|
|
Some Thoughts On The Loss Of A Child: A Collection
A Birthday Message To My Special Angel
Dear Rhiannon Roxane,
Tomorrow, February 1, you would have been two years old. But you are forever frozen in time at one month old, 31 days. What would you have been like? Would your dark hair have been wavy or straight? Would your beautiful eyes have been brown, hazel, green, or even blue ? Would you have been running under my feet at this moment and driving me crazy with your toddler energy? Or would you have been a quieter child, content to sit and observe and learn?
I will never know. And these, my sisters in sorrow, at SPALS [Subsequent Pregnancy After Loss ML], they too will never know. Perhaps they never held their special angels in their arms, as I have. Perhaps they don't even know the little things I will have to remember of you, your sweet smile, your baby sounds, your cry, your obvious love and affection for me, for your Dad, and for your big sister, which you can see, even in the one roll of film I have, which is all I have, to prove you were ever on this earth .
You were here though, however brief your stay with us. You were here, and we are changed immeasurably by your presence, by your love. We are changed, because you were alive. There is another baby in your crib now. There is another dark haired baby who smiles sweetly, beaming joyously, a smile lighting up her entire face, just the way yours did. On February 7, she will be three months old, so in a few days, she will already have spent triple the time on earth that you did. Is she a sister who would never have lived at all, except that you aren't here now? Is she your spirit, come back to finish the life you never got to live? Do I diminish the beauty of this new baby who I love so much, by even hoping that somehow, a little of you survives in her?
Again, I don't know. As I have said to your big sister, Myrna, Life doesn't come with an Answer Book, just a lot of questions. I know only what I feel:
Gratitude, that you were in our lives, however briefly;
Sadness, for not being able to watch you grow;
Love that will never perish, till the end of time itself.
Happy birthday, sweetie. I wish I could kiss your rosy cheek again, but I can't. So this will have to do. God bless you, and God bless all the Special Angels who have touched their mothers' lives.
To Rhiannon Roxane with love from your Mum, Pandora-----------------Sunday, January 31, 1999
On Re-grieving:
Another Baby Helps...But Not The Way You Might Think
From: "Pandora Diane Waldron"
Date: Sun, 10 Jan 1999 22:43:59 -0500
Subject: [SPALS:11937] Another Baby Helps...But Not The Way You
Might Think
This was originally sent to SPALS on Christmas Day, but somehow, never reached the list, so I am re-posting it.
A belated Happy New Year to one and all, and warmest hugs to all of you, who are sadly remembering the little ones you hoped could be with you, during the holiday season, a time so special to families.
My healthy baby Madoka is now two months old, and getting me up every three hours for breastfeeding, which is why I started writing this at the keyboard at 4:30 AM Christmas morning.
How little this new Mum complains about the missed sleep, the noisy crying that wakes up her older 12 year old daughter, Myrna, as well as me! My DH, as usual, goes on sleeping--when he's tired, he can sleep through a hurricane ;p
[If you're wondering about the name, Madoka means *tranquil* in Japanese, and is taken from a character in a subtitled Japanese cartoon called Kimagure Orange Road which my older daughter Myrna and I both like. Madoka is a common given name for Japanese girls.]
A little voice inside me reminds me, "Dead babies don't need feeding in the night, and dead babies never cry or get fussy or colicky." A grim reminder, but one that paradoxically, has me cheerful while my Madoka is squalling her head off. I know that many of you haven't ever had the experience of a live baby's demands, and for that, my heart goes out to you.
In my case, for those who don't know my story, in March 1997, at 31 days old, my baby Rhiannon Roxane suddenly stopped breathing in my arms as I was burping her at 3 AM. The unofficial cause of death-- the autopsy never found an *official* cause-- was SIDS. My family doctor asked me if I wanted to buy an apnea monitor for this baby. I thought about it, and said to myself, "No, I won't give myself false security. If my baby is going to die like that, I don't think anyone but God can intervene. Nor will I worry so much over this baby, that I can't enjoy her.
But all the same, each time she is in her crib, or her baby seat, asleep, if I can't hear her breathing, I come by and look at Madoka, wait for signs of movement in her chest, and if I don't see that, even the warmth of her body doesn't reassure me. The only thing that reassures me is to touch her, till she startles a little in her sleep, and moves a bit. Then only do I feel reassured.
When Madoka reached one month old on December
7th, the same age my sweet Rhiannon was, when I lost her, I
couldn't help but feel edgy all day, and on into the night, as if
I believed my time was now up with her. I found myself ready to
cry at the slightest thing too. My DH, though he said nothing,
got very upset when, after a feeding in the middle of the night,
I wanted to put Madoka back in her crib.
He was angry with me, saying she should stay in the bed with us,
otherwise she'd cry. But I was exhausted, partially because I'd
been on edge all day, I suspect. MY DH banged his fist into the
mattress in frustration, though he reluctantly let me put Madoka
back in her crib. I realized afterwards, that the one month
anniversary of death had gotten to him, too.
One more thing I notice--we both keep calling Madoka *Rhiannon*
instead of her given name. It's as if we want her so badly to be
the baby we lost so soon, that the name slips out--and I nearly
typed in Rhiannon, just now. I couldn't help it :( This tendency
on our parts is helped by the fact that Madoka, except for being
almost 2 pounds heavier [she was full-term while Rhiannon was 8
months], and much stronger and with a lusty, not delicate, cry,
is a dead ringer for Rhiannon in appearance.
Rhiannon's newborn nursery photo still sits on the mantelpiece in
our living room, and if you didn't know it, you'd think the
photograph was of Madoka.
The resemblance between the sisters who will never, never meet,
gave me an idea for memorializing Rhiannon. I received a scanner
from my mother for my birthday on December 18, and I decided to
scan Rhiannon's
nursery photo next to Madoka's, as one
JPG file, which I will e-mail to anyone who would like a copy.
When I saw those two faces, so alike, side by side, somehow, I
felt immeasurably better. Madoka is the bigger baby with the
rainbow background, Rhiannon, the smaller, with the pink
background behind her.
So does having a healthy baby help the grief? Yes, it does, but
not quite in the way you might think. You hold your baby close,
and as she does something, or looks like the baby you lost, oh so
vividly, you remember your lost little angel again, and you feel
that pain afresh.
I realized after a while, that we still have so much grief inside
us that we couldn't let go of, until we had Madoka. It is not so
much that the empty space in your heart is filled, for one child
can never replace another, but that you can grieve a little more,
and in grieving, experience a relief from all that pent-up pain
that you didn't even realize was still there.
When I put Madoka in some of the sleepers Rhiannon had worn, it
was a bittersweet experience. It felt good to see a live baby in
them, after all, and yet, I found myself asking, "Why
couldn't I keep them both? Why couldn't Rhiannon be a sweet
toddler now, watching her new sister with awe?" When
yesterday, Madoka grew out of the smallest sleeper, the only one
which fitted Rhiannon's tiny birdlike body perfectly, I felt
good--it was a rite of passage--now I know Madoka's going to make
it. And yet, I was sad...Rhiannon will never, never grow bigger.
And I know I'll keep that sleeper, always, in remembrance of
Rhiannon.
It seems you do weird, superstitious things, too. I will hold
Madoka on my right side, and never on my left, to burp her or
comfort her. I didn't even realize I was doing it at first. When
I did, I couldn't make myself *change shoulders* at all. You see,
Rhiannon died on my left shoulder--that's where I felt her blood
seep out of her nose, when she stopped breathing. Somehow, I
think Madoka's safer on my right side.
Also, I didn't put a birth announcement in the newspaper, as I
had for the other two. I guess that isn't completely irrational.
It seemed that I had barely gotten the birth announcement in,
when I had to tell everyone there was a funeral :( The few baby
girl congratulation cards on the walls, were drowned out by
hundreds of sympathy cards. Now, at last, I could make myself
take down all the cards--now that Madoka had lived past one month
old.
And now, my mother was finally able to take out Rhiannon's photo
and put it on display in her living room. Before we had Madoka,
she couldn't bear to look at it.
If I don't have a birth announcement, I reasoned, if anything
goes wrong, I won't be pestered all year with phone calls from
baby photographers and the like. The worst experience of that
kind, was the two letters PLUS a phone call from the Toronto
Star, begging me to put Rhiannon as one of their photos of the
*Babies of 1997*. How ironic, if I had done so--she was indeed, a
baby of 1997, but of no otheryear, not ever. I still receive
diaper samples in the mail for Rhiannon, which are too big for
little Madoka. I look at them sadly, and lay them aside for when
Madoka can use them. At least now, I don't have to give them
away, or throw them out.
Since I used all the things Rhiannon had used, for Madoka, now
and then, I would encounter a blanket with a few tiny blood spots
I'd missed washing out, or clothing that Rhiannon had soiled,
which hadn't quite gotten clean in the wash. Those were the
saddest reminders, but always, I felt that Rhiannon would have
wanted her sister to have the benefit of the things she couldn't
use anymore.
There was one, and only one, time, where I completely lost it.
That was when Madoka was two weeks old, and ironically, it's
because she has such a powerful suck, she's so healthy and
strong. Madoka has such a powerful suck, that she was making my
nipples crack and bleed.
When one day as I was feeding her, I looked down and saw blood on
her little mouth from my nipple, I started to scream. You see,
that's what Rhiannon had on her face when she died--blood on her
nose and mouth. I couldn't do anything at that point. I stopped
feeding Madoka, and set her down on the bed, and shook all over,
and cried my eyes out for half an hour. I nearly gave up
breastfeeding right then, but somehow, I pulled myself together.
Madoka still sucks way too hard, but I keep taking her off and
latching her on again, and in the intervening weeks, my nipples
have toughened--still sore, but no cracking and bleeding.
The year's difference between the birth of Rhiannon and Madoka
also means my older daughter, Myrna, is no longer that sweet,
innocent 10 year old she had been when she held little Rhiannon
in her lap and sang her lullabies. Now she is a strapping 12 year
old who likes wearing make up and can fit into most of my
clothes.
There are things I can talk to her about, about the experience of
having a baby, that she wouldn't have quite understood, almost 2
years ago. It is nice to have her understand, but I feel sad
about that too; Myrna was a child when we had Rhiannon; losing
her made her grow up so quickly, in a way I would never, never
have wished for her. And yet there is still something of the
child in Myrna that needs reassurance, frequent hugs, that she
didn't need from me before. All of us are so much less secure
inside, now.
For the first time, this year, I decided not to exchange
Christmas gifts in our family, except for the children, Myrna and
Madoka. There were several reasons I did this. One, Madoka was
born in November, which meant there were baby expenses too close
to Christmas. Two, I felt that after having a healthy baby, that
was the best gift of all--my husband and I needed no other.
Three, even though I do have Madoka now, I can't quite celebrate
Christmas without feeling very depressed at times, even now.
What, after all, is the symbolism of Christmas? It is the joy of
the birth of a healthy baby, the baby Jesus, and of the gifts and
visits of those come to adore Him. Christmas is also the time for
remembering and being with family. I can't help it--I will always
think of all the hope I felt at Christmas 1996, when I was
expecting Rhiannon very soon--the hopes and dreams that would
never be.
Most of the time, I can bear it--God knows, you have to in this
country--everywhere, Christmas symbolism assaults your eyes and
ears with decorations, signs, carols. But occasionally, the
sadness becomes overwhelming, when I think of Christmas. If by
saying this, I have offended anyone with strong religious
beliefs, please forgive me. I am speaking only of my emotional
reaction, and I know that many bereaved people find Christmas the
hardest to get through, for the very reasons I've mentioned.
Still, nothing diminishes the joy that having our baby Madoka
brings to all of us. She is so lively and bright. She has been
able to say the word *hungry* since she was one month old. I know
some of you will find that hard to believe, but both I and my
husband have heard her say it distinctly, after crying, when she
wants me to feed her. And this week, she said the word *Daddy*
which delighted him. You have never seen a smile like the one
this baby has when you tell her she's beautiful, or that you love
her--it's an ear-to-ear grin on her little face.
This is a baby who also likes to talk on the phone, though you
wouldn't think she would appreciate it at such a young age. When
my mother called 2 weeks ago, Madoka was crying loudly, and my
mother asked to talk to her. I put her ear to the receiver--of
course, her mouth doesn't reach the other end, but this baby is
loud enough to make herself heard despite that
When her Dad went to work this week [he works rotating 12 hour
shifts, and is home some days with us], Madoka looked at the
empty side of the bed where Brian would normally be, and back at
me for anexplanation. So I told her I'd phone her Dad for her--it
was only 7:30 AM, he wouldn't be busy on the phones yet--and told
Brian that his baby daughter was missing him. So he spoke to her,
and again, she looked relieved, and made little sounds into the
phone. It's the cutest thing I've ever seen.
I am so glad I found the courage to try for a baby again, despite
many in my family trying to dissuade me, and despite being 43
when I conceived Madoka--I am now 44. Having her is worth
everything--every uncomfortable hour with nausea, heartburn and
Braxton-Hicks contractions--and all the awful moments when my
co-workers would ask if I was excited about being pregnant again,
and I would always burst into tears.
If my story gives any of you hope, that makes me feel very good.
That is a Christmas, or for that matter, a New Year's gift I
would like to give each and every one of you. The other gift I'd
like to give to each of you, is the conviction, deep in your
heart, that having a life within you, however brief, was a good
and right thing. And may we be reunited with all our angels, some
day.
Happy New Year, everyone.
Love,
Pandora
======================================================
Here was my SPALS Birth
Announcement:
To: Multiple Recipients of SPALS
Subject: Baby Madoka is here :) :) :) :)
Date sent: Mon, 9 Nov 1998 14:03:31 -0500
* * * * * * *BIRTH
ANNOUNCEMENT!!* * * * * * * *
---------------------------------------------------------
Baby Madoka Marietta Rosalie decided to officially join the
Waldron clan on Saturday, November
7, 1998 at 9:31 PM Eastern Standard Time.
I'm calling her my 7 - 11 [Seven - Eleven] baby, because she
weighed 7 pounds, 11 ounces, and she was born on the 7th day of
the 11th month. By the way, there is a big chain of convenience
stores in Canada and the United States called 7 - 11, because
they're open from 7 AM - 11 PM. So I have no excuse to forget
either Madoka's birthday or her birth weight.
Madoka is 19" long, making her slightly shorter than her big
sister Myrna, aged 11, who was 21 1/2" long at birth, but
who was slightly smaller, at 7 pounds, 10 ounces. [Rhiannon, the
baby I lost to SIDS at one month old last year, was 5 pounds, 9
ounces, but she was born one month early.]
Unlike the other two times, my labour was ferociously fast, when
it actually decided to get underway. To explain that comment, I
have to tell you that for the past 2 months, I have been having
the so-called Braxton-Hicks contractions, which are usually not
supposed to be either like real labour pains, nor are they
supposed to be painful.
Well, I beg to differ on both points, shall we say. If you can
imagine yourself on the heavy day of your period, having cramps
most of the day, and feeling tired, achy and having to push
yourself to get anything done, and feeling like that 7 days a
week, day and night, with maybe a couple of hours' of relief here
and there, then you'll know something of what I've gone through.
You'll also understand why I gave up and started my maternity
leave on October 19, a month before my official due date of
November 15th.
My show of blood came on Monday, November 2, and the physical
exam showed my cervix was 1 1/2 cm. dilated. With my first
pregnancy, I went another 8 days before I gave birth after the
show of blood. This time, it took 5 days, and by the 3rd day, my
Braxton-Hicks contractions were getting more intense, though
still very irregular, and I was bleeding though not heavily.
Because the bleeding and contractions were increasing, and I was
feeling completely exhausted, on Saturday at 12:30 PM, I had
Brian take me in to be checked at the obstetrics ward. I thought
they'd say, go home, you're still not ready, or, you're not ready
but we're going to induce you into labour.
To my surprise, they said, you're 3 cm. dilated, and your
membranes are bulging--you could break your water at any time--
you are staying here for the weekend, or until you go into
labour, whichever comes first. I just couldn't believe I had
gotten to that stage without ever going into regular labour
contractions. So don't let them tell you that Braxton-Hicks
contractions can never be the same as the *real thing*!
The nurses started giving me all sorts of suggestions to start my
*proper* labour--walk the corridors, take long showers, move
around, but I couldn't. Those so-called Braxton-Hicks
contractions were way too intense for me to do much other than
sit or lie down.
Yes, I was a total wimp this time; I think the 2 months' ordeal
of cramps had lowered my pain threshold to zilch. But about 4:30
PM, suddenly the contractions became full blown intensity and *no
gap* in between. Yes, I went straight from Braxton-Hicks to
second stage labour.
Soon I was 6 cm. dilated, and the nurse broke my waters with a
little poke that really switched things into high gear.
I was gasping and clutching on to Brian, the nurse, the bed post,
anything, as those contractions hit me--I would have bitten a
bullet right through if it had been there. Somewhere in the
middle of that, I said, I think I want an epidural, I just can't
handle this. The nurse shook her head and replied, I'm sorry,
honey, but it's too late for it to take effect, you'll have had
the baby by then. I looked at her dumbfounded,because I always
have long, long labours, and said, you mean, the baby will be
born within hours? No, she replied, the baby will be born within
THE hour!
And in fact, she was born within the half hour, at 9:31 PM. It
seemed very quickly that I was pushing, straining, and my body
wasn't ready--NOT fun, when the nurse said to hold back a bit,
because I wasn't fully dilated yet. That was like telling a
freight train not to roar down the track, the force and urge of
the contractions was that strong. Maybe some of you ladies are
familiar with that kind of intense labour, but I wasn't--both my
previous labours were slow and gradual.
Things happened very fast after that, too fast for the
obstetrician on duty to get to our floor in time--the nurse
delivered me, helped me pass the placenta, and the obstetrician
just showed up to stitch me up. I needed stitches and was bruised
and lacerated, so you can see it was a very intense labour.
The nurse put a very solid baby onto my stomach, purple with
rage, and HOWLING! After all of that, I wanted to howl too, but
that isn't exactly dignified for a Mum, is it? What a set of
lungs that baby has! And she's solid and strong as a brick in
your hands, not your average, fragile newborn. Madoka is just a
few days old, but already can roll onto her back from her side,
she's that strong, and her hand grip is incredibly strong. She
promises to be very healthy.
She has a lot of dark brown, almost black hair and her blue eyes
look lighter than my other two, so maybe she will actually be a
blue- eyed baby--Myrna is hazel eyed. [Since Rhiannon only lived
31 days, I don't know what colour her eyes would have been in the
end.] Madoka also has only one thing on her mind--being breast-
fed, preferably, 24 hours a day--or she lets that set of lungs
loose ;-)
They discharged us today, Monday morning, and we let Myrna have
the day off school to bring her little sister home with us.
Sitting in the hospital lobby, waiting for Brian to bring the van
around to the front door, something happened which broke Myrna
and me right up.
At age 11 [she'll be 12 years old on December 17], Myrna is very
well-developed for her age--there are some 16 year olds who would
look scrawny next to Myrna, who has my buxom build. Madoka was
sitting in the car safety seat on the floor, in front of Myrna
and me, when an elderly hospital volunteer stopped to admire the
baby.
"Is this your first?" she asked. "Oh, no," I
responded, pointing to Myrna, "SHE'S my first."
"Oh," said the lady, dumbfounded, "I thought it
was HERS! She looks a lot older." Myrna and I I looked at
each other, and it was very hard to keep a straight face. [Well,
to be fair, there are not that many women having a newborn at age
43, which I am.]
So her it is Monday afternoon and we're home. Thank goodness!
More news later--the baby is hungry AGAIN!!
Love to you all,
Pandora
====================
Letting Go & Saying
Goodbye (to the baby you lost) :(((
From: Pandora D. Waldron
Sent: Friday, June 06, 1997 12:41 PM
To: Multiple recipients of the spals list
Subject: [SPALS:2187] Letting Go & Saying Goodbye (to the
baby you lost) :(((
I'm sure all of you have faced this dilemma more than once.
You go into the baby's room, and/or special drawer or closet, and
there they are. The diapers, the sleepers, the tiny little
hand-knitted baby caps and sweaters and booties (maybe knitted or
bought by your mother or MIL), the baby powder and lotion, the
beautiful designer-decorated unused nurser bottles, the matched
crib bedding set with cute pictures on it that the gang at the
office bought you, still in its plastic case.
The infant carrier and car safety seat, the special diaper
disposal unit that you've already forgotten how to use (you
mechanically inept mom!), the coupons and brochures on feeding
& caring for baby (that continue to arrive in the mail,
reminding you now he/she would have been 4 months old & ready
for solid food...).
The send-away for an engraved baby spoon or plaque offers, and
even the new boxes and bags everything came in (now why can't I
even throw THOSE away?). And a soiled sleeper she wore, somehow
forgotten and just found; and now you just can't bear to wash it
....
So you start *burying* the baby symbolically again. Crying the
whole time, you drag the empty boxes and bags out to the sidewalk
for garbage pick-up. You put the diapers away in the closet where
you can't see them anymore. You fold up the little caps and
sweaters as tenderly as if they were her, and into the drawer
they go. The lovely crib bedding set also gets hidden in the
closet, waiting for the next (oh, please GOD!) baby. The diapers,
infant carrier and car safety seat, ditto.
Now where the heck are those Fisher-Price Diaper Genie
instructions? Never mind, my DH will show me how to use it again
IF there's another baby who actually needs it. That's why I
married him, right? So he can help me figure out mechanical
things like this that baffle me, and I can help HIM figure out
what to do when HE crashes Windows 95 or can't exit the naughty
pictures he's viewing on the WWW (that'll teach you for visiting
*those* kinds of websites, you bad boy!) :-)
You collect all the baby stuff coupons, sample formula and baby
cereal, etc. that will be no good to anybody soon, and all the
stuff you can bear to part with, and give it to the young woman
next door who is expecting her first baby any day now....the one
who you thought your baby would be playing with next year...two
babies on the same street, now only one (and you hope HER baby
makes it OK, and hope you won't somehow bring her bad luck).
You look at the baby powder and baby shampoo, and think, hey,
maybe I or my DH or my 10 year old can use it instead. But you
start crying uncontrollably--these are still HER things, and only
for her, or the next baby I have (if I have one), nobody else.
You clutch the baby powder to your chest as if you were hugging
it, then you set it down with a thud on the change table, so hard
that the powder dusts the air. And there it will stay, for now.
You put the baby shampoo on the bathtub edge, and shudder. Maybe
my 10 year old daughter who hates getting shampoo in her eyes
will want to use it, but I just can't use it on me. Not yet
anyway.
And then you start to HOWL --what the Irish women call *keening*.
[My Irish ancestors must have done this a lot when *their* babies
died.] Not crying or even sobbing, just letting out a long
piercing wail like a primal scream you didn't even know was in
you. It moans and streams out of you for a long time until it
finally subsides and you're sort of whimpering.
And you turn around and realize...you STILL haven't finished
saying GOODBYE. That this process will go on, and on. Even if you
*let go* of a whole bunch of things which were HERS, you'll keep
finding things, and keep having to make agonizing decisions about
each and every inanimate object, which is somehow imbued with HER
you have lost forever.
So, I know you've all been through this....how did you cope? I
know there's no *right* way to handle this part of grieving, but
what worked for you? And what didn't work for you? What things or
decisions made you feel better, and what made you feel worse? I'd
really like to know how you coped with this.
BTW I don't understand myself very well right now--I'm totally
schizophrenic, laughing my guts out one minute, sobbing the next,
as if I were switching into different personalities. Why can I
laugh at myself forgetting how to use the diaper genie, and then
start sobbing and come unglued on finding a bottle of baby
powder? Screwy, I'm totally screwy, but at least I know it.
Love,
Pandora.
* * *
My Pentium is my therapist. It lets me sit down and cry and
confess as long as I want, takes me on virtual trips, plays games
with me, lets me talk to it at 3:00 AM and doesn't tell me it has
to work in the morning like my DH, it doesn't need any sleep, it
doesn't have office hours, it doesn't charge me by the hour, it
makes no comments which upset or criticize me, I play my CDs on
it while I surf, and if I don't like the way it looks, I
*redecorate* its desktop and rearrange all the cute little
folders (wish rearranging the furniture was so easy). Maybe Bill
Gates is God after all.
WHAT did I just say? Now you REALLY know I'm going screwy....
Bill Gates, God <HAH!!!> The same guy who keeps accusing me
of conducting an *illegal operation* and shutting down my
programs? The one who lets me *start* Windows 95, but I can never
*leave* (it's always hanging)--Windows 95 is really like the
*Hotel California* (if you know that Eagles song).
"You can check out any time you like, but you can never
LEAVE" No, obviously, Bill Gates is the Antichrist. All
these pleasures are merely the wicked man's temptations....to get
you to buy more BAD software.
* * *
