The Aura of Stupefaction: Grief

      

Von  Max 1867

When You Lose a Child

I was literally exhausted, I couldn't sleep for more than a few hours before I'd awake with a fresh bout of tears. I had two young boys: ages two and five years old and a husband who was my strength and hope. All I could do was cry. I had just returned from giving birth to a baby girl that was beautiful, full term and dead. A still born. We named her Sarah Emily.

Nothing in my life of 28 years had prepared me for this death. I had miscarriages prior to this but carrying a baby girl, a very wanted baby girl, full term and have her born dead was indescribably more painful. 

Many have walked this path, most commonly in foreign third world countries. I hadn't encountered anyone until after March 1975. Then the women and a few men came forward to share their sorrows about the losses of  their children. This is a club that you do not ever want to be included in. However, I welcomed the people who were brave enough to greet and stand by me and my husband in our pain. 

Some friends could not, would not acknowledge us. This is a hurtful puzzle to all of you who are experiencing the death of a child. All these years later, I understand there are a variety of reasons people, including some of your friends, will avoid you, the actively grieving person. The most common reason is their own discomfort or the awareness that they don't have a clue what to say. As unfortunate as this was, worse there were the poor misguided ones who brushed this tragedy aside as no more painful than the loss of a pet. Then there were the ones who suggested "you can always have more children". You decide, I can't. Which is worse: being blown off or completely shunned.

Anyone's death always releases something like an aura of stupefaction so difficult is it to grasp this irruption of nothingness and to believe that it has actually taken place.                                   
Gustave Flaubert

I, through a good deal of counseling, was able to come to forgive the ones who were unknowingly unkind to me after the stillborn.  Because I pride myself on being kind and forgiving I was taxed to the limit. Grief is always a trial and tribulation and the hardest thing for me to face...was my own grief. It hit like a tidal wave and up came: all of my fears, my actively obsessive brain and discovering my temper that I never knew I had. Trials, tribulations and stupefaction. Grief.

I owe a great deal of gratitude to the ones who never quit me, who showed up when I was not at my best, who just showed up. The one I am most grateful to is my husband. The statistic on surviving marriage to those who have lost a child to death is not promising, in fact most couples split up. I can believe that because my behavior was less than impeccable. I lost my temper, lost my hope and would have despaired completely had it not been for my husband, the darlings boys, my loving family and my friends. Throughout all of the ordeals my husband had been through: losing a beloved daughter and having a wife that years later he confided to a friend: "I thought I was going to have to live with a crazy woman" he never gave up. He held fast and held me fast. That is love, honor and devotion in it's highest and purest form. 


I was able, with encouragement by all friends, family, doctors and husband to go on and have another pregnancy. Sadly and horribly, that pregnancy was unsuccessful. The baby boy died in utero at about 4 months. At least, a small consolation, we found out what  caused the death of Sarah Emily. My husband and I have a blood incompatibility, similar to RH---the Kell factor.  

Carrying around a dead baby was excruciatingly painful mostly psychologically. Fortunately I had the choice, with no hassle or guilt trip imposed, to have an induced abortion. I could also have chosen to carry the baby until it was expelled by my womb.  I thank all that is good and holy that I was able to have that induced abortion so my body could let go of that baby and I could get on with my life. 

As the years past, I learned so much about grief and grieving due to these experiences. The years passed and I eventually developed my own counseling practice. I was able to help many others go down this difficult road and honor their experience. Not all of the clients were as fortunate as I to have the loving, supportive people all around. This required me to be part of the emotional support system and help them find supportive people in their life. Eventually one friend urged me to go to the Compassionate Friends which is an organization devoted to aiding people who have lost a child to death, miscarriage etc. We started a group in our small town and to my knowledge it is still viable. 

I/we were not able to replace those babies but now we have almost incomprehensible joy at having the great sons and daughter in laws, four beautiful, wonderful grandchildren and a wealth of fabulous nieces and nephews and all of their children to love. Life is indeed very rich. 

Years ago I wrote a poem about this baby, though personal, I share this willingly with you, faithful readers of this intermittent blog. I will go to my death being forever grateful to my husband, our sons, family and friends that buoyed me up during my great grief. Please do this unto others. 

Fine Bones 

The finest bones in all the world,
I've held next to my heart.
The longest walk I ever took
was with those bones.
The lightest package I ever carried
 weighed the most: snow encased in lead.
Up a mossy knoll I trudged with my true love
 and that tiny package filled with cremated dreams.

Down to the cold water's edge we crawled
 to throw a piece of our life away,
 on the tide
 we tossed all that remained
 of our beloved baby still-born
 yet borne still in our hearts.

We believed inside that box -- a powder, a talc
 so fine it would swirl like smoke into the heavens.
Instead we encountered sad orange chunks-
 bones amidst the ash.
We decided she was made of sterner stuff,
 Joan d'Arc
 who resisted the flame.
I writhed, sobbed and shook
 so human in my rejection
 of this noble philosophy.

Even now, can she hear my sorrow
 that gathers on the dark side of my heart?
After all these years, in my mind
 those perfect fingers and toes
 still glow, rosy round.
You have such fine bones, Sarah Emily.