It occurred to me that I have not yet mentioned Little Bub here. He was the genetically healthy baby boy that I miscarried in 2005 due to complications from a CVS. I learned a big lesson from that pregnancy that I attempted to put to use while I was pregnant with Athena - there is no point in trying to not bond with your little foetus. I tried not to get my hopes up, tried not to bond, tried not to think that pregnancy was going to result in a live birth in the hopes of protecting myself if I had to make a choice to terminate, but at the end of the day, I ended up heartbroken anyway. With Athena (or Chilli Bean as she was known while I was pregnant) I forced myself to stay as positive as I could. It wasn't easy. There were days that I was drowning in a morass of self-pity. But I tried to look to the future - looked for signs of hope at the scans before the amnio instead of not watching for fear of falling in love. Why did I fear falling in love? Love is the best and brightest of the human emotions, but I wasn't afraid of the love, I was afraid of the pain of losing someone I loved.
Anyway, I digress into the past. The reason I'm writing this post is because I saw the list of questions on the round up. I didn't bother blogging for 2 months because I feel the need to have contact with real people where I live, but I'm kind of striking out on that effort. I would post more on SPALS, but there are people there raw with fresh grief who can't stand hearing about other people's living children (not judging, because I well remember how it feels). I feel I've moved on from SPALS, but haven't found a place to move on to yet. Maybe that means I'll start blogging more here.
Anyway, here are my answers:
1. What do you want people to know about the child (or children) you have lost? That Alex existed, and he made me a mother.
2. What names did you give (or plan to give) your children and why? Alexander James. Alexander because we like the name, and James because we thought it went well with Alexander. We called him Zephyr before he was born, because we didn’t want to refer to him as “it”. We hadn’t gotten round to talking about names for our second son, but I liked the name Benjamin. We just call him Little Bub – his foetal nickname. We named our daughter Athena because we wanted her to have a name that was linked to Alex (Greek, starting with an A) but didn’t want it to be overwhelming, like she’s living in his shadow.
3. What rituals or ways of memorializing your children seem to best help you cope with their loss? I talk to my son every night.
4. What are the kindest and/or most helpful things people have said to you? What are the worst? Kindest – letting me honestly talk about my son. The worst was when someone referred to their complication-free birth that resulted in a healthy, breast-feeding son as “traumatic”.
5. Who is your hero? Who helps you make it through the dark days better than anyone else on the planet? I don’t have any heroes. Heroes imply that I want to be just like the person, and I can’t honestly say that I want to be just like anyone else – it’s hard enough to figure out who I am. I just have a few quotes that help me make it through the day, like “Get busy living or get busy dying." (Shawshank Redemption) My daughter gives my life meaning and joy, and my husband is the person I talk to about anything.
6. Is there anything you need to say or want to say but haven't been able to? Can you say it now? I want the people who used to be in my life to know how hurt I was when they disappeared after my son’s death. I want the DHAC mums to know – just for an instant – how lonely and isolating it is when you are the atypical parent. No, I can't say it now. Sometimes there is just no point in saying anything, because wishing understanding does not give it.
7. How are you doing? How are you really doing? I have good days and bad days, like anyone here. I have many lonely days, but I find immense joy in my daughter, and I am struggling to not let my issues affect her negatively.
2. What names did you give (or plan to give) your children and why? Alexander James. Alexander because we like the name, and James because we thought it went well with Alexander. We called him Zephyr before he was born, because we didn’t want to refer to him as “it”. We hadn’t gotten round to talking about names for our second son, but I liked the name Benjamin. We just call him Little Bub – his foetal nickname. We named our daughter Athena because we wanted her to have a name that was linked to Alex (Greek, starting with an A) but didn’t want it to be overwhelming, like she’s living in his shadow.
3. What rituals or ways of memorializing your children seem to best help you cope with their loss? I talk to my son every night.
4. What are the kindest and/or most helpful things people have said to you? What are the worst? Kindest – letting me honestly talk about my son. The worst was when someone referred to their complication-free birth that resulted in a healthy, breast-feeding son as “traumatic”.
5. Who is your hero? Who helps you make it through the dark days better than anyone else on the planet? I don’t have any heroes. Heroes imply that I want to be just like the person, and I can’t honestly say that I want to be just like anyone else – it’s hard enough to figure out who I am. I just have a few quotes that help me make it through the day, like “Get busy living or get busy dying." (Shawshank Redemption) My daughter gives my life meaning and joy, and my husband is the person I talk to about anything.
6. Is there anything you need to say or want to say but haven't been able to? Can you say it now? I want the people who used to be in my life to know how hurt I was when they disappeared after my son’s death. I want the DHAC mums to know – just for an instant – how lonely and isolating it is when you are the atypical parent. No, I can't say it now. Sometimes there is just no point in saying anything, because wishing understanding does not give it.
7. How are you doing? How are you really doing? I have good days and bad days, like anyone here. I have many lonely days, but I find immense joy in my daughter, and I am struggling to not let my issues affect her negatively.
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