Look at all the babies

(Topic: Grief vs. other people's pregnancies/babies)

Dear Friends,

Lately, I feel like every single person I know is having a baby - including about half my grief group members, local friends, Facebook friends, and even our favorite waitress at the diner we go to every week. This, itself, has been hard for me, but then - Princess Kate had her new little one too. Babies everywhere, and none for me.

I'm on a number of pregnancy and infant loss Facebook groups, and many of them pass around information, news articles, and blog posts that are relevant to current events. Mostly, it ends up being about people who have a loss or who advocate for those who do, but occasionally there are posts that end up specifically addressed to members of the loss community. When Princess Kate stood beautifully for the cameras holding a lace-wrapped princely bundle, a post came out addressed to moms - like me - for whom that image is painful. I'd like to share the link here, for those of you who are interested: https://www.mamamia.com.au/sad-about-royal-baby-news/

[I'm not including an image of the royal family here. It would be too hard for me to see]

The thing is, I'm not sad for the Princess - I'm happy for her. I'm happy her baby is healthy, and, more simply, alive. I'm happy that she has a new little one to cuddle and love and care for. But I'm so insanely jealous it hurts, and seeing her picture (and those of my friends on Facebook) makes the emptiness in my arms that much more tangible. I'm happy for my friends, I'm happy for the grief group members who are growing their own rainbow babies*, and I'm happy for my waitress, too. But I'm sad for myself, for my empty arms, and for my broken heart.

But the thing is, I also feel sorry for the Princess: I wish she had private time to recover, and to snuggle and enjoy. I wish that birth and death were more respected by the media, and given more private space. Plus, I can't help thinking about the terrible outcomes that didn't happen: What plans did the royal advisors have in place if something went wrong? Would the media have been told to back off? I hope so.These are the thoughts that occur to me, and I know that, because of similar thoughts, some who have further children after a loss decide to hold off on a baby shower or similar preparation, because we don't know that it will turn out ok. Others decide to make the most of the time they have, and do ALL the celebration - because they want good memories, even if things turn out badly. I don't know where I fall, yet, because I'm not going through it, yet. It seems to be very personal, which way people lean.

Another reason that it hurts so much to see the Princess, smiling, with her third little one in her arms; and the reason I sometimes unfollow friends on Facebook with small children; and the reason I cried at the diner; is that I'm hoping so hard, wishing so hard, to have another little one of my own. We want to give Charlie a little brother or sister, and we also want the experiences of being a diaper-changing mama and papa, because that is what we were hoping for with Charlie. With Charlie, we got turned into a memory-keeping mama and papa - which is a very important job - but that was not what we had been picturing. We'd like to reapply for the diaper job, please!

I'd like to try to describe what it feels like, sometimes, when I see a picture. I'm not sure I can completely capture it... When I see good news of someone's baby, a birth announcement, a carseat picture on the way home from the hospital, or just a cute wee one in mama's arms, the first thing I feel is a knot in my stomach. Over time I've learned that it is a knot of sad, which often only unravels with tears. I see the picture, and I see what I don't have, but twice: what I never got with Charlie, and what I don't yet have with a next child. The next thing I feel is hate, for the mother (not hating the mother herself, mind you). As that passes, I realize that it isn't hate, just really strong jealousy. And then I usually look away, scroll more, or change my activity, because it is too painful, sometimes, to be faced with what I don't have. Sometimes I cry.

There are many people dealing with loss, or infertility, or other related issues, who may not be able to view the joy of someone else's baby with the expected happiness. I only know it from my own perspective, that of a prior loss but with the possibility of a future child or children. I cling to hope. But sometimes it still hurts.

Yours,

Sarah


* Some terms to know that are commonly used in the pregnancy/infant loss community:

• Sunshine baby (a child before the loss)
• Angel baby (the loss - I have also seen "star baby" though I don't see it often)
• Rainbow baby (after the loss, which is the "rain", comes the rainbow - and you can't have a rainbow without first having rain)

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Resource list: Visit my spreadsheet at www.tinyurl.com/infantloss

My Memory Gap

My Memory Gap

The First 6 Months After Loss

There's a funny thing I've noticed. We are now at just over 1-1/2 years since Charlie died, and our lives go on being lives, even while we miss him. We travel, we work, we keep house, we even moved. But I have noticed something: for me, the time since he died is very much divided into chunks. The first 6 months, when things were very hard; the second set of 6 months, where I was figuring things out; and then the most recent six months, where I am still dealing with things, but some semblance of normalcy has come back. Today I'll focus on the first 6 months, with the accompanying gaps in my memory.

The first 6 months

 In the first six months, it felt like life was a bit of a whirlwind. "Everything" was happening: Charlie died, we planned his funeral, we held his funeral, we wrote thank you cards for the flowers and gifts, we planned his headstone, Hubby started a new job, we moved... It just seemed like a lot changed. But it wasn't just the physical aspects that changed, nor just the tasks that we added to our plate. There were also things taken away, that we had to adjust to, like the roles we had been planning to fill.

Looking back at those six months, there seems to be a fog over the whole thing. I remember certain pieces vividly, but others are a blur. I can't remember most of who came to the funeral (though I am thankful for each and every person who did), and it took me a long time to remember what we did for Christmas: which side of the family we were with, which church we went to, which traditions we did. And for much of the in-between times, I would have to really dig to see if I can remember what was going on.

It's not that I have an amnesia. It's just that my brain and my emotion/heart were dealing with something more important than everyday life. Figuring out grief, where it was inside me, what it meant to me, how I was going to incorporate it into my self: these were much more important issues than making memories of details like what was going on in our day-to-day lives. We thought we were managing well, getting things organized and achieved, but in reality we were going day by day and moment by moment much more than we had the brainpower to realize.

Figuring out who we were, within these new circumstances, also took a lot of mental and emotional energy. Were we parents? The answer was yes, but how were we parents? What was our job, now? One of the things I struggled with was housework - and eventually (after the first 6 months) I realized that part of the reason I had trouble getting it done, was that I'd been picturing having my child in a carrier or eventually helping me out, as I did chores. In fact, I feel more like doing housework when I babysit than when I actually have time to clean.

In those first months, after we had a place for Charlie, and after we'd moved and established things like how we'd visit his grave, and after I'd gotten the house into some form of a livable space, I seem to remember going through a tougher time - like the busyness had worn off as a distraction, and moving and unpacking was no longer a distraction, and then I HAD to deal with our new circumstances, and with missing Charlie, and also missing what he would have been. And Hubby also had some moments when his job had him in contact with newborns, where he also really struggled. We leaned on each other a lot, early on.

For those of you going through something like this right now: In my experience, I found ways to incorporate our loss into living, and while at first the grief was such a heavy burden, in time, I don't know if it got lighter, or I got stronger, or I just found a better way to carry it: but I find the grief doesn't overwhelm me nearly as often or nearly as much. I still love Charlie just as much, and miss him just as much, but I grieve him differently, and have found my own ways to honor and remember him, while finding ways to live and move to new ventures and new identities as well.

Love to all of you reading this. I hope that blessings find you, silver linings catch your eye, and you find things to live for even in the darkness.

💕
Sarah

BLAAAAAH

BLAAAAAH

No Motivation, No Get Up and Go

Dear Friends,

One of the stupidest and most frustrating "symptoms" of grief, for me and in my experience, is when I have days where doing anything seems like so much effort that it's not worth it. Not quite to the scale of debilitating depression, because I do get out of bed, and get ready, but then I just mope around the house and don't feel like starting anything.

These days come less and less often. Sometimes they have a reason, like if I was upset the day before, or something is on my mind. But sometimes, if there is a reason, I don't know what it is.

I will usually still get things done, like maybe doing the dishes, or writing something here, or helping a fellow loss-mama on Facebook, but I don't do much throughout the day, and usually nothing that involves physical effort, major mental effort, or any sort of decision-making.

What is frustrating, to me, is that I can see that I'm doing it, that I'm not starting anything, that I'm not getting anything done. It's not a sad day, where I need to take time for myself, either, I just don't even know what I want. And I can't figure out what to do that day, either to fill the time or to get myself out of the mopey mood.

Like I said, as time goes on, these days become fewer, for which I am grateful.

Yours,

Sarah

Breastfeeding vs. Male Entitlement

So just recently, a friend of mine had an experience that made me upset (and her more so). She was told by a relative, who had not said anything prior to this, that breastfeeding in "public" (in this case, at his home) was not ok. Could she please be more discreet and do it in another room?

This troubles me on several levels. These are not listed in any particular order.

First of all, satisfying the male.
Second, removing the act from view, and non-normalization
Third, isolating the mother.
Fourth, ignoring the child's needs.
Fifth, making their protest age-dependent.

First: Satisfying the male.

Breastfeeding, by its very nature, is something only a woman can do. There might be isolated medical cases you can cite to the contrary, but under normal conditions, only a woman can do it. I believe that it is this reason, similar to menstruation, female orgasm, and masturbation, --- in other words, things that might be uncomfortable for a late 19th century male to think about --- that breastfeeding is a semi-taboo topic in our western American culture, and why, in our culture, we ALLOW men to "feel uncomfortable" around breastfeeding. And - here's the kicker - we allow that discomfort to tell us what to do. Why should a man's discomfort take precedence over the health and well-being of a child? A man would not force a 5 year old to drink apple juice in another room because "apple juice for a child makes him uncomfortable". The child needs fluids, and if the mother and father decide that their child needs a meal, or a drink, or other PARENTAL CARE - than it is not in the purview of another man to whine about their parenting and to force them to do it his way.

Second: Removing the act from view, and non-normalization.

If we persist in saying yes to these requests to satisfy these males' slight discomfort, and hide breastfeeding away in special "breastfeeding rooms" and bathrooms and bedrooms and under covers, then people don't get used to it. If people won't get used to seeing it, they won't get used to the idea that breastfeeding is a normal - in fact, the normal - way to feed children. It is ideal, in so many ways there is not room to list them all. Biologically, even the best formula doesn't live up to the adaptability of breastmilk, and the closeness and emotional stability nursing gives the child. So why do we not consider it to be the best way, and all others are good options for when breastfeeding is not possible, for whatever reason?

Third, isolating the mother.

By asking the mother to move, rather than letting her choose time, location, and level of coverage, the mother is left out of many activities and ends up very alone. If the mother chooses, then it is her choice, and she may be using the nursing time to have some quiet/alone time - and that's fine. But if it is forced on her, it becomes unwanted solitude. This is not fair to the mother, who is part of the society and community in which she is nursing, especially if it is her family or in-laws. And it is not fair to the child, either, especially if they are slightly older, since they learn that their way of eating, connecting with mom, and they themselves, are not welcome.

Fourth, ignoring the child's needs.

If a child has been raised as a breastfed child, no person (or man's) discomfort or request can take away that this is how the child is used to being fed, comforted, and hydrated. To make the request that the mother nurse the baby in another room could potentially cause the mother to put off the nursing session and delay the child's needs. This is not fair to do to the child.

Fifth, making their protest age-dependent.

This is a fascinatingly culturally dependent objection. Many people in the United States have come to realize that nursing for the first 6 months to 1 year is recommended by the medical community and may be a very good idea. What many Americans do not realize is that in many other cultures it is perfectly normal to breastfeed into toddlerhood, and not only gives them a healthy, safe food, it also gives them the haven of Mommy to come back to periodically while exploring the world. This makes the child more confident in their explorations and sure of themselves, if they have a safety net. The U.S. is not used to this idea. Unfortunately, many people - particularly males, interestingly - act ok with small babies breastfeeding, but start to act uncomfortable when the child gets older. However, the benefits to mother and child DO NOT CHANGE just because the child passes a birthday. The mother and child will wean when that mother and that child are ready. And it is NEVER the purview of a non-parent to object to the parenting choices of others.

PLEASE, friends, support all nursing moms. They are trying to give their babies the best, and do not need an entitled male to make the difficult job of parenting even harder.

Oh, and by the way: it's LEGAL, in all PUBLIC SPACES, in OHIO. So if anyone tells you you can't, at a place like a library, a mall, a restaurant, a park, etc: tell them that it actually is your right per Ohio Revised Code § 3781.55. So there.

Most sincerely yours,
~ Sarah

Infant loss resource document: www.tinyurl.com/infantloss