My marriage was built on grief.

26 Jan posted by

For us, our first loss happened about a year after we met, and we’d only been married a few months. It sort of defined our relationship in that grief and baby loss has always been a part of who we are as a couple.

We were stationed in Hawaii at the time, so just about as far away from our families as we could get, and had no choice but to rely on each other to get through it.  Well, I suppose we could have turned away from each other, but luckily we didn’t.  We shared our heartbreak, taking turns being the strong one (mostly him) and connected over our sadness.

Ultimately, I think it brought us closer together super fast.  We had been together just long enough for that honeymoon period to start wearing off- where suddenly the little quirks that were cute when you first met become annoying.   We went from the petty beginning of the relationship arguments like who does the dishes to burying our baby, so suddenly the small stuff didn’t seem like such a big deal.  It’s as if we totally skipped over that adjustment stage- I honestly can’t remember the last time we argued about something.

I feel like Raime was a catalyst in cementing our commitment to each other.  Because of her, we knew that we could rely on each other through anything.  I was never so sick in my life as I was when I was in the hospital for the week leading up to her birth, and Aaron was right there at my side the whole time, even when I wasn’t coherent.  That right there is true love.

I will never forget the look on his face when Raime was born and they handed her to him.  Just thinking about it breaks my heart- such love and pain and pride all at once.

While of course I wish it never happened, losing our baby in the beginning of our marriage gave us strength.  It brought us together, and instead of breaking us apart, our commitment to each other was fortified.

It seems unlikely- that a successful marriage could be built out of grief and loss, but it works for us.


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Filed Under: grief, loss

Long winded ramble about my thoughts on dead baby photos.

23 Dec posted by

I’ve read several articles online recently questioning why the Duggar’s would photograph their miscarriage.  I am sure you all have seen them too, even if you aren’t a fan of the family.  There are people calling it grotesque, morbid, disgusting.  I figured as a mother who has given birth to death twice now, I would share my opinion on the photos.

When I delivered Raime, I was 23 weeks pregnant.  She was measuring smaller though- about 19 or 20 weeks- due to the fact I had HELLP syndrome.  IUGR (intrauterine growth restriction) is very common in situations like mine.  After she was born, we held her, and looked her over from head to toe.  She was perfect, just too small to live outside the womb.  After we said our goodbyes, the nurse took her and photographed her, just like they do for healthy, live babies.  We didn’t ask for them to do this, they did it just in case we wanted the photos to look back on.

A lot has changed in the last ten years when it comes to pregnancy loss.  Back when I was first navigating my grief in 2001, I’d come across several memorial website for stillborn babies.  Many had a couple Polaroid photos of their baby, a few only hand and footprints taken.  The photos were clinical, almost like looking at medical textbooks or something.  Rough lighting, any imperfections glaringly obvious.  As much as we don’t like to think about it, the more time that elapses between the baby’s demise and delivery, the more… fragile the baby will be.   I have seen some photos that make me cringe, and I’m pretty insensitive to it compared to most.

But now, there are professional photographers that donate their time and services to bereaved families such as Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep.  Often shooting photos in black and white, as well has having the skills to know how to use lighting, angles and of course photo editing software to achieve the best possible results.  More times than not, you can’t even tell that the baby in the photo has passed away.

Back to the question of WHY.  Why would anyone even want a photo of a dead child?  I obviously can only answer for myself, but since I’ve been a baby loss mom for 10+ years now, and three times over, I think I’m pretty qualified.

When your baby is born dead, you’re left with nothing.  An empty crib, a closet full of baby clothes that won’t be needed, nine months of planning, preparations, and anticipation just gone.  For people on the outside, it’s not as tragic as those who experience it.  They say things like, ‘well you never got to know the baby anyway’ and ‘well at least it was now and not a few months/years down the line after you’d gotten all attached’.

But as the  mother carrying the baby, you ARE already attached.  Physically you are attached, as the baby is inside of you- and you know the baby’s personality through their movements and reactions to stimulus like music and the food you eat.  Not only that, but your entire future revolves around the little being you are carrying.  You’ve prepped a nursery, bought a car seat to bring the baby home in, made future plans that include the baby.  Oh NEXT Christmas we’ll have a 7 month old, how fun!

And then you find out your baby has died, and your whole world crumbles around you.  The only thing you have to show that the baby was real, and not some figment of your imagination is the photos.  You cling to them, this tangible proof that your baby existed in this world, however briefly.

My photos of Raime aren’t that great.  By the time the nurse took them, her skin was starting to darken.  She doesn’t really look the way I remember her.  I’ve shared them in the past, but lately I’ve only posted her hand or footprints.  The photos just aren’t that aesthetically pleasing.

I don’t have that issue with Elora, as she lived for almost 9 weeks before she died.   I have many photos of her while she lived, and didn’t feel the need to have any taken after she had passed away.

Connor’s stillbirth was much like Raime’s, in that he was very premature.  It was even more important for me to document it because Aaron was deployed.  The hospital arranged for a doula to come spend labor and delivery with me, so I wouldn’t have to be alone.  She took over 60 photos, and while many are not the sort I’d share, I wanted them taken for my own memories.   She captured a few beautiful photos and I am so grateful for them.  Instead  of the sterile, laying on a table photos like with Raime, I have sweet photos of his tiny baby feet and of me holding him that I feel comfortable sharing.

Is this photo disgusting? Morbid? Grotesque?

All of that said, I thought the photos that the Duggar’s shared were very tastefully done.   And for those out there who find photographing dead babies repulsive, I think until you give birth to death, you really can’t judge. When your child is stillborn, you have so little tangible proof that they existed in this world, and you cling to everything you have.

As for making the photos public, I can only share why I chose to do so.  When I first lost Raime, I scoured the internet to find other women who would understand, who were in the same situation. I found some memorial webpages, and reading their stories really helped me feel less alone. I contacted some of them and we still talk to this day. So I decided to share my story in a public webpage because if I can make just one woman feel less alone in her grief then it’s worth it to me.


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Filed Under: 1featured, about me, grief, loss

Fly, fly precious one your endless journey has begun

10 Dec posted by

I see talk everywhere online about Michelle Duggar’s recent miscarriage.   I was reading on a message board where people were saying she announced it way too early.  (I am referring to the pregnancy itself, not the loss).  She was about 15-16 weeks when she went on the Today show and made the news public.

Some are saying she should have waited until viability because of what happened with Josie. Others are saying that she waited the standard amount of time to tell, if not a bit more- as people often wait until they’re are out of the first trimester (12-13 weeks) since the risk of miscarriage decreases significantly then.

What are your views on announcing pregnancy?  Do you tell friends and family as soon as you see a positive test?  Do you wait until you see a heartbeat?  The first trimester is over?  Viability (24 weeks or so)?  Or do you just show up with a baby in your arms?

As for the loss itself, the Duggar family is planning a funeral/memorial for this baby.  She was approximately 19 weeks when they learned that there was no heartbeat.  Medically, it’s a miscarriage, not a stillbirth, but she will most likely have to labor and deliver this child.

What are your feelings on having a service for a baby of this gestation?


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Filed Under: grief, loss, question

I just wish I could have told him in the living years.

30 Nov posted by

Just a quick post right now… Ryan’s sick today.

First some words about the photo I posted for Wordless Wednesday- Aaron is on nights, and of course the kids miss their evening routines with Daddy.  Last night he came into my bedroom wearing Aaron’s cover, and later on fell asleep holding it.  I just had to capture it with a photo, it was so sweet.

Last night I received some really sad news- my grandfather died.  I’ve never lost a grandparent before, I grew up with all of them in my lives (and two extras!).  I know it’s a part of life.  I know that I am super lucky to have had 34 years with all of my grandparents, and that my children have had the opportunity to know their great grandparents.  But it’s still hard.  Living just a few hours away my entire childhood, I spent tons of time at his house.

Are your grandparents still alive?  If not, how old were you when you lost them?

 


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Filed Under: family, grief, loss

The Heartbreak of Infant Loss By Laura Schubert

16 Oct posted by

I wanted to share this article with you, in honor of October being Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month.  It’s so eloquently written, and really encompasses all that I’ve felt through the years.  Perhaps it will help explain infant loss to those fortunate enough not to have lived it better than I can.  I found it here.

Did you know that October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month? I’ll bet not. Despite the infant mortality crisis that’s been at the forefront of Milwaukee’s public health news for months, the only people who have more than a cursory comprehension of what it means to lose a baby are those who’ve lived it.

Infant loss is nature’s cruelest practical joke. It’s investing all of the required time and effort into pregnancy, only to be robbed of the result. It’s cradling a body that grew within your own and trying to reconcile the cold, lifeless form in your arms with your memory of the baby who turned double flips in your womb.

It’s worrying that you’ll forget what your child looked like and snapping an album’s worth of photos that no one will ever ask to see. It’s sobbing so hard you can’t breathe and wondering if it’s possible to cry yourself to death.

Infant loss is handing off a Moses basket to the nurse who’s drawn the unfortunate duty of delivering your pride and joy to the morgue and walking out of a hospital with empty arms.

It’s boxing up brand new baby clothes and buying a 24-inch casket. It’s sifting through sympathy cards, willing your foolish body to stop lactating, clutching your baby’s blanket to your chest in hopes of soothing the piercing ache in your heart.

It’s resisting the urge to smack the clueless individuals who compare your situation to the death of their dog or who tell you you’ll have another baby, as if children are somehow replaceable.

Infant loss is explaining to your 7-year-old that sometimes babies die and being stumped into silence when she asks you why. It’s watching other families live out your happy ending and fighting a fresh round of grief with every milestone you miss.

It’s being shut out of play groups for perpetuity. It’s skipping social events with expectant and newly minted mothers because, as a walking worst-case scenario, you don’t want to put a damper on the party.

It’s listening to other women gripe about motherhood and realizing that you no longer relate to their petty parental complaints because, frankly, when you’ve buried a baby, a sleepless night with a vomiting toddler sounds something like a gift.

Infant loss is pruning from your life the friends and relatives who ignore or minimize your loss. It’s recognizing that, while they may not mean to be hurtful, the fact that they don’t know any better doesn’t make their utter lack of empathy one whit easier to bear.

My baby girl would have been 5 years old this month. I don’t know what she’d look like, what her favorite food would be. I’ve never had the privilege of tucking her into bed, taking her to the zoo or kissing her boo-boos. I will never watch her graduate or walk down the aisle.

Infant loss is more than an empty cradle. It’s a life sentence.


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Filed Under: grief, loss
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