Feeling better, feeling guilty

Dear Leo,

I haven't written to you in a while. The truth is, I'm feeling better now. When I think of you, I don't feel sad that I lost you, I feel happy that I had you. I can cherish the 1 hour we spent together and feel ok. I'm holding on to that moment, I'm holding on tight; it was, after all, the only moment we had.

I am also feeling a little guilty for not being as sad, as broken as I was in the first few months after you left us. The pain I felt, was excruciating, but in a strange way, it was also comforting. It was a pain that came from love. Now, I don't feel that deep sharp pain anymore. It doesn't hurt as bad. I can go days without crying. I worry that this means that I'm moving on. I know I need to continue living, but I certainly don't want to forget you. 

This week, I couldn't remember how much you weighted when you were born. I can believe I have already forgotten that!   I am so afraid to forget more and more. I already don't have many memories to hold on to! 

I am so grateful for all the pictures and videos we have of you. 

Going to Group

Dearest angel Leo,

Yesterday I went for my second "Parent Support Group" meeting. The sessions always evoke a mix of emotions for me. On one hand, it feels so good to talk about you to people who truly listen and truly understand how much this hurts. On the other hand, it breaks my heart every time I hear about someone else's loss.

In a way, I'm glad I'm not alone in this. It brigs me comfort to know that others have gone through a loss and that they are able to carry on. But I am learning about the million things that can go wrong during pregnancy. The million reasons women like me lose a child and leave the hospital with empty arms. And gosh, there are so many women like me! So many!

Our stories are all different. We come from different paths of life...paths that normally would have never crossed. Some of us wanted to get pregnant, while others were surprised. Some had easy pregnancies, others struggled. Some were married, divorced, single. We are all so different. Unfortunately, our different stories all have the same ending: a dead baby.

I am just so confused about how this can happen so often. We always hear about child mortality rates going down, doctors being able to save babies who are born at 22 weeks of gestation, all the technological advances in medicine. Why, why is this still happening? Why did I have to lose my precious little boy? I just don't understand.

I don't wish this to anyone and I am so afraid that I might experience it again. But despite all the pain, the agony, the sadness, I'm grateful to have had you Leo. I feel blessed to be your mom and I love you. I would rather have you and lost you, then to never have had you at all. 

My Baby Died

I am happy to have an outlet like this to express myself…but I hate that I need this, I hate that I have a reason to come here and write about my story.

I have told my story so many times already. Sometimes I feel I’m reciting a script; the same words, the same intonations, and of course, the same ending. I went into labor at 23 weeks, I held my child, a beautiful baby boy, for 1 hour and he passed away in my arms. I heard his voice, I saw him smile, but I never saw his eyes. He couldn't open them yet. He never saw me. I never fed him, I never dressed him, I never told him I love him. But I’m grateful for the 1 hour that we spent together.

I can recite this to friends and family and keep it together. What I cannot say though is “my baby died”. Those three words, those very simple words, are so hard to say. They are so matter of fact, so direct, so real. They are horrifying.

Often, this whole thing seems like a dream. It happened so fast. My son’s birth and death happened within the same hour. But that hour, was not difficult. In fact, it was the most beautiful hour of my life. I gave birth to our first child and as scary as the minutes preceding his birth were, holding him felt like an incredible gift. It’s the hours, days, weeks, months after his passing that are a nightmare.

I remember the weekend after Leonardo’s birth. It had been four days. Most new parents, at that point, are feeding, bathing, changing their new baby. They’re watching their child sleep, complaining about their own lack of sleep, and probably a little overwhelmed by it all. But not us. Four days after our son’s birth, my husband and I were heading to the funeral home to make arrangements for our baby’s cremation. We had never been to a funeral before; our son’s funeral was going to be our first funeral.  

On our way to the funeral home, looking through the car window, I saw the world go on: people walking around the city, enjoying the sunny Saturday, having fun, carrying on with their lives. It made me angry. How can the world go on? How can these people be walking around as if nothing had happened? I know I can't expect the world to stop because of my loss...I know that is not rational. But my world had collapsed and it felt unreal to see that the world had not changed all.

It’s been almost two months since I lost my precious Leo. Some days, I feel like I can do this. I can think of my baby boy and smile. I can remember holding him in my arms and find comfort in that memory. But then, there are days when things are just so tough. People tell me that I'll be ok. But in which world is losing your baby ok?

New Normal

Dear Leo,

I tried going back to normal after you left us, but the truth is, things will never be the same. I will not be the same. I need to find a 'new normal', a place where I feel comfortable and a place where I can live happily, despite the fact that you weren't able to live.

I am faced with many tough choices lately. Should I be just as friendly to those who have let me down during the hardest period of my life? These friends that I have, who haven't called me to ask me how I am, who haven't sent flowers nor a note. Who haven't even said a few comforting words. Should I keep them around? Or should I distance myself? I feel so hurt by their actions, or lack thereof. I know that many just don't know how to act, but all I wanted was for them to be good friends.

What should I do with family members who have disappointed me? Of course I don't want to distance myself from family, but I don't know if I can just let this go. Why haven't some family members called me yet. It's been over 2 months that you passed away. Why have they been calling my parents or in-laws instead of my husband and I? How can they send me Christmas cards with the pictures of their kids and babies on it, knowing that I'm spending a Christmas mourning my baby?

I can't go back to normal after all this. Things will forever be different. 

So naive

I sometimes feel pretty stupid for sharing my pregnancy with others. I was so excited, so happy. I did this whole thing where I announced my pregnancy through fortune cookies. And to my parents and in-laws, we waited for them to come visit and video-taped the announcement. I made such a huge deal out of it. Finally, it was my turn to be a beautiful pregnant woman and a soon-to-be-mom. And what do I have to show for it, but a broken heart?

It's like those times when you're excited to share to the world that you will do something great: 'I'm going back to school" or "I'll run a marathon" and then something happens, you don't do it and you feel like a loser, a failure.

That's how I feel now. I did wait about 18-20 weeks before I started telling people I was pregnant. I didn't want to share the big news and then have a miscarriage during the precarious first 3 months.  I thought I was in the clear after that 3-month mark. I thought all was good. How could I be so naive?

What will happen next time I'm pregnant? Should I even share the news before I hear my baby cry? Will I enjoy my pregnancy or constantly be praying for 'just one more day' until I finally hit the 40-week mark? As much as I look forward to being pregnant again, I'm nervous. I've read about so many women who have had multiple losses...now I know not to say "this won't happen to me". The truth is, it could happen to me, heck, it HAS happened to me.

Giving birth is such a natural process, millions of women have done it. Why couldn't I get it right? 

Hope of Being a Parent Again

Dearest Leo,

I thought the holidays would be tough, but your dad and I ran away to Hawaii again and that was just lovely. It was good to be away, to not really celebrate and to not be around people who knew what we had gone through.

During our trip, we returned to the Hindu Monastery and talked to many of the monks there. Such wise and loving men they are! One of them, specializes in astrology. While reading my stars, he said he can see children in our future. He said that it will be a very active child. I typically don't believe in these things, but when I heard those words, I couldn't help but to shed a few tears of joy and relief. It gives me hope that one day I will be able to be a mother for more than just one hour. 

Last night, I dreamed of holding a baby girl, my baby girl. Everyone was amazed at how beautiful she was. Then, really quickly, I saw the same little girl, but a little older. She was rushing to brush her teeth because she wanted to go play. Then I told her that she has to brush for a whole 2 mins, and I stood there, watching her brush. It's the first time I dream of a child - I sure hope that is a sign.

I hurt because I love

Dear Leo,

I know so many people who have lost a loved one this year. 2013 has been a tough one for many. Today, after speaking to a good friend of mine who recently lost her aunt to cancer, I started thinking more deeply about death.

We all know that our lives will end. We all know that death doesn't spare any of us. Yet, when it happens, it is so difficult to accept it. We are sometimes surprised, even though we knew it was bound to happen eventually. We are often angry, saddened, broken. If death means you finally go to heaven, then it's a blessing for the person who passed away. But it is incredibly harsh, painful, unfair for those of us who have to stay on earth and live on.

What I realized today is that death is only painful because of love. If I didn't love you so deeply, so truly, so earnestly, your absence wouldn't hurt me as much as it does right now. Love is a beautiful thing. It grows, it flourishes and it persists. It knows no boundaries. Isn't it simply amazing that so many people love you so much, even though you've only lived for one hour? Even though many have never met you? Isn't it simply amazing that I love you more every single day that goes by, even though you're not here with me?

I am still struggling with your death. It's still very difficult for me to say the words "my baby died". It pains me to know that I'm a mother with no baby, that I came home from the hospital with empty arms. But it only hurts because I love you so much. And that, in a way, is the most beautiful thing of all.

Running away doesn't stop the pain

Dear Leo,

Before you were born, your father and I had planned a trip to Hawaii in December; I would have been 6 months pregnant by then. Many of our friends asked if that was our 'baby moon'. I guess you could call it that - the last trip before our lives are completely changed by your presence. Instead, it became the first trip after our lives were completely changed by your absence.

We did end up going to Hawaii and we took your ashes with us. Not exactly what I had in mind for a baby moon....Although during the whole trip I was thinking how everything seemed to happen in a timely manner. You were born and passed away in late October. The weeks between then and our trip to Hawaii were tough. But I have to say, that running away to a paradise like Hawaii did wonders to us. It was wonderful to just focus on enjoying life, spending so much time with your dad, soaking the sun, lying on the beach, being active. I must confess that at times, I even forgot the nightmare we're living and that was wonderful.

Your ashes wrapped in banana
leaves and decorated with Hawaiian flowers

We spread your ashes in a sacred river in Kauai called the Wailua River (the world wailua means 'two waters' in Hawaiian). We had a ceremony by the beach at sunrise. We put your ashes on banana leaves, placed flowers all around it, wrapped it up, lit a flame right on top of the banana leaf and placed it in the water, right where the river meets the Pacific ocean. It was beautiful Leo. It was so serene, peaceful, meaningful. We watched the river take you, then we watch the ocean take you. Your ashes rode the waves and headed east. We watched until we couldn't see the burning flame anymore.

As I look back, it seems like the whole purpose of the trip was to have your ashes spread there, in the Wailua river. I'm not sure if God planned it this way...did God know that shortly after losing you, we would need to run away? Did he know that Kauai would be the place to spread your ashes? Did he plan it all knowing that Kauai has a temple that is very meaningful to your dad?

It did feel like the trip healed us...but coming back home was harsh. As soon as I came back, so did the sorrow, so did the pain, so did the tears.

Your dad and I watching the waves take
your ashes away. 

What to Say to Someone Who Has Lost a Baby

Losing a baby, no matter how young or how small, is a painful experience. Unfortunately, not a lot of people understand how much it hurts, how much it changes you. When your baby dies, a part of you dies as well and no matter how many days, weeks, years go by, you will never get over it. 

I know that friends, families, colleagues, neighbors, coworkers mean well and try to say and do the right things. Often they don't, but that's because they don't know what they should do, what they should say and more importantly, what they shouldn't say.

I belong to a number of support groups for parents who have lost an infant either through miscarriage, still birth, or who have lost their child a few hours/days after delivery. I asked them what they wish people had done and said to them. I hope this helps you as you try to comfort a loved one who is living through this nightmare. 

DO say something. There are no words that can alleviate the pain, but do say something, even if it's "I don't know what to say". What matters the most is knowing that people you care about are thinking of you. So try saying "we're thinking of you and your family" or "we are so sorry for your loss" or "we love you and we're here for you". If you're really at a loss for words, just listen to the grieving parents and offer them a hug. But please, don't pretend nothing has ever happened - that is usually really hurtful.

DO help the grieving parents. Many people say "let me know if you need anything", but the reality is, grieving parents rarely know what they need and they're not thinking about food nor about any other typical household chores. It's more helpful to say "I'm coming over with some lasagna" or "I'll come over and clean up while you rest" or "I'll stop by to drop some groceries". We had some friends call a bunch of religious establishments to find a priest that could perform our son's funeral, others brought us food, others came over just to listen to me. All these actions were  helpful and it meant a lot to us. 

DO attend the funeral, memorial or any other type of service honoring the child’s life. Attending the funeral shows you care and support, and your recognition that this baby was unique and loved, even if she or he didn't live long. This will be the only thing you'll ever be asked or able to do for the baby. Your presence means a lot to the parents. If you can't attend the funeral, send a letter or note.

DON'T tell the parents not to cry. Crying is a way of expressing grief and it typically makes people feel better. The smallest thing might trigger tears, so don't try to understand what caused it. It might be uncomfortable for you to watch a loved one cry, but don't stop them from doing so. What should you do if  grieving parents cry in front of you? Hold their hands, give them a hug, offer your shoulder to cry on or cry with them. 

DON'T say "You can always have another baby." I've had people say to me "you're young, you'll have another child." While I'm relieved that I will be able to be a mother again, having another baby will not replace the one I lost. Saying "you can have another" is not encouraging, in fact, it diminishes the mother's pain. If a parent lost a 10-year old child, you wouldn't say "you can have another" because kids are not replaceable...well, neither are babies. 

DON'T say "Everything happens for a reason." I am a big believer that things do happen for a reason, but after I lost my baby boy, I started hating this platitude. What could possible be the reason for having my baby die in my arms? Also avoid saying things like "it's for the best", "your baby is in a better place", "it was God's plan" or "things will be OK". 

DON'T say "At least you already have a child." Parents are grateful for the children they already have, but this does not eliminate or lessen the pain they feel by the lost of their baby and for the dreams they had for that child. They will forever think about how their living children would have had another sibling and how there will always be someone missing in their family. 

DON'T say "At least you weren't further along." Many women already love their baby, even before he or she is born. While some don't feel very attached to their baby during pregnancy, everything changes when they hold their little one in their arms. It doesn't matter how far along you are, your baby is your child and this child has died and that is a horrifying experience. 

DON'T say "Get over it". Do not pressure the parents to move on. Grief is a complicated emotion that takes time to process. Many of the women whom I have spoken to are still grieving, even after 5, 10, 20 years, even after having other children. Understand that, although the parents might slowly return to normal, the pain of losing a child will forever be present. There's no real way to get over it. 

DON'T say "I understand how you feel". Most of us have gone through the loss of a parent, a sibling, a grandparent, a pet, a dream. Although those are all painful and difficult experiences, they are not the same as losing your baby. Please don't say you understand how the grieving parent feels unless you have gone through a similar experience. And if that is the case, then please say so. It is helpful to talk to someone who truly understands. 

DON'T avoid the parents. Despite the confusion and blinding grief in the weeks following my own pregnancy loss, I remember every single person who acknowledged my loss -- and the notable silence of those who did not. Some of the grieving mothers to whom I talked to, mentioned feeling abandoned and alone after their loss because their family and friends started avoiding them. When I returned to work, I felt my coworkers were acting as if I had an infectious disease...many were afraid to even look me in the eye. Don't stop calling or visiting the grieving parents because you're uncomfortable or because you don't know what to say. Call, even if it's just for 1 minute and say you love them, say you care, offer your help.  Don't worry about reminding them of their baby or their pain. Trust me, they haven't forgotten that their baby died.  

DO talk about the baby. When a new baby is born, everyone asks you question about how your baby is, how labor went...but when your baby dies, no one says a word. I wish they didn't assume that I didn't want to talk about it. In fact, I love talking about my baby boy. Women in my support group also say that they enjoy talking about the dreams they had for their baby and showing pictures of their child. Also, if the baby has a name, do call him or her by his/her name. It makes it real and lets me know that others acknowledge his existence. 

DO listen and check in. We received many flowers, condolences cards and had so much support from friends and family the first few weeks after my baby's passing, but then, everyone moves on and assumes we are doing fine. But it can take several years for a mother and father to feel "resolved" over the death of their baby. I can't say how touched I feel when I receive an email or phone call from a friend who asks me "how are you guys doing now?" It shows me that they care and understand that the pain hasn't dissipated. 

DO be sensitive. Some women don't feel ready to attend parties, holiday festivities or baby showers. Some find it difficult to be around children, pregnant women and babies. Be sensitive to them and to their needs. Don't force or guilt-trip them into going out, attending events or being around your kids. And please, don't take it personally. It's not about you, it's about them needing more time to heal. 

DO remember. Parents who have lost their babies don't have many memories to cherish, but their baby is still their child. Do remember the baby's birthday and death anniversary. Typically, those tend to be difficult days for the grieving parents and any love/support you can offer will mean the world to them. 

Sadness is an Ever-Present State

Leo,

Every time I feel I'm doing a little better, I fall back into the abyss.

Many things happened today that made me angry, sad, hurt. But I think that what is hurting me the most is knowing that at exactly this time, 4 weeks ago, I was in the emergency room, not knowing what was going on. Not knowing what was going to happen to you.

Four weeks ago. So much has changed since that day.

I went to work today, but I probably shouldn't have. I am constantly surprised at how painful grieving can be. I never know when sadness will take over. I'm never prepared for it. Today, at around 2pm, I couldn't stay at my desk anymore. I grabbed my jacket and walked out. I took a walk on a trail nearby. It's a beautiful day today. It's a little crisp outside, but the sky is blue, the sun is shinning. Tears were coming down my face as I walked. I needed to find a little private space where I could just let it all out.

I found a bench near the water and sat there. The sun was shinning on my face, it felt wonderful. It felt like a warm hug. I just sat there, Leo, and wept. Every time I was ready to get up and leave, I felt another wave of tears surface. I sat there for about 30 minutes. I don't think I was thinking of anything in particular. You don't need to think to be sad. Sadness is an ever-present state. It's just there. You can bury it, hide it, ignore it...but it will find its way out and you just need to acknowledge it. That's what I did today. I sat on that bench in the park and dealt with the sorrow, the pain, the loss. I sat on the bench and cried my heart out.