I keep hoping for some miracle to happen, as I think about my future self with a child and think-
“yes, that’s when I’ll truly be happy.”
I said that to Chris last week. My amazing husband, who is not a yogi, said-
“You need to find happiness in each day in that present moment. That is true happiness.”
or something like that.
Yes, he’s right. I can’t keep looking towards my future, when I assume things will all be better. Things will keep happening, good and bad. I know that. I should know that. It’s the basis of yoga- being present. Here I teach this each and every day to hundreds of kids and somehow I can’t realize this for myself. I know it, but am not practicing it.
I laugh at least once a day, sometimes more. I do find joy in simple things- in lovely things. Flowers, butterflies, a song I can sing out loud to in my car, a great story on This American Life, chumby snuggling with me every single morning, my hilarious and patient husband, farmer’s market fare, bean & leaf coffee, my yoga kids (most of the time). That’s a short list. Obviously there is so much more- family, friends, Phish festivals (of which we are going to this coming weekend and I am so excited I can barely contain myself!). I can probably list at least a hundred other things that bring me joy. Seeing all my bestest friends from out west and getting real life hugs and love will bring me more joy and happiness then I have experienced in a really really long time. This coming 5 day respite from the daily grind that we have come to accept is a much needed mental health vacation.
The other day I had a slight meltdown. It was a regress, which I know happens sometimes. All the blame and guilt came back full force over our decision to homebirth Silas. A conversation that Chris & I had the other night and this amazing post by sweet/salty kate had me up in arms. Neither were intended to cause this. But both filled me with self-doubt and fear. Most of the blogs I read these days, of women who had stillborn babies, all believe they were truly to blame. It’s frightening how many of us are so conflicted with what is really just a tragedy that happened. For some of us, we could have made other choices, but for all of us, the intention to birth our babies in the safest, healthiest way was always the main focus. It was always what we wanted for our babies. So why the blame and guilt? I guess everything in life that goes wrong needs to be put on someone or something. Perhaps a scapegoat makes us feel better.
Another part of it that I am tormented by is all those out there who blame us for the loss of our baby. It is almost too much for me to handle sometimes. But most of the time I then think – who cares about them, the blame I have for myself, that is what is most important and what needs to be dealt with.
Over this year, I have made it a point to share my view that homebirth is what we believed to be the safest and most beautiful way of bringing our son into the universe. For us, it was not. I am on the fence about homebirth now. For some it is magical, for others, like us, it is tragic. But the same goes for hospital births. All of it is scary and we’ll never ever know what could or would have been.
As humans, we are programmed to think about how we could have changed something in our past or how we want our future to go. I am stuck in that instead of realizing all the beauty that is in my reach every single moment. Even my day in bed when I was sick, was needed and necessary and eventually brought me some happiness.
I hate that I’ve gone backwards- I’m tormented by my past and by my future. I can’t change what is or what hasn’t happened yet. All I have is now and I need to work hard to find those little pieces of joy and happiness in each and every moment. And right now, that would be packing for my vacation!
24 comments
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October 27, 2009 at 2:53 pm
Sue
I struggled with guilt for almost a year and a half. It wasn’t until I talked with a caring, informed doctor who was able to put my mind (mostly) at ease. After our consult with him, I felt like a weight had been lifted: it wasn’t *all* my fault. A year and a half I spent, not just grieving, but beating myself up. I couldn’t forgive myself.
Maybe the scapegoating is just a way of trying to make sense of a senseless situation. I needed a reason; it might as well be me.
Even though it feels like a regression, I would suggest that you are simply processing all this, moving through it. And I think that’s what’s key: Moving through it.
Wishing you peace.
October 27, 2009 at 3:34 pm
Angie
You know, Lani, I think guilt and shame are part of this grief process as well as part of parenting. Because, despite how irrational the shame and guilt is, I cannot will it or logic it away. It is simply there. I just want to figure out how to integrate it into something positive in my person and mothering. With much love.
October 27, 2009 at 5:05 pm
aliza
lani, i’m so glad you are taking this much needed mental health vacation. and it is so important to find happiness in the present moment. i am working on being more calm and relaxed. trying to reduce my anxiety. and that blame and guilt. you know we did our best. and like you said shit happens at home and at the hospital and we really have no control over any of it. we were just on the extremely unlucky side this time. but we did our very best. since i really don’t know why lev died, i constantly say things like ‘maybe it was all the ice-cream i ate, or that chiropractor i went to or…..’ everyday there’s another one. but we really did do our best. here’s hoping that we can both find moments of peace in the present and let go of our anxieties about the past and future.
enjoy your trip!
xox
October 27, 2009 at 6:01 pm
Sally
The guilt and shame do get heavy. I’m right there with you Lani. You are a wonderful mother.
October 27, 2009 at 7:38 pm
Angie (different commenter from #2)
Delurking for the first time…
Hello, Lani. My name is Angie. I came to your blog through Chris’ writing for Glow in the Woods. I came to Glow by way of my volunteer work as a photogapher for Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep. So that’s me.
Although I have not lost a child, I love my husband very, very much, and my husband has a large canyon of grief that will always be part of the landscape of his heart. We’re nature photographers as well, and he’s a geologist, so “landscape of the heart” seems like a particularly fitting way for us to describe the sadness. (Just mentioning the careers in keeping with what you said about being a yogi…)
When my husband was 19, his brother died. His brother was 15. He had a sudden onset of a virus that attacked his heart. The symptoms mimicked the flu- fever, chills, body aches. Everyone “did everything right,” but it still ended in tragedy. His brother had been to the doctor the day before. the doctor said, “Yup, you’ve got a virus. Chicken soup, plenty of fluids, rest.”
The only way the doctor could have caught it would be if he had ordered an EKG, but who does an EKG on an otherwise healthy 15-year-old with the flu? The whole family was home when his heart stopped. My husband and his mom did CPR. His dad got the doctor from the office across the street. The ambulance came within two minutes. B was just gone.
This loss was a decade ago, but it is forever part of the landscape of my husband (and in-laws) heart. I know my mother-in-law occasionally has to cling to the knowledge that she took him to the doctor the day before, that she knew CPR, that they did “everything right” like a life raft.
I don’t believe everything happens for a reason. I think that’s bullshit. I think sometimes, if I tackle the things that happen in my life in a reasonable way, reasons might reveal themselves to me after the fact. I don’t think God tests people’s faith or gives people things to handle or choses some people to experience terrible grief because he needs “one more angel” or any of the other platitudes well-meaning people offer in times of grief and sorrow.
My husband is a diehard Democrat, a Mets fan, my partner in life, and he misses his brother. It’s a part of his identity. Sometimes he is at the edge of the grief canyon, kicking a stone over and watching it fall. Sometimes he’s flying over it noticing that the higher he flies, the smaller the canyon gets. Sometimes, not often, I’ve seen him lying at the bottom of the canyon with a Wiley Coyote Acme Anvil of grief falling on his head. But it’s always there.
There is laughter, an amazing sunrises to photograph, and cold beer and good memories. There are things to look forward to and adventures unfolding and life to live. And yes, there’s a canyon. It all co-exists together, in this messy, emotional journey.
The families I serve through Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep are all in different situations. Whether they are removing life support, or filling their child’s brief life with only gentle touches and music, or saying goodbye at the same time they say hello… these children, like Silas, are loved, and wanted, and cherished. Their parents are all doing the best thing they can in the situation they have. That’s what you and Chris did. You were doing the best for him, to give him the best possible start to life.
I know nothing I say can take the guilt away, but maybe, just maybe, you can leave the guilt in the bottom of the canyon. You’ll be back there from time to time; it is forever part of the landscape of your heart. I feel honored to read your words, Lani and Chris (and Sally; um, hi, I lurk on your blog, too). I think of you all, and your children, whenever I approach a family in need of NILMDTS. I blow kisses to B, the brother-in-law I’ve never met, on my way into the hospital. With your permission, I’ll blow some to Silas and Hope Angel, too.
Take gentle care.
October 27, 2009 at 7:54 pm
Erica
You put so much love and thought and care into planning Silas’s birth, Lani. You made good and thoughtful decisions, and I hate it that you (and the rest of us) have so much guilt and shame to cope with. It seems like we should get a pass on that since we are also dealing with so much missing and loss and longing. And, as Angie said, the guilt seems to be impervious to rational thought, which is maddening.
I hope your respite is a very good one, and that more and more bits of happiness find you (and soon!).
October 27, 2009 at 8:11 pm
paige
I feel the guilt, too, Lani, even with a lethal genetic condition. The combination of not knowing that anything was wrong and the role my genes played make me feel like a bad mother.
I hope you have a great getaway. And I’m so happy you laugh once a day, that’s huge!
xo
October 27, 2009 at 8:25 pm
sweetsalty kate
Lani, I’m so sad to have been a trigger. I would agree with Sue, though, and say that’s no regression. I’m confident that every move, every shift, every reimagining, every struggle is forward. … the word ‘forward’ in this sense is not meant to imply linear but rather just *worthy* and natural and not out-of-place.
Every single one of us, I think, has a moment within our story that appears to contain a choice. We could have, we should have. Doesn’t matter where or how our story unfolded… there is always that moment. I have mine. You have yours. Let’s consider all those moments, of all of us, and cancel each other out. It’s so pervasive it can’t be any sort of sensible truth. You’d argue with me that my moment (not calling the doctor, frozen with denial) was not my fault. I’d argue with you the same of your moment. As Angie would do for Erica and vice versa and through everyone.
I just wish we could all sit together in a circle and look straight at each other and sign some kind of sacred pact that would release the woman opposite us. You release me. I release you. We are, all of us, equally driven just a little bit mad. And there’s no better balm for madness than company.
xo
October 27, 2009 at 9:08 pm
TracyOC
Nothing new to add here. Just wanted to let you know that I’m thinking about you and I think you did what was best for you and your husband, and your son with the information you had.
October 27, 2009 at 9:52 pm
Carly
Lani,
Like Erica said, you put so much love and thought into his birth Lani. Babies die in hospitals too. They die anywhere.
Like Paige, I feel guilt too. I feel guilt at even trying again after Christan knowing that there was a possibility that my next babes could have his problem, but not as serious and then they would have to live through their horrible disabilities.
I wish you peace for today Lani. I hope you are packed and I hope you enjoyed it.
You are beautiful.
xxxxxxx
October 27, 2009 at 10:03 pm
claire
I agree with kate, its not really regression. There just is no linear path in grief. I am 7 years out, as you know with the same type of loss as you. I still feel the need to defend my homebirth choice even though now I have to have cesarean. I also had people blaming me, some of them to my face. I can tell you that it comes back from time to time, the doubt & guilt, but logically we did make good decisions. The intentions were always good. I wish you the best at living in the moment. It is a skill and a gift from our sons and that part, staying present, does get easier.
October 28, 2009 at 7:33 am
Ezra's Mommy
I’m not sure I will ever fully let go of the guilt, its been such an underlying current in my grief journey. Sending love as always
October 28, 2009 at 8:59 am
monica lemoine
Lani – that is SO TRUE, what Chris said about being happy with the here and now, the present, happy with what you have. Ya know, that’s one of those things that I kind of knew deep down all along, but easier said than done. I distinctly remember thinking: “ready, set, GET HAPPY!” And boom – as though that would make everything OK. I could never just appreciate the present when I knew I should. I’m better at it now, but then again it’s been over 2 years for me so I’ve had some practice.
October 28, 2009 at 11:25 am
Tracy
Rock that fest this weekend Lani, give yourself a break from feeling anything but the love of friends, the beauty of the landscape and the power of the music. I will be thinking of you guys…enjoy.
xxoo
October 28, 2009 at 11:28 am
Karen
I’m new to your blog and coming in late to your story. I’ve not been in your position but have a friend who’s son was stillborn. She told me about this book- maybe you’ve already read it. But it came to mind reading your post.
My sympathy for the loss of your baby, and for your loss of confidence in yourself.
http://www.lorraineash.com/ltl.htm
I was the only survivor of a car accident & lost family members. During my grieving there were many times I couldn’t see the way out, guilt overwhelming me for simply surviving. It’s like a healed amputation now. Always with me, but not usually as raw as it once was.
Peace.
October 28, 2009 at 5:34 pm
afteriris
Lani, two days before Iris died I felt a gush of fluid that I thought could have been my water breaking. I didn’t do anything about it. Even though her autopsy showed no signs of infection, even though the midwife felt my belly the very next day and said the fluid seemed normal, I torture myself with that moment. I even hesitated to write it here, just in case someone saw it and judged my inaction.
Everything I could say to you has already been beautifully expressed in your post and in the lovely comments left by others, but I just wanted to let you know that I share your feelings of guilt and remorse, even while I try to rationalise those feelings away.
Love to you xx
October 28, 2009 at 9:27 pm
Danielle
I’d like in on that absolution circle if there’s room for one more- in switching from an OB to a midwife, we missed an appointment after a blood clot scare. We had been told that the clot was not in my uterus, that all was well, that Baby was fine and wiggly. So we blew off the appointment to see the OB we hated (in part, ironically, because we thought she was too pessimistic!), thinking that we’d soon be in better hands. We were scheduled to see the midwife for a full exam and ultrasound the day after my water broke. There’s not a day that goes by when I don’t wonder on some level if that missed appointment would have made all the difference. (And I will admit to thinking as I write this that all your commenters are going to read this and say, “Whoa- SHE really DID fuck up.” I think of guilt and shame like waves- sometimes they’re farther out to sea and I can see them in the distance, sometimes they come gently to the shore and make me take a step back from the water’s edge, and sometimes they’re big enough to drag me under. I think your waves are just a little closer to shore right now.
Wishing you joy, music, and laughter in your time away.
October 29, 2009 at 2:46 am
Rachel
Angie, your words made me feel so sad. I think you are right, crap does sometimes just happen : (
Lani, it has been such a short time xxx You don’t need me to say this I know, but your choice was made with love and care, with the very best of intentions. Beyond the very normal human doubt, know that simple truth, in your heart. Anyone who would think anything else, isn’t worth a thought from you. Love to you, Rachel xxx
October 29, 2009 at 2:42 pm
Eliza
Slightly different situation here, in that we planned a homebirth but ended up at the hospital with pre-term labor and a son too premature to be saved. I go over and over and over it some days. And while I know we were let down by a whole lot of medical professionals (which only makes me want to cling to my old plans despite now being a high-risk patient requiring intense, close monitoring for any future pregnancies), the decisions I personally made eat away at me. Should I have listened to my gut instead of the OB when I was bleeding so profusely? Should I have sought a second opinion? Ought I to have switched out of my homebirth plans in favor of hospital midwives when the bleeding happened? Should I have insisted on an ultrasound sooner? Should I have gone to the hospital earlier? On and on.
We all do it in the face of our losses. I can look at every single one of those questions I ask and if I remove hindsight from the equation and remember what I only knew then and how I felt then, then I know logically I am not to blame – as you are not to blame. We made the best choices we could.
Doesn’t make the feelings go though, does it? I’ve read your responses on GITW and I feel a sisterhood with you in the ways our wishes and paths have changed. I wish you peace.
November 2, 2009 at 12:05 am
Mindy
Lani, I dont know you but like others have been drawn here in the wee hours of the night searching for comrads. Our son Henry died from head entrapment due to his undiagnosed breech position, I gave birth to him partially in the car on the way to hospital, we couldnt get there in time. We were having a homebirth and my water broke and there was so much meconium, we got in the car to go to the hospital but we were too late, his body was born on the bridge and his head was stuck, we still had 10 minutes to go to get to help. Ive dealt with lots of guilt about our choice to homebirth, in fact I can say with certainty that I no longer believe in it. Guilt is a terrible force, and I think in some ways you can’t let go of all of it, some of it burrows in and becomes part of your skin. I do know that hating yourself (like I have hated myself in the long days since Henry’s death) is not what Silas would have wanted, nor should it be his legacy. That’s what I tell myself at least, sitting here in the dark, my own terrible void unfilled.
November 3, 2009 at 7:50 am
Cathy
Lani,
your comment “I am on the fence about homebirth now.” resonated so strongly with me. For me, I can easily substitute the word “homebirth” with “pregnancy”, or “trusting doctors” , or “trusting my intuition” or an endless list of things. I can’t convince you it wasn’t your fault, just as much as I can’t convince myself that it wasn’t mine. I just want you to know that you aren’t alone. And that’s important, because you have helped me feel that I am not alone . Sending you love and strength, xx
November 4, 2009 at 2:04 pm
Kristina
Hi Lani.
I agree with what others have said; I don’t think you’ve regressed. I think it’s normal to have ups and downs when grieving. I can imagine how hard it must be to rid yourself of the guilt-it’s much easier said than done, but I truly believe you have nothing to feel guilty about. You did what you thought was in Silas’ best interest-you did absolutely nothing wrong. Bad things can happen anywhere-at home, in a hospital, anywhere. If you had bad intentions, then I think the guilt would be warranted. I read that post on sweet salty kate’s page and wondered if would set you off; I was hoping it wouldn’t. I like Angie’s canyon description of grief. I wish you many days of being high up above that canyon with it’s grief so far below you don’t notice it. Chris was right on about finding happiness in every present moment. It’s certainly not easy, but I think it’s a bright outlook. Love you lady! ((HUGS))
November 5, 2009 at 4:51 pm
m.
Oh Lani, I thought I had so much to say and then I took a few minutes to read the stories of every one who’s written here before me.
I am so sorry for the grief and the shame that so many of us now have as our identities. Yet I am grateful for the courage that is also there in sharing and talking and forgiving – each other if we can’t seem to do that yet for ourselves.
Laugh and dance and smile, Lani. It is the only way we move forward. And that isn’t to say that a few tears is moving backwards. I love Angie’s description of the canyon. And I would be part of your sacred pact any day.
November 9, 2009 at 10:34 am
monica lemoine
Well, what can I say that others haven’t already hit on. First, I think the guilt/shame is normal. For the longest time I thought my having drunk 2 tablespoons of coffee a day was the thing that caused Zach’s death. Nothing anyone told me could have convinced me otherwise (I’m over that now, thank god). Yay you for focusing in the simple things in life – reminding all of us to pause and do that too.