After four terrible weeks in the NICU at the local Children's Hospital, my baby's body finally gave in and she took her last breath in my arms. Because she had been sick since birth, I had time to think about what would happen i she were to die. First of all, I thought that I would not be able to handle it. I thought that I would go nuts.
But when she died, I was fairly calm. I knew by the way her monitors looked that she was dying and I began praying. I never thought I would pray at a time like this; I always thought I would just scream and cry. But I prayed. It was automatic but not without emotion. I first prayed the "Hail Mary" because I suppose I needed her strength. Then I prayed the "Lord's Prayer", the "Salve Regina" and the "Prayer to St. Michael." Then I cried. I called out for Our Blessed Mother and I gave myself to God at that point just like Jesus commended His spirit to God before his death. That is all I could have done; it was happening and I couldn't stop it.
Then I thought that it as over. It was done. I thought that the next few weeks would be difficult but then things would get better. I had no idea that it was really just beginning. I had no idea what challenges, thoughts and feelings lay ahead.
That was October. Now it is nearly the end of March and I am starting to look back on things. I find it strange that things were not as I thought they would be. I thought that things would be bad and then get increasingly better. I thought that the grieving process would look like a graph with a steady, upward slope. I also thought that, by now, I would feel much better and that I would be at peace with things.
How silly I was! In reality, the slope of my grief graph has an incline but it is not steady or smooth, there are many drops along the way and, although these drops are fewer as time goes by, they still exist. I still have bad days- sometimes very bad days.
I think what happens is that the emotional gives way to the rational and I start to think and remember. Also, I am no longer in shock and I know now that Barbara Bernadette will never come back. Some memories still feel so real and new while others are fading away. There is a calmness about my grief, now, when there wasn't before. I guess if my grief graph was colored, it would begin very red and then blue and then red and then fade into a deep blue with fewer red segments. Red is all emotion- intense sorrow and pain. Blue is a calm sort of acceptance. I am at deep blue at the moment.
It seems like my feelings change constantly and I feel things and think things that I never thought I could think or feel before. I feel angry, I feel sad, I feel lonely and sometimes I actually feel OK. Then I feel guilty that I feel OK.
Sometimes I feel fine and then I remember something or someone says something and I feel terrible. Then I believe that I have regressed somewhat. Then I feel angry with myself because I ought to be progressing- not regressing.
I guess one thing I have learned is that you can't control your grief; you just have to let it go where it will. You just have to own it and accept it. You just have to give it to God. You just have to keep in constant contact with Him and ask for help.
I try not to punish myself for regressing but I do find that others believe that, by this point, I ought to be over it and on the up and up. This hurts and only makes things worse. it is one thing to feel bad but another entirely to feel like a freak because I feel bad! Unless someone has also lost a baby, they have no idea what it is like and therefore have no right to criticize someone who has. This, obviously, creates issues and distance between myself and others and I either have to stop speaking with these people or never let them know how I feel. Either way, I feel hurt and betrayed. This looks black; isolation is black. Betrayal is black. Feeling let down is black.
Anyhow, maybe the regressions are not regressions at all; maybe they are a natural part of it all...? Maybe I should stop expecting so much of myself and just be how I have to be in order to just live sometimes because sometimes just living is hard enough. Maybe it is better to look at the reality of things- what I have been through and how miraculous it is that I am getting through it...
So, my graph is misshapen and discolored. My life, now, feels misshapen and discolored. Nothing is the same. Nothing will ever be the same. My entire family has to fit into a new shape- that of a family circle with a hole somewhere within it where my fourth child should be.
Nothing about my grief has been predictable or understandable. I suppose this is OK since nothing about life really is predictable and understandable. Nothing about my baby's life was predictable and understandable. We were- and are- at the mercy of God in all things and only God knows what will be with complete certainty. This may sound frightening and, in some ways it is. To realize that we are not in control and that only God is is scary. At the same time, though, it is comforting to know that He does have a plan and that things- no matter how painful- will work out for the best. It may not be what we think is best- but it really will be for the best. This is one constant comfort in a world full or so many questions and concerns.
If we are not in control, then why bother to fight it? In the end, all I can do is accept my loss. Acceptance is white and gold- the color of vestments on important Feast Days and Church Holy Days. The little Infant of Prague wears white and gold on Church feast days as well... All I can do is accept and rely on God; there really is nothing else to do- after all, white and gold are wonderful colors of a celebratory nature!
"With expectation I have waited for the Lord and he was attentive to me.
And he heard my prayers, and brought me out of the pit of misery and the mire of the dregs.
And he set my feet upon a rock, and directed my steps.
And he put a new canticle into my mouth, a song to our God.
Many shall see, and shall fear: and they shall hope in the Lord."
- Psalm 39:2-4 (Douay- Rheims; St. Benedict Press)
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