It is week 3 of Greg's relentless travels - he was in Washington then, Mexico last week then left for Portland Monday morning where he'll be till tomorrow, then Seattle then Vancouver. He comess back on weekends at least but still tough. Off again to Edmonton next week and then a week's reprieve then Chicago for a week. We miss him. Ashiah often sleeps with me when her Daddy's away and it's as much for me as it is for her I think. The house is quiet... tidier :)... but lonelier.
But space as a couple I think is also good - good to experience things apart sometimes and have interesting stories to relate. I watched the movie 'Date Night' the other night and aside from it being pretty amusing, I think most parents would relate to how things can at times become mundane in the daily routine unless you make an effort to try new things. In that regard though, I think Greg and I will be okay. We actually aspire to mundane right now :) Am proud of our relationship, proud of the ridiculous storms we've weathered in so few years together, proud of the work we've put in and the mutual love that continues to grow.
Speaking of storms, I've been in a slump for awhile but am feeling on the mend again this week. A friend of mine gave birth to a beautiful healthy baby boy a few weeks ago. I went to see her with Ashiah who was fascinated and it somehow brought it all back... When I asked her how she could be so energetic she said that her whole birth lasted 2 hours and that she barely had time to catch the baby under water. Now there is no question that I would also be glowing and happy after such an idyllic experience but as it happens, I've had two very non-idyllic birth experiences, one with a happy ending (for which am beyond grateful) and one not.
And so I fell into a rather terrible low, reliving the brutal 16 hour ordeal July 1rst and 2nd with the horrific outcome over and over in my mind... I began to miss my baby terribly and question my plumbing and overall use as a woman. I began to think that twice now I would have likely died giving birth and as my doctor told me last week, thanks to medical advancements, I have been granted life, even when my baby was not so lucky. I thought of all the mothers around the world who have not been so lucky to live...of their pain, of the 3 hours I suffered in agony until they were able to give me stronger drugs and how others have not had this option. But mostly, I thought of Zephyr. I miss him. Greg misses him too. I went to visit his grave for the first time two weeks ago and in some small way, it felt good to be near him again. But we are still very sad...
There are a few things I feel like saying. They are not intended to anyone reading this by the way because I don't even know who reads this. I just need to get them out therapeutically speaking I guess.
The first is that many people don't and will never 'get it'. Miscarriage in the first trimester is indeed a common occurrence and I think is often regarded as an 'oh that's too bad' but definitely not the way one might view someone who's carried their baby to term and lost it later. I now view this very differently but perspective is everything isn't it? To some it is a very hard loss and to others not as much. A long-standing friend recently asked me how I was doing and I told her that I was having a tough time lately with the loss. Her response was 'Well get over it. You could have cancer and no hair'. I told her I'd take the bald head to have my baby back. But her response was difficult for me to process on two counts. The first is that she also miscarried, albeit many moons ago but it didn't appear to have been as traumatic an event for her. The second is that she has always said that it doesn't matter how someone else views what you're going through, what matters is that it's real to you and therefore it should be dealt with accordingly. Suffice to say that I decided this would be my last attempt to discuss it. But then I had an interesting conversation with a very sweet friend this evening who also miscarried in her first trimester a couple years ago.
She said that one of the biggest differences with my experience was that aside from it being in the second trimester it was a long painful birth. And she explained that in the breastfeeding league she belongs to, women offer suffer post-traumatic stress after difficult births even when there is a happy outcome because it is very difficult to process, like any painful incident (such as perhaps getting hit by a car or something.) She said that having gone through such physical pain and then a painful emotional outcome that it's no wonder that I'm still processing and likely will for a long-time to come. This was relieving to hear amidst the various 'well intended' comments I've received.
The second thing I want to share is what not to say to someone who has just lost a baby, in any trimester, whether a long birth or a quick loss, the outcome is the same.
1) It was God's will or God took him to heaven or God will resurrect him. - Really? If he did take him then God is an insensitive asshole. And what would God do with a bunch of fetuses in heaven may I ask? And how would he resurrect a fetus? What of the woman who lost 5 babies. Will she suddenly be impregnated with all 5 again? These were by far the most infuriating comments. I don't believe that it's anymore God's will or doing than it is that existing children are molested, beaten or killed. Unless you're God, don't speak for him.
2) It wasn't meant to be or it was for the best. - Really? What is meant to be then? Is it meant to be when a child is born limbless or with a fatal disease? Is that for the best? How do you know what's best for our family? Do I know what's best for yours?
3) Why don't you just have another one? - It isn't like buying a new fish or a new car. It's a child. He was our child. He was our son. He was a very active baby who liked to do somersaults and we watched him and loved him on a screen for a total of about 5 hours in those 4 months as the doctors tried to figure out what was going on with the pregnancy. He can not and will not ever be replaced even if we do someday have another baby. It is a very insensitive thing to say.
4) Get over it, you could have something worse... - Think back to someone you cared about who died in the last few years. Are you over it yet? Does thinking of people who are worse off than you make it better or lessen the pain? Or perhaps just depress you more? It's not helpful.
Here is a list of the comments that did however touch us and were helpful:
- 'I'm not in your shoes or I've never been through this but I can imagine how very difficult this must be or have been to go through.'
- 'We're very sad for you and that you are living this terrible loss'.
- 'If you want to talk or cry I'm here'.
- 'We are thinking of you and we love you.'
- 'I know you are strong but I also know that you can't always be and you're allowed to feel sad or angry or betrayed or tired. I am here'.
- 'Do whatever it takes to get through this'.
- 'Am dropping everything to spend the day with you. We can talk about it or not talk. Whatever you need I'm here'.
- 'It was utterly unfair that you had to go through the physical pain as well as this terrible loss. We are so sorry.'
Also, within the first few months, even if it looks like everything's okay or back to normal, it's not. She may just be putting on a brave face and being a strong mother but inside there's a huge piece missing and she is coping however best she can and keeps her sobs private. I think I was on auto pilot till the end of August. Guilt, whether rational or not is a huge emotion after this because it is a mother's job to take care of her baby. And although different for him, he is coping and missing too. He may pour himself into a million chores so as not to have to talk about it or cope with it because he has just been through a life altering experience - in Greg's case where he held his dead baby in his arms after being so excited to welcome him into his life.
Life altering. It has been. That we are still sad doesn't mean that we don't appreciate all that we have or that we don't think of those who don't. And it doesn't mean that we're not happy either because in many ways, I think our family is happier and closer now than it has been in a long-time. But even through the mind of a busy, happy 3 year old who hasn't been told how to process anything or field any comments, it's been almost 4 months and she still asks, often before bed: 'Mummy, where's my baby brother? Why is he outside in the dark? Is he scared? Is he cold?... Mummy... can you sing the Zephyr song please.'
