“But sadness is just love wasted. With no little heart to place it
inside.” (Cardiff)
On January 9, 2010 in
the early hours of a cold winter morning, our second child, and son was born. Unlike
the majority of births his was not a joyous and happy occasion, it was
devastating and mournful. Shortly after we said our hello’s we had to say our goodbyes.
Our son was born several months too early and passed away in my arms, his birth
and death life altering. The death of a child is, in my opinion, one of the
toughest losses to endure. The years following my son’s death, along with the years
of trying to become pregnant again, have been the hardest years of my life. It
took a long time to get to a point of healing where I felt that I could make some
baby steps forward and to start living again.
Grief is very individual and has no timeline; I will always grieve for
my son and life he did not have. I have come to the realization that, it is
only I who can make the necessary changes to prevent myself from being fully
immersed in grief for the rest of my life.
I never expected that
Gavin would not come home healthy and alive; I had had a previous successful
pregnancy and a two year old son. No one had any reason to suspect “the worst”
when I walked into the hospital on January 8th, 2010. I waited for several hours to be examined by
the doctor, her news was not good and the odds were not on our side, it was at
that moment my world began to fall apart.
Ultimately, an intra-amniotic infection started labour, and claimed the
life of my son, we were the unlucky ones that fell into the 1% odds of
contracting this type of infection. Gavin was born with heart tones, he was a tiny
fourteen ounce, pink skinned, perfectly formed baby; he lived for only a short
time, gasping for air three times. That day I descended into a new world of
grief, sadness, anger, fear, self-pity, hopelessness and loneliness. The costs
of loss are many, Cacciatore describes the potential hazards including
“anxiety, dysthymia, suicidailty, loneliness, anhedonism, substance abuse,
inorganic pain, and attachment and relational problems as well as increased
premature mortality” (“Stillbirth” 691).
The loss of a newborn or infant is in fact far more traumatic and life
changing then society would like to admit.
The majority of people in my life do not understand
the complex emotions of my journey, even many of my fellow loss mom’s cannot fully
understand. Not only did we lose a child but, we also suffer from secondary
infertility, a double whammy. Over the
years I have heard so many ignorant comments from people who just don’t
understand. Some of these comments have come from close family members. People don’t realize how their comments even “well
meaning” ones can hurt so much. I have
over the years felt very alone at times. “There is an expectation by others
that bereaved parents should be “fine” by certain points in time. Bereaved parents are made aware of this
expectation by others’ responses to them.
This normative expectation can create an isolating feeling for parents
that are grieving” (Umphrey & Cacciatore 150). As a result I have made it a
point to be public about my loss and more recently the infertility. I have come
to the conclusion that the only way to remove the myths, stigma and ignorant
comments that come with loss and infertility is to let people know my story, let
them know that my son was important to me, cannot be replaced, will never be
forgotten, and that infertility can be an emotionally and physically painful
experience that doesn’t always result in that much desired baby.
About a month after Gavin died I was back at the
fertility specialist’s office ready to be expecting again. A subsequent
pregnancy is a pretty common goal for women who have lost a baby; the loss
community affectionately refers to a baby born after loss as a Rainbow Baby. A
Rainbow Baby does not replace the baby who was lost or negates the storm we
have been through, but a Rainbow is a means to attain the hopes and dreams we
lost, a rainbow after the storm. During my appointment my fertility specialist informed
me I would need to go through a gamut of tests which would take several months
to complete, I was dismayed by this delay but agreed to do anything that might
give us a better chance. Approximately six months after the loss we had the all
clear, and so it began, cycle after cycle of dashed hopes, wondering why it
wasn’t working this time, sliding further and further into despair with each
failed cycle and the additional two early losses. I didn’t understand why this
was now so hard when it had been relatively easy before. It didn’t make any sense, it still doesn’t. My inability to conceive and carry another
pregnancy further compounded my grief and feeling of isolation.
While I was focused on becoming pregnant life was
slipping by at an ever quickening pace. My son, only two when his bother passed
grew to a boy of five years. I often wonder where the last three years has gone
and feel a tremendous amount of guilt that my grief and infertility have consumed
me so much that I have missed out on his early years of life. I was there in
person but not so much in spirit, how awful for my son to have a mother so
self-consumed. The hope that we will have a successful subsequent pregnancy
dwindles with each passing day; as a result I decided I needed a new direction
for my life. I know that I cannot continue on in my pit of despair. I decided
that while I would always keep my child in my heart and never stop grieving him
I needed to construct some new dreams, goals and hope for something more for my
family and me. One of my new dreams is go back to school and start a new career.
While I am good at my job and a valued member of my firm, it is not fulfilling
in any way. I am capable of so much more and staying in this type of work will only
serve to increase my despair and feelings of hopelessness. I will not willingly subject myself to that.
The loss of a child can be overwhelming, but for the
most part bereaved mothers learn to live their new normal. For many it means welcoming a Rainbow Baby,
and I do dream about having my Rainbow, unfortunately this does not seem to be a
dream likely to be realized. I am fortunate that I have been able to construct
some new hopes and dreams. As each day passes it has become easier to see the
joys in life, and the grief has become less overwhelming. I hope to one day
realize some of my new dreams.
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