Select Page

The Blame Game

by | Sep 6, 2010 | Baby Loss, Child Loss, Coping With Baby Loss, Coping With Losing A Child, Group B Step | 3 comments

Your baby got sick. Your baby has lasting health problems. Your baby died. What’s next? Who do I blame? Surely somebody is to blame, right?

Not always. *

Our son Charlie died from late-onset Group B Strep in June of 2003. He was 24 days old. The doctors said there was a 50/50 chance that he got it from labor (me) or that he just got it from “life”. So my husband and I made the conscious choice to not dwell on or even think about who or what was to blame.

That’s crazy, you say. We could sue somebody and get lots of money if they were found to be at fault.

OR

On the other hand, I could blame myself daily and end up sinking into an even deeper depression and spending the rest of my life beating myself up for carrying GBS and killing my child.

No amount of money would bring my baby back. If there were a specific amount, I would beg, borrow, steal, cheat and maybe even kill to get enough money to bring him back. I would sue whomever and whatever I could if they would bring me back my sweet, pink, smell-goody, bright-eyed Charlie.

But that isn’t going to happen. Ever. So I have made peace with the fact that no negligence was done, by myself or my husband or any medical staff, and have told that part of my grief to take a hike. I’m not thinking about it anymore.

*Exception: If there was gross negligence on the part of a caregiver, doctor or hospital, and you have the resources and truly believe you have a case, then going after compensation may be okay. I’m not attorney, but I do know it won’t bring your child back or make your child whole again.

The Funeral

by | Sep 6, 2010 | Anniversary Reactions, Baby Loss, Child Loss, Coping With Baby Loss, Coping With Losing A Child | 3 comments

A year ago a limousine sent by Mike’s company showed up in front of our house to take us to our daughter’s funeral.

I climbed in the back, carefully smoothing my purple dress so it wouldn’t get wrinkled, and then realizing how ridiculous that was. I stared out the window and thought, “I can’t wait to take Maddie in a limo!” And then I remembered.

I wore a set of gold bracelets that she loved to play with, even though they clanged and made lots of noise. In the pocket of my dress I had the first hat she ever wore from the day she was born.

We arrived at the church early, and looked at how the pictures and Madeline’s things had been arranged.

Maddieshrine Three

La-Z-Moozer

Maddie's Piano

We then sat in a room in the back while we waited for everyone to arrive. We walked out right before the service started. I stared at my feet as we walked to our seats in the front row.

I looked up when I heard chuckling, and I realized the laughter was at a funny picture of Maddie from the pre-service slide show.

The service started, and I listened to the celebrant, then my dad, Mike’s dad, my brother, and Mike. As it came closer to my turn to speak, I started to feel sick to my stomach. My body felt cold and my legs felt like jell-o. I clutched her Abby doll close and walked up to the podium.

Abby

Podium

I looked out at the crowd and was amazed by all the people.

Front Chapel Wide

four purple ribbons

Somehow I managed to address the crowd.

After the service there was a beautiful balloon release. The wind blew right when the balloons lifted into the air.

Gathering for Balloon Release

maddie's purple balloons.

As my balloon floated away, I wished that it could take me with it.

The reception after was a blur. So many people came, people I hadn’t seen in years, wonderful people. I didn’t eat, the food smelled both delicious and awful. There were a lot of hugs and tears. I didn’t cry. I couldn’t.

Many people told me how beautiful the reception was, and I wanted to say, “well, we don’t get to throw her a second birthday, or a sweet sixteen party, or a graduation, or a wedding. This is it.” Instead I said thank you, and gave credit to my wonderful friends that had handled everything.

We stayed until the sun was down, the cold wind blowing steadily. We stayed until the last person left, and then we got back in that limo and returned to our empty, quiet home.

all photos by the wonderful Casey

Solitary

by | Sep 6, 2010 | Anxiety, Baby Loss, Child Loss, Coping With Baby Loss, Coping With Losing A Child, Fear, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Jealousy, Loneliness, Loss | 3 comments

I’m turning into a hermit. Not in the traditional sense, exactly. I leave my house almost every day. But I hate leaving. When I leave, I can’t wait to get back. I can’t wait to put on the same clothes I’ve worn for twelve weeks, even though they stink and have stains on them. I long to lay on my couch and stare blankly at the TV.

I’m not finding comfort in anything anymore. Flipping around on the internet, my surefire way to escape, now makes me tired. I have thousands of unopened emails, dozens of unread text messages. I want to look at them but I just don’t have the stamina.

The only things I seem to have energy for? Envy and crying.

When I was on bed rest with Madeline, the only time I was allowed to leave my house was to go to the doctor. I remember sitting in my OB’s office, seeing happy pregnant ladies with their growing bellies, and being overcome with jealousy. Or when Maddie was in the NICU, I would constantly see happy parents going home with their new babies, and my body would become hot with anger.

This is so much worse.

Everything sets me off now. Seeing a child walking down the street with a parent, or a man buying diapers, or a plastic toy in the grass turns me into an ugly, hateful shell of my former self. I say that I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, but that’s not entirely true. If it meant I could have my little girl back? If a magical genie said, “OK, pick another family and they’ll lose their child instead,” there isn’t a single person in the world that would be safe. Even the people I know.

I felt guilty about this at first, but I realized that everyone who knows me or reads this would feel the same way. And everyone who knows me or reads this has already had a similar thought. “Man, that sucks, but better them than us.” Who WOULDN’T think that way? I know that, before Maddie passed, when I heard about a family that lost a child I would be so relieved it wasn’t MY baby that was gone. It wasn’t MY family whose worst nightmare came true.

So I’m slowly becoming a hermit, because I’m afraid soon I won’t be able to keep it in. So that the next person that says something well-intentioned won’t get me screaming in their face. So that the next person who rightfully complains online about their cranky child won’t get an expletive-filled email or comment. So that the innocent man buying diapers won’t have to see me glaring at him with my swollen blood-shot eyes.

Am I protecting others, or myself? I don’t really know.

Falling

by | Aug 15, 2010 | Baby Loss, Child Loss, Coping With Baby Loss, Coping With Losing A Child, Loss, Marriage Problems, Pregnancy, Sadness | 2 comments

again. my spirit, that is.

its one of those days where i have to consciously push against the gravitational pull of grief.

it has been a week since T left. it has been almost ten months since i was pregnant with my babies

by accident i typed ‘ten weeks,’ realized that it has been so much longer than that and just crumbled.

where did all the time go?

i have never been prepared to not realize my goals or get where i want to be in life. i am intelligent and capable. i am kind and helpful. i go over and above in almost every exchange and interaction.

but none of that means anything, and failure could be here to stay.

i feel very alone, and not because T isn’t here, i have felt this way even while in his arms.

i’m not the person i thought i would grow up to be and i’m not sure how to live as the substitution

No

by | Apr 10, 2010 | Baby Loss, Child Loss, Coping With Baby Loss, Coping With Losing A Child, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Loss | 1 comment

wet, hot, sobs. these are the tears i cry when i’m alone. unrestrained wails and moans for my babies.

but when i’m around others i clench up, hold my tears in. my eyes and my throat burn with restraint. my heart screams louder than my voice could ever take me. when does it end?

never, friends. this is my life. i must live forever knowing that those beautiful girls i planned and hoped and lived and labored for were never meant to dwell in my arms or my home. the pain is still becoming real, and i hurt so much more that i ever knew i could.

my heart their crib, my memories their own. this is all they have, all they were. they are at once the light of my world and the heavy weight i carry. they are my everything but if i did not write their story, they would be nothing to you or to the world. me and T’s little sad story, our beloved secret, our greatest pain and joy and grace.

this conflict of love, this hostile daydream of wonder and ruin has me at a loss. where am i and where in the world do i go from here? i didn’t ever think i would live in a world where babies die, freshly born, pink and lovely, die. born of me but not mine to keep.