Things We Can't Ask

If you haven't been here in awhile read The New Natural first.

Alone in a hospital room on a dark night in late January, I dared to ask God the question I knew there was no answer to. I knew it wouldn't do any good, that the question may lead me in a bad direction, and that I really needed to steer clear of any outcomes that bad direction may have led me to.

But I allowed it to enter my mind, and pen to journal just once. HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN? In that moment I went further to ask What God was prepared to give me in exchange for my baby girl. I knew then that I didn't deserve anything special just because my baby died. I knew that I wasn't guaranteed anything that I asked or hoped for. I know that better than anyone now. But, even so, I feel that He was listening to me. We have had so many blessings in the past months, I'm challenged to deny that He hasn't been bestowing special blessings on my family in exchange for my baby girl.

And now I'm pregnant again. But the one thing that is hardest for me to pray for is a healthy, live baby. Sometimes, I just feel destined to repeat the tragedy. I have faith that God is with me, that I can get through anything with His love and the support of the people strong enough to go through it with me.

I ask for your prayers today. That this pregnancy will be successful. All the way. That the child within me will grow to old age. That we be given peace for the journey. And please let me know how I can pray for you.

Thank you

The New Natural

In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, scientists sent down to assess the damage noticed something peculiar. Amidst all the devastation, Magnolia trees which normally only flowered in Spring, were in full bloom in Autumn. Somehow, the trees were aware of the urgent need to germinate new trees in order to survive as a species, or perhaps because the landscape needed the beauty desperately. For whatever reason, this phenomemon gives me hope.

Only three months after giving birth to my little Brynnie, I discovered that I was pregnant again. Is it natural to get pregnant this soon after giving birth? Not for mothers of live babies. But for my community of mothers, like the Magnolias blossoming at the wrong time, it is quite common.

We take it as a gift. We feel blessed, forgiven, second chanced. We are ecstatic. We are terrified. I am doing everything different this time. Getting all the elective screenings and ultrasounds I so smugly turned down in previous pregnancies. Retaining the option to induce early if I'm absolutely crazy in those last weeks, but hoping to have faith. Praying vigilantly for a child that will live to old age.

And I will not complain about this pregnancy. But I want to say something about pregnancy for those of you who have not experienced it first hand. It is harder than we make it look.

Only a woman would say, "YES! Please make me feel sick and grow significantly fatter for a year (or in my case two) so that I may have someone to depend on me for their very existence, and all things otherwise. Let me waddle around for months in my once ambulatory hips, so that I can stay up all night listening to incessant screaming. Let me give up my sanity to hormones for the rest of my life. Yes, please please please let it be me!"

No matter how much I thought I knew about it before becoming a mother, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. And motherhood begins at conception. And it is every bit worth it. Please pray for this child, who I decided a week after Brynn died will be named ZOE, which means LIFE!

HELP SUPPORT THIS CAUSE

Click on:

http://starlegacyfoundation.org/id106.html

and vote for both goals everyday until May 31 for the Pepsi Foundation to fund the Mother's Day Project:

#1 - Better Fetal Monitoring for High-risk pregnancies

#2 - Birth planning and support for parents whose babies have died.

For me, there was very little support "in place" system wise, and I could have easily fallen through the cracks if I didn't have a few very strong friends and faith reserves of my own.

A Good Day

Today was our Memorial Service for Brynn. We had given ourselves enough time, I guess, and somewhere in the past three months, without even noticing, peace happened. For now. I know the pain will always be there, and will resurface from time to time, but today was not sad for me. I am so proud of my daughter, and thoroughly enjoyed sharing her a bit today. I had beautiful prayer cards made, we displayed a pencil portrait in an engraved frame (thank you again Melissa). There were lots of flowers, but not funeral flowers. The party was fun and there was plenty of food.

This week I feel this message from God: When you are struck with a tragedy and celebrate anyway, I will give you reason to celebrate. Out of the blue to us, Jimmy went back to work electrical this week after being laid off for almost two years ... and it seems like he carried a reputation for being a great electrician, he was told he came highly praised.

I have been working at a great part-time job for the past month, in a kindergarten class where I only have to worry about one kid, and he's a peach, and the pay is good. I made my own hours and Shane's grammy volunteers to hang with him for the two days per week, taking him to playgroups, libraries, and the children's museum to see the animals every week.

There are lots of other things happening in our family life to celebrate, big and little. Too many to list.

And Brynn is incorporated into our family life. When I can't find her ID bracelet or my angel necklace I ask Brynnie to help mommy find it and she always does within seconds. I tell her I love her all the time. We talk about her. Her spirit is very near. Having Brynn has somehow made it very easy for me to take care of myself. Her love for me is as tangible as anyone else's. Moreso. I hope we keep the simple perspective on life that we've gained from Brynn.

I took the thing that I considered to be the hardest thing anyone's ever had to do in life, and we did it. I found the support I needed, I learned to speak my truth easily. Not every day but some days, Brynn has meant a great accomplishment to me. Her name means hill. How appropriate. Love you baby.

Huh. I just read my Uncle's comment and today is my Grandpa's birthday. I've felt his presence often this year. Happy Birthday Grandpa! I bet you and Brynn are wearing your party hats in heaven, double jumping all over the place together.

Bad Days

I recently wrote in my journal that Acceptance is a Tear Count. Every tear gets me that much closer to the goal, which I guess is acceptance.

Accepting is tricky though. There are many levels to cross. Some days I still have some fantastic delusions that I can somehow get Brynn back, even 12 weeks after learning that she died. At times I find myself clinging to things that shouldn't matter, and later realize it had some small remembrance of something that happened when I was pregnant, events are categorized pre and post calamity. My highs are higher, for some reason. My lows are frantic and wild. I don't recognize myself.

As I grow stronger I take on tougher tasks, which bring me back down to a vulnerable state. Today I spell-checked her name and confirmed her birthdate for the head stone. I also researched funeral poems and designed the prayer card for her memorial service. I should have expected this would make my day hard. But I didn't see it coming.

I felt sad and lonely all day, desperately insecure. I was not nice. I tried to get myself out of it with music, reading, extra coffee (admittedly not the best idea). A few petty things happened today and almost threw me over the edge. I actually roared at Shane. Like a lion. He ran away crying.

I don't want to be like that. For a moment today I played the grief card. People should be nice to me because they know I'm grieving. Life doesn't work like that! I still have to be the bigger person sometimes, I have to forgive more often. There's a really good reason for my bad days now, but it doesn't excuse my bad behavior. I have even better reasons to rise above the mucky muck. I have two children and a husband to honor today.

I find it wise on these days to go with the flow, knowing that really awesome days often follow the bad ones. Some days the best we can do is to survive them. And now I sing The Sun"ll Come Out Tomorrow at the top of my lungs! Sing it with me!

We Celebrate

A few weeks ago the Resurrection of Christ was celebrated. A friend had asked me if this special time of the year gave me some hope and encouragement. I expected it to, I told her. Even though I was warned by those who had lost babies before me that holidays were hard, especially the first one after the loss.

In the week earlier I had experienced a small miracle, if you can even call it that. I do though. I had missed church throughout all of lent. There was a particular hymn traditionally sung during this time to Christ's mother Mary, who we in the Orthodox Church refer to as the Theotokos (God-bearer).

I leafed through every page of my prayer book hoping to refresh my memory of the words. I read every word in the lenten section and couldn't find it. Just before giving up I said aloud, "I'd like to sing you this song, but I can't find it." I looked down at the page I was on, and my eyes went right to it.

She was with me. I felt at once calmed and desperate. Tears came, I said thank you and please stay. And then I sat there for a long time, wordless. And then I sang to her.

Here is the song: I wish you could hear the melody, it is as hauntingly beautiful as the content.

All of creation rejoices in you.
The assembly of angels and the race of man.
Oh hallowed temple and spiritual paradise ...
of whom God was incarnate and became a child
He made your body into a throne
and your womb He made more spacious than the heavens
All of creation rejoices in you
Oh Full of Grace, glory to you.

So, heaven was close that week. Saturday night I lovingly made tiramisu for the big party. But when I woke up Easter morning all I could think about was an Easter outfit that my baby girl would not wear today. I had nothing for her. This thought would not leave. I had to include her in our day. I decided late in the morning that I had to go to her grave immediately, an hour away. Gratefully Jimmy was willing to change the day's course with me. We hurriedly showered, dressed, and sat in Boston traffic with a potted pink hyacinth for our daughter's grave. Shane blew bubbles for her while we were there.

We left and sat in more traffic on the way to church, so much so that we missed the service alltogether and headed straight for the party. Within 5 minutes of our arrival a poor unsuspecting parishoner asked if I'd had the baby. For some reason, when I'm feeling especially vulnerable, this makes me mad. I held it together well enough to say "No, she died... They announced it in church weeks ago... It's OK, you didn't know ... thank you ..." endured the obligatory hug and made a beeline for the door. I did not set foot back in the house, fearing that this would happen again. I asked Jimmy's cousins to sit outside with me and protect me from all of the happy people. They did, adding several bottles of wine for insurance.

Today I am making invitations for my own party. They have an angel, a wedding couple, and a graduation cap on them. We will have a memorial service on May 15, followed by a celebration in honor of our daughter, our ten year wedding anniversary, and Jimmy's completing five years of school to become a journeyman electrician. It occurs to me that this is a strange mixture of honors. That some people may think it odd, even inappropriate to celebrate them all at once. This is the best part about the transformational process I've gone through recently: I don't care. Brynn is part of our family, our marriage, our life together. We have reason to celebrate! And so we shall.

Happy

A friend and I were laughing yesterday at my little essay on what I find helpful. She offered her insights. She said that people may feel like they are being dishonoring to Brynn by not being sad for her death. I thought that was interesting, but I totally disagree.

I think it honors Brynn to hear us laugh. Our pain is not helpful to her. When in the dregs of my deepest sorrows, I had a sense that I should be protecting my baby from my distress. Just in case she witnessed my tears, I would say aloud, "I just wanted you to stay with me. I just miss you."

It's in the happy moments that I feel closest to her. When I'm getting silly with Shane, or doing something nice for Jimmy. She has re-opened my eyes to her Dad. I feel more accountable to be good to him now. This honors Brynn.

I've been told that people will take their cues from me on how to be around me. Most of the time I feel like being happy. I hope that doesn't offend anyone.

The Leprosy of the Situation

"Perhaps the bereaved ought to be isolated in special settlements like the lepers."
C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed


In those first weeks, I was amazed myself at how well I was doing. I truly felt as though I was physically being upheld by Grace. Lately, it has felt like that grace was wearing off...

Post-partum hormones replaced my grace. Then, among other things, Jimmy's uncle died after a long battle with cancer. Out of love for my husband, and his family, I attended the services, though they sent me over the edge. It meant seeing large quantities of people that knew our baby had died. Quantities feeling so sad for us, and maybe wanting to hug me a little too hard and a little too long and squeeze tears out of me and perhaps a public sob. Too much public.

This event began a spiraling realization, fueled by crazy hormones, that my mere presence makes people sad and awkward. All those casual acquaintances in our neighborhood, at the bank, at the grocery store who saw me as pregnant, will want to know where the baby is. Then I have to retell the horror story that ruins their day, as evidenced by their expression. Then I feel sorry for doing this to them. And I feel like a leper.

Speaking of leprosy, no other entity has made me feel more like a leper than the professional support community. When you deliver someone's still born baby, you should send a card to the mom immediately, then call a few weeks later and a few weeks after that. You should make sure that there are support groups that actually meet and support contact people that actually call back. At the very least you should return said mom's calls and emails in a timely matter. Honestly.

The one counselor that did initially call back, did not keep her arranged subsequent phone appointment with me. When I called her this week, I gave her the benefit of the doubt, perhaps I misunderstood but I thought she was going to call me.

"I probably did say that," she said cooley, "And I just must have forgot. I'm apologizing."

And she was the best of the bunch!

OK. I've since discussed my disappointment with both of these ladies, and all is forgiven. People make mistakes, even when I really need them not to. In my midwife's previous experience, moms with losses don't want to hear from her. She is grateful to know that the system in place, which truthfully is hardly ever necessary, did not work for me. She kept saying "thank you." She is a good person.

Research has shown that doctors spend less time with their patients who are dying. Perhaps it's to spend more time with patients that have more of a chance. Perhaps it's because death to doctors has some stigma of professional failure. I think it's that most people are quite simply afraid of death.

But you know who isn't afraid of death? Those who have had near death experiences. In his book, Closer to the Light, Dr. Melvin Morse interviews children who have been so sick that they have lost heartbeats for several minutes. Their experiences during their time "outside" their bodies not only comfort me but inspire me. It seems that all we hope heaven to be has been confirmed. There are past relatives, there is a flooding of love and knowledge. There is the most powerful light, guardian angels and happiness. These kids can't wait to go back, and they all seem to be more content with their earthly life for their experience as well. My baby is there!

So, that helps me not to fear death. It's only hard for those of us left behind.