such, it becomes unbearable in its singularity. The pain of a laboring woman is too much for her and for those around her to bear if it is not seen in the context of something greater. The archetypal midwife understands a woman’s suffering as a connection to a larger mystery, and does not reduce birth to “stages.” Birth is greater than the sum of its parts, and women come into connection with something deeper and grander than themselves during childbirth.
Women have been both honored and feared for having such power, but women themselves have understood throughout history that their honoring of something greater than they are is what keeps them grounded through the process. There is an aspect of surrender that the archetypal midwife demands. Women must ultimately give into the elemental forces surging through their bodies, and it has traditionally been women who have been able to help other women understand this.
The archetypal midwife guards women during the birth process, but also the boundary between life and death. She is not a warden, and is not guarding against, or acting as a protector. She is rather truly a gatekeeper, witnessing the passage through a gate, watching the movement of women from maidens into mothers, seeing the passage of life as it moves between worlds. The archetypal midwife exists in this liminal space, and while humans look to her for protection, they certainly can only offer only as much reassurance as fate allows. She has a respect for the uncertain transition from birth into life, but also honors the process as natural, fundamental, and indelible in human existence. The archetypal midwife serves as a witness to birth as a soulful process and process of soul.
I have been witness to countless births through that gate - and all of those souls moved from birth into life, until my own birth with William. He passed straight from birth to death, and for the first time, I was a witness to that part of the process. In my grief, it was hard to honor his passing through, but my own words come back to me: the value of a human is not based on chronological age or time spent.
How did I know? How did I know to say that, to tell that father - your baby mattered. Your baby had value, no matter how long he spent, no matter whether or not he took his first breath. He was honored, someone was there to witness his passing through the veil - the archetype of the midwife was present. She held the door for that soul as it passed from birth to death. She held it for my William, too.
I didn't know then, what I know now. But somehow... I did know. Somehow, the archetypal midwife, the great feminine, spoke to me, through me, from the place of the soul. Those words are mine, but they didn't come from me. They came to me, and they were meant for me, although I didn't know it at the time... and I'm reading them years later in grateful, humbled tears.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Not Fair
My father passed away February 13, 2009, six weeks before William was born dead. My dad's one regret was that he wouldn't see his last grandson born. Today is my dad's birthday.
M. said he was almost glad my dad wasn't here for the birth, considering what happened.
My sister said, "Dad was so excited about that little baby, and he got to see him first, up in heaven." My other sister agreed, "Well, at least that's a blessing."
I guess I'm a little more selfish than they are. I wanted my dad to see William. And after my father's stroke, and that particular dream disappeared with my father's last breath, I wanted William to live on, a little legacy named after him. That dream, too, died before little William even took his first breath.
No, I can't count my blessings. My baby is gone. And I can't even momentarily turn back into a little girl and cry in my father's arms, "It's not fair!"
Not fair.
No. Not even close.
M. said he was almost glad my dad wasn't here for the birth, considering what happened.
My sister said, "Dad was so excited about that little baby, and he got to see him first, up in heaven." My other sister agreed, "Well, at least that's a blessing."
I guess I'm a little more selfish than they are. I wanted my dad to see William. And after my father's stroke, and that particular dream disappeared with my father's last breath, I wanted William to live on, a little legacy named after him. That dream, too, died before little William even took his first breath.
No, I can't count my blessings. My baby is gone. And I can't even momentarily turn back into a little girl and cry in my father's arms, "It's not fair!"
Not fair.
No. Not even close.
Monday, May 4, 2009
William Aries
William's Astrological Chart
Rising sign: (persona) Scorpio
You are quiet, reserved, secretive, with deep emotions and feelings. You are very resourceful and formidable when you're upset. You enjoy living life at the cutting edge - for you life must be experienced intensely and totally. You're quite courageous and are willing to take calculated risks. Sensitive and curious, you are concerned with the deeper mysteries of human psychology, and you pursue subjects you're interested in with total fanaticism.
You are quiet, reserved, secretive, with deep emotions and feelings. You are very resourceful and formidable when you're upset. You enjoy living life at the cutting edge - for you life must be experienced intensely and totally. You're quite courageous and are willing to take calculated risks. Sensitive and curious, you are concerned with the deeper mysteries of human psychology, and you pursue subjects you're interested in with total fanaticism.
Sun: (character/identity) Aries
You are energetic, high-spirited and fiercely independent. You are the one who will rush in where angels fear to tread. You are an enthusiastic leader and a reluctant follower.
Moon: (emotional nature) Cancer
You are very strong and emotionally secure. You intuitively know what to do to make others feel comfortable, loved, accepted and needed.
Mercury: (intellect) Aries
Very quick witted, you're known for being an independent thinker. You love to debate and argue, and are excellent at repartee and battles of wits.
Venus: (love) Aries
You are affectionate, but hate to be tied down.
Mars: (energy/drive) Pisces
Very sensitive and vulnerable. You are at your best when you act without your ego being important. You can be very unselfish and considerate of the needs of others.
Jupiter: (society/philosophy) Aquarius
Your personal growth occurs when you have the freedom to do things in new and interesting ways. You are an individualist, but you are also attracted to mass movements that emphasize social betterment and you will devote much time and energy to their efforts.
Saturn: (work) Virgo
Your life must be orderly and practical and full of known and familiar routines in order for you to feel comfortable.
Uranus: (change/individuation) Pisces
You are extremely idealistic and want to change society by completely reorienting its highest religious goals and aspirations.
Neptune: (ideals) Aquarius
You will idealize and even venerate the ability to remain detached as well as the ability to objectively analyze any given situation. There will be a concerted effort on your part to cure the ills of society as a whole.
Pluto: (transformation) Capricorn
For your entire generation, this is a period of intense change in the fabric of society. Many accepted institutions may pass away or be born anew. The good of the community as a whole will be stressed and individual rights may come under attack.
Psst: You can do a free chart here.
William's Numerology
German Male Resolute protectorYou entered: william george xxxxxx
There are 19 letters in your name.
Those 19 letters total to 87
There are 8 vowels and 11 consonants in your name.
What your first name means:
There are 19 letters in your name.
Those 19 letters total to 87
There are 8 vowels and 11 consonants in your name.
What your first name means:
French Male Determined protector
English Male Resolute protector; will
Your number is: 6
The characteristics of #6 are:
Responsibility, protection, nurturing, community, balance, sympathy
The expression or destiny for #6:
The number 6 Expression provides you a truly outstanding sense of responsibility, love, and balance. The 6 is helpful and ever conscientious, making you quite capable of rectifying and balancing any sort of inharmonious situation. You are a person very much inclined to give help and comfort to those in need. You have a natural penchant for working with the old, the young, the sick, or the underprivileged. Although you may have considerable creative and artistic talents, the chances are that you will devote yourself to an occupation that shows concern for the betterment of the community.
The positive side of the number 6 suggests that you are very loving, friendly, and appreciative of others. You have a depth of understanding that produces much sympathetic, kindness, and generosity. The qualities of the 6 make the finest and most concerned parent and one often deeply involved in domestic activities. Openness and honesty is apparent in your approach to all relationships.
If there is an excess of the number 6 in your makeup, you may exhibit some of the negative traits associated with this number. There may be a tendency for you to be too exacting and demanding of yourself. In this regard, you may at times sacrifice yourself (or your loved ones) for the welfare of others. In some cases, the over zealous 6 has difficulty distinguishing helping from interfering. You may have difficulty expressing your own individuality, because of involvement with responsibilities and causes. Like all with the Expression of the number 6, it's quite likely that you worry much too much.
Responsibility, protection, nurturing, community, balance, sympathy
The expression or destiny for #6:
The number 6 Expression provides you a truly outstanding sense of responsibility, love, and balance. The 6 is helpful and ever conscientious, making you quite capable of rectifying and balancing any sort of inharmonious situation. You are a person very much inclined to give help and comfort to those in need. You have a natural penchant for working with the old, the young, the sick, or the underprivileged. Although you may have considerable creative and artistic talents, the chances are that you will devote yourself to an occupation that shows concern for the betterment of the community.
The positive side of the number 6 suggests that you are very loving, friendly, and appreciative of others. You have a depth of understanding that produces much sympathetic, kindness, and generosity. The qualities of the 6 make the finest and most concerned parent and one often deeply involved in domestic activities. Openness and honesty is apparent in your approach to all relationships.
If there is an excess of the number 6 in your makeup, you may exhibit some of the negative traits associated with this number. There may be a tendency for you to be too exacting and demanding of yourself. In this regard, you may at times sacrifice yourself (or your loved ones) for the welfare of others. In some cases, the over zealous 6 has difficulty distinguishing helping from interfering. You may have difficulty expressing your own individuality, because of involvement with responsibilities and causes. Like all with the Expression of the number 6, it's quite likely that you worry much too much.
Your Soul Urge number is: 1
A Soul Urge number of 1 means:
With a Soul Urge number of 1, you want to lead and direct, to work independent of supervision, by yourself or with subordinates. You take pride in your abilities and want to be recognized for them. You may seek opportunities to display your strength and usefulness, wanting to create and originate. In your desire to manage the big picture and the main issues, you may often leave the details to others.
The positive 1 Soul Urge is Ambitious and determined, a leader seeking opportunities. There is a great deal of honesty and loyalty in this character. If you possess positive 1 Soul Urge qualities, you are very attainment oriented and driven to success. You are a loyal friend and strictly fair in your business dealings.
The negative side of the 1 Soul Urge must be avoided. A negative 1 is apt to dominate situations and people; the home, the spouse, the family and the business. Emotions aren't strong in this nature. If you possess an excess of 1 energy, you may, at times, be boastful and egotistic. You must avoid being too critical and impatient of trifles. The great need of the 1 Soul Urge is the development of friendliness, and a sincere interest in people.
With a Soul Urge number of 1, you want to lead and direct, to work independent of supervision, by yourself or with subordinates. You take pride in your abilities and want to be recognized for them. You may seek opportunities to display your strength and usefulness, wanting to create and originate. In your desire to manage the big picture and the main issues, you may often leave the details to others.
The positive 1 Soul Urge is Ambitious and determined, a leader seeking opportunities. There is a great deal of honesty and loyalty in this character. If you possess positive 1 Soul Urge qualities, you are very attainment oriented and driven to success. You are a loyal friend and strictly fair in your business dealings.
The negative side of the 1 Soul Urge must be avoided. A negative 1 is apt to dominate situations and people; the home, the spouse, the family and the business. Emotions aren't strong in this nature. If you possess an excess of 1 energy, you may, at times, be boastful and egotistic. You must avoid being too critical and impatient of trifles. The great need of the 1 Soul Urge is the development of friendliness, and a sincere interest in people.
Your Inner Dream number is: 5
An Inner Dream number of 5 means:
You dream of being totally free and unrestrained by responsibility. You see yourself conversing and mingling with the natives in many nations, living for adventure and life experiences. You imagine what you might accomplished.
Psst: You can enter a name for numerology here.
There are several things here that speak to me - the protector, sacrificing himself for others, looking to give help and comfort to those in need. A leader, an idealist, someone who looks to reorder the world... If I believed in angels - I just might think God took him to be one. ;)
But the phrase that resonated most:
You dream of being totally free and unrestrained...
He is now.
You dream of being totally free and unrestrained by responsibility. You see yourself conversing and mingling with the natives in many nations, living for adventure and life experiences. You imagine what you might accomplished.
Psst: You can enter a name for numerology here.
***
There are several things here that speak to me - the protector, sacrificing himself for others, looking to give help and comfort to those in need. A leader, an idealist, someone who looks to reorder the world... If I believed in angels - I just might think God took him to be one. ;)
But the phrase that resonated most:
You dream of being totally free and unrestrained...
He is now.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Hindsight
I wanted an April baby. I kept rubbing my belly and whispering, "Wait 'til April, little one..." I don't even know why. Silly, superficial reasons. April is a brighter, prettier month. I like April's birthstone better. (Diamond!) I like 4's (even number) better than 3's. So I wanted an April baby and I asked him to wait.
And he did. He waited until April. But by then, he was dead.
I never thought I'd be looking at a calendar with "May 2009" at the top and not be holding my baby.
It never even crossed my mind - at least, not consciously.
But hindsight is 20/20, and now I can see the signs. I know they weren't predictive, and I know, at least intellectually I know, that I probably couldn't have consciously heeded them and prevented William's death. But they were there. So very many of them. Not just current ones, either. There have been signs I would at some point lose a child going back to... well, as far back as I can remember.
The first thing was the loss of my sister, Denise. She was three when she was hit by a car. From the time I was young, I was fascinated with the story, and horrified with my mother's loss. How could she bear it? I'd never known my sister, she died before I was born - but I truly couldn't imagine losing a child, how someone could actually survive the pain.
Then there was the recurring dream I've had since I was in high school. I used to sleepwalk, and go around looking through cupboards and under things, frantically saying, "Where's my baby? Where's my baby?" I never remembered them... but other people told me about them. My ex said at least once every 6 months I'd do that, in college. Eventually I stopped walking/talking in my sleep... but Michael has said I've woken up saying that phrase before. And even when I was awake, sometimes, that phrase would just "come" to me. "Where's my baby?" It made no sense at the time. But it does now.
In the past two years, I've written three stories centered around the death of a child. I even had another author say to me that they thought "playing the dead baby card" in a story was, in effect, cheating, a betrayal to the reader. I always defended my decision... babies die. It happens. People lose children, it's horrifying, it's awful. But in reality... I had no idea.
I was also worried about this pregnancy from the beginning. I had all the genetic testing done, concerned about my "advanced maternal age." Like most mothers, I breathed a sigh of relief after that twelfth week, when I passed the highest percentage risk of miscarriage. But that nagging worry never really left. I worried that he would be deformed, that something would go wrong during labor. I kept hitting the tree, but missing the target.
At about twenty weeks into my pregnancy, I remember the doctor putting the doppler to my belly and taking a little longer than usual to find his heartbeat. He looked worried at first and I commented on it. He said, "I found it pretty quick. It's when you put it on there and move it around and around for minutes and hear nothing but silence. That's just..." He shook his head, unable to express it, and I felt a stab of dread. Premonition? I don't know..
I was really extremely overly emotional at the end of my pregnancy, and I was especially sensitive to stories about children dying. There were two horrible, prominent news stories during that time, one about a father dropping his four year old daughter off an overpass and the other was Baby Grace. Both of them left me literally incapacitated for days. I cried all day long about them. I kept wondering what was wrong with me? Sure, these stories were sad, and in the past, I would have felt that, but this was different. It was as if I was mourning something for myself, as if these were my losses, somehow, and it made no sense. Not at the time.
I know it sounds like I'm saying, "It was meant to be" ... but I don't believe that either. I just know, there were signs. There were things pointing toward this, or something like it. I don't understand it, and I probably never will, but I don't want to leave these things unacknowledged either.
And I'm not the only one who had this happen. M. said he felt like he was "going through the motions" when getting ready for William to arrive. He got the birth tub ready, he picked up groceries, but there was just a feeling, like it wasn't going to be necessary. It wasn't conscious, and he couldn't have voiced it before William died... it only made sense after he was gone. And I understood that. I experienced M. as a little removed from this pregnancy, too. I thought it was because it was our third - we already had a boy, a girl, this was old hat. I would ask him, "Are you ready for this baby?" and he'd say, "Well, I don't really have a choice, do I?" I was a little hurt, at the time, by his response... but now...
I think part of him knew. I think a part of me knew, too. Neither of us could have said that out loud and we probably would have denied it or chalked it up to pregnancy-parental-paranoia at the time. But with William gone, looking back, I think M. was right. Ready-or-not, things were going to unfold, however they were meant to.
We didn't really have a choice.
And he did. He waited until April. But by then, he was dead.
I never thought I'd be looking at a calendar with "May 2009" at the top and not be holding my baby.
It never even crossed my mind - at least, not consciously.
But hindsight is 20/20, and now I can see the signs. I know they weren't predictive, and I know, at least intellectually I know, that I probably couldn't have consciously heeded them and prevented William's death. But they were there. So very many of them. Not just current ones, either. There have been signs I would at some point lose a child going back to... well, as far back as I can remember.
The first thing was the loss of my sister, Denise. She was three when she was hit by a car. From the time I was young, I was fascinated with the story, and horrified with my mother's loss. How could she bear it? I'd never known my sister, she died before I was born - but I truly couldn't imagine losing a child, how someone could actually survive the pain.
Then there was the recurring dream I've had since I was in high school. I used to sleepwalk, and go around looking through cupboards and under things, frantically saying, "Where's my baby? Where's my baby?" I never remembered them... but other people told me about them. My ex said at least once every 6 months I'd do that, in college. Eventually I stopped walking/talking in my sleep... but Michael has said I've woken up saying that phrase before. And even when I was awake, sometimes, that phrase would just "come" to me. "Where's my baby?" It made no sense at the time. But it does now.
In the past two years, I've written three stories centered around the death of a child. I even had another author say to me that they thought "playing the dead baby card" in a story was, in effect, cheating, a betrayal to the reader. I always defended my decision... babies die. It happens. People lose children, it's horrifying, it's awful. But in reality... I had no idea.
I was also worried about this pregnancy from the beginning. I had all the genetic testing done, concerned about my "advanced maternal age." Like most mothers, I breathed a sigh of relief after that twelfth week, when I passed the highest percentage risk of miscarriage. But that nagging worry never really left. I worried that he would be deformed, that something would go wrong during labor. I kept hitting the tree, but missing the target.
At about twenty weeks into my pregnancy, I remember the doctor putting the doppler to my belly and taking a little longer than usual to find his heartbeat. He looked worried at first and I commented on it. He said, "I found it pretty quick. It's when you put it on there and move it around and around for minutes and hear nothing but silence. That's just..." He shook his head, unable to express it, and I felt a stab of dread. Premonition? I don't know..
I was really extremely overly emotional at the end of my pregnancy, and I was especially sensitive to stories about children dying. There were two horrible, prominent news stories during that time, one about a father dropping his four year old daughter off an overpass and the other was Baby Grace. Both of them left me literally incapacitated for days. I cried all day long about them. I kept wondering what was wrong with me? Sure, these stories were sad, and in the past, I would have felt that, but this was different. It was as if I was mourning something for myself, as if these were my losses, somehow, and it made no sense. Not at the time.
I know it sounds like I'm saying, "It was meant to be" ... but I don't believe that either. I just know, there were signs. There were things pointing toward this, or something like it. I don't understand it, and I probably never will, but I don't want to leave these things unacknowledged either.
And I'm not the only one who had this happen. M. said he felt like he was "going through the motions" when getting ready for William to arrive. He got the birth tub ready, he picked up groceries, but there was just a feeling, like it wasn't going to be necessary. It wasn't conscious, and he couldn't have voiced it before William died... it only made sense after he was gone. And I understood that. I experienced M. as a little removed from this pregnancy, too. I thought it was because it was our third - we already had a boy, a girl, this was old hat. I would ask him, "Are you ready for this baby?" and he'd say, "Well, I don't really have a choice, do I?" I was a little hurt, at the time, by his response... but now...
I think part of him knew. I think a part of me knew, too. Neither of us could have said that out loud and we probably would have denied it or chalked it up to pregnancy-parental-paranoia at the time. But with William gone, looking back, I think M. was right. Ready-or-not, things were going to unfold, however they were meant to.
We didn't really have a choice.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Visiting Irony
My sister and her husband came over today.
It was the first time they'd been here to the house, actually. They live a good hour and a half drive away, and we have been there for holidays (they have the biggest house) but they haven't been here.
Just when I open my mouth and say something, right?
I could complain about a million different little things about the visit, but apparently, I can complain about anything, lately, whether people do call or don't, whether they come over or not. Nothing would make me happy or satisfied right now, clearly. Go figure...
The truth is, it was good to know it was important enough, that we were, William was... we are loved, and thought of, and however a hand is extended, it is, after all, reaching out.
It was the first time they'd been here to the house, actually. They live a good hour and a half drive away, and we have been there for holidays (they have the biggest house) but they haven't been here.
Just when I open my mouth and say something, right?
I could complain about a million different little things about the visit, but apparently, I can complain about anything, lately, whether people do call or don't, whether they come over or not. Nothing would make me happy or satisfied right now, clearly. Go figure...
The truth is, it was good to know it was important enough, that we were, William was... we are loved, and thought of, and however a hand is extended, it is, after all, reaching out.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Under the Harvest Moon
Under the Harvest Moon
by Carl Sandburg
Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.
Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.
by Carl Sandburg
Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.
Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.
One Month
One month.
Women who experience a loss like this seem to do it in stages - and they tend to coincide with the developmental stage their baby would have been in, had they lived. That's my current theory. At least, that's what I've noticed in the brief time I've been reading the journeys of others through this dark landscape.
My theory, at least anecdotally, seems to be bearing itself out.
Today I'm imagining my one-month-old. A one-month-old William. What would he be like? He'd still be a tiny little guy, but growing, nursing around the clock, keeping us awake nights. We'd be taking long naps together in the afternoon, he and I, and I'd be washing diapers constantly, too. (If he was big enough to fit into them yet!) I'd be carrying him in a sling most of the time, and tucking him into his car seat whenever we had to go out.
They change so very much that first month. What color would his eyes be now? Would they be lightening like mine or darkening into his Daddy's deep brown hue? And all that gorgeous hair he had... would it be falling out, like some newborn hair does, or would he have kept it, I wonder? He'd have his alert times - his eyes open and exploring our faces, memorizing us - and his sleepy times, probably sucking his thumb like his sisters and brother did, his breath like a soft breeze over sweet grass on my cheek when I rested beside him. We'd be just discovering his moods, his temperament. Fiery little Aries, most likely, just as lively outside as he had been inside.
I'm sure his daddy would have been walking him around a lot at night to give Mommy a break, like he did the other two between nursing when they didn't seem to want to sleep. I can see William's tiny body propped up on his big shoulder, while Daddy sang him the "Gone Fishin'" song and, eventually, any and every song he could think of... (strangely, Daddy singing his off-key version of "You Shook Me All Night Long" by AC/DC quieted both of the other two down... don't ask me!)
William and I would be spending every day alone together until the littles would come home from school and rush to see him and say hello. Z. would act the little mommy, asking to change and burp and feed him all the time. (Sorry, sweetie, only Mommy can do that last one!) I can see her natural mothering tendency just coming out, cooing and talking to him just like she did when she held him in the hospital, exclaiming over his every little perfection.
And Daddy would come back from work to find his little family, William and I snuggled together somewhere, on the couch or in our bed, his son nursing and his wife reading a book, or typing (one handed!) on the laptop, the other two kids jumping around him, as excited as our cocker spaniel to have him finally home.
Our days would be full of the sweetly mundane, and they would pass so fast that I would look at the calendar today, May 1 - and wonder where the time had gone, and exclaim over how big my baby boy had grown, how much he was changing, that he wasn't my "little newborn" anymore. And I would be taking lots of pictures so I could remember our last, sharing them, our precious little man, with friends and family, always the proud mama - don't I have the most beautiful baby in the world? Isn't he a dream?
A dream. Yes. Yes, he is.
He was.
A dream I dreamed for nearly a year before he was born still and I woke up into the nightmare my life has become since he died. Just a sweet, heartbreaking dream.
If he were alive, I might have glanced at the calendar today and smiled - a month! Time flies! But I would have probably been too busy to really think about it, to consider it more than just a little milestone, a brief marker of time as we moved through our day, our week, our life together, William and I.
But he's not alive, and hasn't been for a month. All the mothers who gave birth around the same time I did are doing all of those things with their one month olds that I imagined, but I'm not. They're lamenting how fast the time has gone, how much their babies have grown and changed, how their tiny newborn is now a developing little person, and I'm lamenting that all I have left of my baby is a memory box, an urn with his ashes, and some pictures.
Time goes on, but the image of William stays the same, fixed, unchanging. This is the image I will have of him forever, and nothing more. His lips and fingernails and face will always be red with pooled blood, his skin beginning to fill with fluid, to wrinkle and slough off.
He'll never grow and change over time, learn to track objects with his eyes, or to find his thumb for comfort. He'll never experience the beauty and joy of his first month in the world, the softness and nourishment of his mother's breast, the sound of his Daddy's sweet songs, the laughter of his siblings, the bright beauty of the afternoon sun streaming into our bedroom windows.
He's a month gone from me, and it might as well be an eternity. Today I woke with the weight of that knowledge hanging around my neck, so unbearably heavy I didn't want to move, now or ever again.
Women who experience a loss like this seem to do it in stages - and they tend to coincide with the developmental stage their baby would have been in, had they lived. That's my current theory. At least, that's what I've noticed in the brief time I've been reading the journeys of others through this dark landscape.
My theory, at least anecdotally, seems to be bearing itself out.
Today I'm imagining my one-month-old. A one-month-old William. What would he be like? He'd still be a tiny little guy, but growing, nursing around the clock, keeping us awake nights. We'd be taking long naps together in the afternoon, he and I, and I'd be washing diapers constantly, too. (If he was big enough to fit into them yet!) I'd be carrying him in a sling most of the time, and tucking him into his car seat whenever we had to go out.
They change so very much that first month. What color would his eyes be now? Would they be lightening like mine or darkening into his Daddy's deep brown hue? And all that gorgeous hair he had... would it be falling out, like some newborn hair does, or would he have kept it, I wonder? He'd have his alert times - his eyes open and exploring our faces, memorizing us - and his sleepy times, probably sucking his thumb like his sisters and brother did, his breath like a soft breeze over sweet grass on my cheek when I rested beside him. We'd be just discovering his moods, his temperament. Fiery little Aries, most likely, just as lively outside as he had been inside.
I'm sure his daddy would have been walking him around a lot at night to give Mommy a break, like he did the other two between nursing when they didn't seem to want to sleep. I can see William's tiny body propped up on his big shoulder, while Daddy sang him the "Gone Fishin'" song and, eventually, any and every song he could think of... (strangely, Daddy singing his off-key version of "You Shook Me All Night Long" by AC/DC quieted both of the other two down... don't ask me!)
William and I would be spending every day alone together until the littles would come home from school and rush to see him and say hello. Z. would act the little mommy, asking to change and burp and feed him all the time. (Sorry, sweetie, only Mommy can do that last one!) I can see her natural mothering tendency just coming out, cooing and talking to him just like she did when she held him in the hospital, exclaiming over his every little perfection.
And Daddy would come back from work to find his little family, William and I snuggled together somewhere, on the couch or in our bed, his son nursing and his wife reading a book, or typing (one handed!) on the laptop, the other two kids jumping around him, as excited as our cocker spaniel to have him finally home.
Our days would be full of the sweetly mundane, and they would pass so fast that I would look at the calendar today, May 1 - and wonder where the time had gone, and exclaim over how big my baby boy had grown, how much he was changing, that he wasn't my "little newborn" anymore. And I would be taking lots of pictures so I could remember our last, sharing them, our precious little man, with friends and family, always the proud mama - don't I have the most beautiful baby in the world? Isn't he a dream?
A dream. Yes. Yes, he is.
He was.
A dream I dreamed for nearly a year before he was born still and I woke up into the nightmare my life has become since he died. Just a sweet, heartbreaking dream.
If he were alive, I might have glanced at the calendar today and smiled - a month! Time flies! But I would have probably been too busy to really think about it, to consider it more than just a little milestone, a brief marker of time as we moved through our day, our week, our life together, William and I.
But he's not alive, and hasn't been for a month. All the mothers who gave birth around the same time I did are doing all of those things with their one month olds that I imagined, but I'm not. They're lamenting how fast the time has gone, how much their babies have grown and changed, how their tiny newborn is now a developing little person, and I'm lamenting that all I have left of my baby is a memory box, an urn with his ashes, and some pictures.
He'll never grow and change over time, learn to track objects with his eyes, or to find his thumb for comfort. He'll never experience the beauty and joy of his first month in the world, the softness and nourishment of his mother's breast, the sound of his Daddy's sweet songs, the laughter of his siblings, the bright beauty of the afternoon sun streaming into our bedroom windows.
He's a month gone from me, and it might as well be an eternity. Today I woke with the weight of that knowledge hanging around my neck, so unbearably heavy I didn't want to move, now or ever again.
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