A Year Gone By

So, the birthday has come and gone. We attended a First Saturday Mass, a High Sunday Mass and a NO Mass on the day of her birth; these masses were in remembrance of her.

After weeks of dreading her birthday, it wasn't so bad. We went to mass in the morning and then to the cemetery. It was a very hot day and, of the few immediate family members who came to the cemetery, most did not stay long. The only people who could bear the heat were my husband, my mother and me. We said a rosary and then talked a bit. It was hard to feel anything for some reason; at the time I thought that my heart was at peace about it...

After my mom left, I began feeling bad and I cried hard for a while. Again, I kept asking "why" and "what if"... I blamed myself again and then began thinking about the baby I would have in March. I told my husband that I hoped Barbara knows that no one could ever replace her and that was not what I was intending with this "new" baby. I wondered if Barbara knows how much I love her and miss her and if she  was watcing over us all.

We stayed for most of the day- just sitting there- talking, remembering, wondering and crying. Because I ended up getting a terrible sunburn (it's that Irish complexion) we had to leave. We thought about going back later but decided to just stay home; the cemetery is an hour away and the weekend had been tough.

It will soon be the anniversary of her death... Monday, in fact. Last Sunday, despite the cold, wet weather, we went to the cemetery. I confessed to my husband that I had been avoiding the cemetery and the whole subject for most of the month. I just haven't been dealing with it when, the whole time, I assumed everything was fine.

The thing is that I am- for the most part- alone when it comes to dealing with things. My husband is gone at least 12 hours a day and my family has not been there for me since the very beginning. I don't have anyone to cry to or lean on. I just have to hold it all together. I feel like I don't have a choice. I feel like I just have to keep going like it never happened because thinking about it is only too painful and I just don't have an outlett for that sort of pain.

The fact that I am pregnant is truly a blessing but it is not without its own implications... I am so afraid of losing this baby. what if he/ she dies? I try to trust in God but I have done this before and look what happened!

My relationship with God has suffered over this past month. I am angry with Him and I don't understand Him at all. I am told that it is not my place to understand and that there is a plan and that He knows what it best for me.

I say this to myself until I can accept it and then something else goes terribly wrong and I am left guessing again. This month my husband was told that he may lose his job in three months. He starts a new project which will determine whether or not they keep him or let him go on the anniversary of Barbara's death. So, I want to ask God when enough will be enough... I want to ask Him whether or not He thinks I deserve a break yet... It is just so hard to believe in a God that is ordered and just when everything seems so chaotic and unfair. Now I have to deal with being pregnant and my husband possibly having no job- thus no income and no insurance- by the time the baby comes. This is just another thing to worry about on top of worrying about whether ot not this baby will be born just to die like my last...

So, I am trying.

Monday there will be a mass for her. As the day approaches I am having a hard time keeping it all together. I don't even want to go to the mass.

When we went to the cemetery, we noticed that the groundspeople- who usually take whatever we leave and throw it in the trash- left the cards her sisters made for her. Because it had been so rainy, they were falling apart. We buried them so that the groundspeople could never take them. We then pulled out the grass that was growing and brushed the grass seed aside because, without the bare spot over her body, there is no way of knowing where she is. We can't afford a stone- or rather, we can't afford a stone plus the useless concrete slab the cemetery charges extra for.

As we were leaving, I looked around at the bigger stones with marble vases and wished we could afford one for her. That way, no one would take what we put in the vases and we could be sure that there was always something there to honor her. The larger stones with the vases are far too expensive for us ever to afford, though, and this makes me mad. Apparently, a person has to be wealthy in order to be properly honored after death... at least this is what the Catholic Cemeteries Association seems to believe. It's just that nothing about her life was fair and now, after death, it is much the same.

All of these things are so painful.

I have been thinking about how we spent this whole month last year in ther NICU and I have been wondering how I was able to deal with it for so long. The NICU was such a terrible place; I don't know how I was able to sit there everyday and deal with it all by myself. I don't know how I was able to be patient while God's will was being done and while everyone around me only wanted her dead. I don't know how I was able to be even a little hopeful while everyone else was so hopeless. I don't know how I kept my faith in such a place that seems so far removed from God.

I have been remembering the walks I would take outside and how I would not let them see me cry because this meant I was weak and they could sense weakness and would pounce on it like lions during a kill... I knew they wanted us to pull the plug and, in the end when things became so hard for me, I was afraid they would get to me at a time of extreme weakness and exhaustion. I knew that they had been whittling away at my hope and strength for weeks and that they were only getting stronger while I only got weaker. I would leave and go outside where no one could find me and I would just sob. I would not go back in until I was done and my face looked as if I hadn't been crying. I went back in pretending to be strong, energetic and full of hope.

The other day, I remembered that my husband was yelled at for having his computer plugged in to a hospital plug while we sat by her as she died. We knew she was dying and they knew she was dying (although they didn't tell us they knew) and my husband was on the computer trying to contact friends and relatives. The thing was that we had been given permission from several nurses and doctors to use the plug... At the time, I felt like throwing up. What kind of a monster would tell the father of a dying baby not to use a plug???? A plug- something that paled in comparison to what was going on- what the father was dealing with. This was a little comfort to him and he couldn't even have it.

That was how it was like.

The truth is that this last month has been very painful and very deifficult. I miss Barbara. Even after a year, I still hurt as if it happened yesterday...

A Time to be Born

I am not sure who reads this; I know at least one person does as I received two lovely emails from someone who read an entry and could relate. 

In any case, I have not posted in a while and so I believe I ought to explain why. 

First off, I have been blessed with another pregnancy and am now 12 weeks along. Over the past 10 weeks I have been spending time finding the perfect midwives and looking for a decent OB. I have also had to fight my previous OB in order to have my thyroid tested and then treated. 

At the same time, my computer broke and is still in parts on my dining room table but, at least for now, it works. 

Last June, I began praying fervently about my infertility issue. In July, I was scheduled for an HSG. I began asking St. Rita for her intervention and also asking St. Pio for help because my faith was being challenged in a big way. I went to adoration and had an epiphany about Barbara belonging to God and decided to go to adoration as often as possible. I actually didn't try to become pregnant in June; I had sort of given up. I realized that it was all up to God and nothing I could do could change His will for me. All I could do was pray- and pray I did. 

I was shocked when I found out I was pregnant. I was happy, but shocked. 

I am so blessed. I know this but my happiness does not exist without fear and sadness... I am reminded of my loss in ways I never thought possible. Being pregnant brings it all back while, at the same time, reminding me that God gives as well as takes away. While I am so happy to be reminded that there are still blessings to be had and happy times to celebrate, I am also often frightened and sad. 

I think things that I never thought about before; morbid things like: should I get rid of all the baby clothes I so washed and lovingly folded and put away for Barbara or just get new ones? Should I sew a baptismal gown? If I do and the baby dies, I will feel sad that I have the gown but if I don't and the baby dies, I will also not have something nice to bury the baby in. You see, one thing I regret is not having a gown to have buried Barbara in. So, I decided to pick one out and sew it. 

What about the bassinet we bought to Barbara- should I get rid of it and get a new one or use it? After all, it was hers and she is gone. What if using it somehow makes the new baby die? Yes- this is superstitious but I can't help but think this way. 

Will the new baby only remind me of Barbara and make me sad? Will I have a hard time bonding with this baby because I will be so afraid of losing it? Will I be over- protective because I am afraid of losing it? 

The worst is that, now that my thyroid problem is being treated, I wonder if Barbara would have lived had I been treated while I was pregnant with her. Thinking that being treated would have changed things only makes me blame myself with a new sort of fervor. 

Then I have to wonder if Barbara thinks that I have forgotten about her or that she is replaceable. Of course, I know that she is with God and can't be sad but still, I wonder... I am afraid that I will forget her because I will be so happy when I am made a new mother again and forgetting her would be terrible. 

Dealing with the judgment and ignorance of other people has also made life difficult. A while back my cousin- operating our of sheer ignorance- begged me not to see a midwife for this baby. You see, someone within my family started a rumor that homebirth killed Barbara and, rather than bother to find out the truth, people have taken delight in propagating this rumor- which is sickening. 

I revel at the fact that I have been so blessed and then remind myself that there is no way of knowing how this will turn out. I could have a still- born or the baby could be born sick like Barbara. This baby could have a mental or physical issue and could have to go to the NICU. 

Then I think that, if something goes wrong, I want to be closer to another NICU so that I don't have to go back to the one where Barbara died... 

At the same time, I am reminded that there is a time for everything. There is a time to mourn and a time for joy; a time for birth and a time to die. 

On Labor Day, Barbara would have been turning one. She would have been eating her first cake with her hands and having a good time. She would probably be walking or almost walking. She might have even learned to say a word or two. She would have had a few teeth- at least one... 

On October 1, it will be a year since she is dead. This next month will be very hard. If I didn't have this new life growing inside of me, I might- in my human frailty- give in to despair. As it is, though, I can't. I have to eat, I have to sleep, I have to care for myself; there is no other option. 

I am not saying that I won't grieve; I will. I will cry a lot. I will feel very sad. I will feel angry. I will ask "why" and "what if"... But I will not be able to let it consume me or become me. I can't. 

I can't be all sad when, amidst the grief, I have something special going on that can't stop me from feeling happy. Even if the blessing is a double- edged sword... it is a blessing, none- the - less and who am I to question what the Lord has done? 

Again, I am shocked that I am pregnant to begin with... I thank God and St. Rita and St. Pio every day. I now constantly ask St. Rita for help because she is the patron saint of lost causes and I so often feel like a lost cause. 

This month will be very difficult for me- I ask for your prayers. I also ask that you bear with me when I do not post and/ or when I post and the post is very sad and graphic. I will not hide my thoughts and feelings because someday, somewhere someone who is hurting like I am may stumble upon this blog and be cheered by the fact that they are not alone and that someone else has been there and has felt that way and is getting through it. 

St. Rita- pray for us! 

Belonging to God

Lately things have been difficult. I have felt very lonely and life has been hard. I have felt doubt and anger and, at times, I have felt very bitter and resentful.
No matter what I feel, I keep up a brave front when it comes to the kids; I never expose my doubt or despair and I always reassure them that their baby sister is in heaven even when I doubt its existence. I still have them pray throughout the day even when I wonder "why bother?".
I do this because I know that they deserve something that I never had- a religious upbringing. There are so many times during the past 10 months when I have told my husband that I would have handled my loss better if I had been given a strong religious foundation; then it would all just be a given- a fact of life. As it is, though, I was not raised to think about God and to incorporate Him into my every second. So, now, as an adult, I struggle. I'm not saying that even people with a solid religious foundation don't struggle at times- we are human, after all. But what I am saying is that I feel at a disadvantage compared to people who were raised knowing that they belong to God.
If one is raised  from day 1 with the knowledge that every human being belongs to God, dying is just returning to Him. We come from Him when we are born to our parents- who have been entrusted with our care physically, emotionally and spiritually- and when He wants us back, we go to Him. We never belonged to the world or to our parents and our kids never really belong to us. We all belong to God.
In religion, my kids learn that we are not here to serve and gratify ourselves but instead we are here to know, love and serve God.  They are also taught to love God above all things.
I was never taught this. I grew up thinking that I existed for myself and that I should work towards my own happiness at all times. I thought that I deserved to be happy- I had a right to be happy. Whenever I thought about heaven, it was in conjunction with hell because I feared hell rather than wanted to be with God in heaven.
So now, as an adult and a mother in mourning, I am feeling like a cold bucket of water has been thrown at my face; I am experiencing true grief which conflicts with my "right" to be happy. I know that we are never promised happiness in this life but this is something I only recently learned and so realizing it at all times is difficult. I have been fighting it- thinking of it as punishment- thinking that I don't deserve it... I never learned that suffering is a blessing from God that draws us closer to Him. I never learned that I could offer up my sufferings for different causes- the poor souls being one of my favorites. I have to teach myself all of these things now because I never learned them as a child.
Grief is a part of life- for everyone. No one is immune. It really helps to have a solid belief system in place before one must experience grief. So, when I feel doubtful, I don't allow myself to be lenient with the kids when it comes to religion- I want them to have a solid foundation. Maybe this is selfish of me, but it is better than being neglectful of their religious education simply because I have issues. This, I believe, is more selfish- to rob kids of their right to know their Father and, according to scripture, can be a grave sin. My kids will have the tools needed to thrive in any storm and they will grow up knowing that each and every one of us is God's and that the earth is only our temporary home. They will know that grief isn't a bad thing even though it feels bad and that we can always turn it into something beautiful by offering it up and uniting our sufferings with that of Jesus.
Today, during adoration, it hit me: we all belong to God. My children are not mine- they are God's. Barbara was always God's- never mine. She just happened to be in my care for a short time but she was never mine. It hit my in my heart rather than in my brain; it is one thing to parrot this over and over but it is another thing entirely to know it in one's heart. All of my kids belong to God- not me.
I belong to God, too- even when I doubt and feel anger towards Him... I am His and He is my Father.
I still mourn my loss and I will forever but it does help to know that she always belonged to God...

Blame

This is the third edit of my original post. I want Dr. Amy's followers to know that they are not welcome on my blog and their presence here makes me sick. Anyone who participates in the expolitation of a mother's grief is sick and anyone like Dr. Amy, who can lie about the death of a child is doubly sick. This blog is about mourning the loss of a child within the context of my faith. If you are not here for this reason, then go away!


This is not my original post but this is the one that began what has been the icing on the cake of a year that has been  sheer hell for my family and me. Before this post was referanced and quoted by Dr. Amy, this blog was about dealing with the death of my child, which has seems to be a never- ending battle and something I now know I will have to do for the rest of my life. The thing is that it is nearly impossible to find what one is looking for after the death of a child- true peace and healing.

One thing that I noticed was that the world around me went on while my world stopped. My world would never be the same while everyone else's world just went on to bigger and better things. I could not talk to anyone because the things I felt were- well, embarassing. The few people I turned to could not understand and my husband had to go to work immediately after the death of our child. Life went on.

For me, every day was a constant struggle. At the end of ever day, I'd think to myself- "well, I got through that one..." and then another would come and then another. I was alone. So, I started this blog. I started it because I thought I could say things on this blog that I could not say to anyone in person. I also thought that I could help other people who are going through the same thing. I know that it would have helped me to have had the thoughts and feelings of another grieving mom to read; I would have known, then, that I was not so alone and I would not have felt like such a freak and at least that would have been something. And something is more than nothing.

So, I was brutally honest. I wrote exactly what I felt. I didn't mind puting it out there because I really thought I could do some good for others. I also wanted to write about my faith and my struggle to keep it. It is so hard to keep believing in God when it seems like God has abandonned me. I thought maybe if others saw my struggle, they would not lose faith as I was so trying not to do.

I had no idea my blog would be used in such a way; that my words- so honestly written with pure and decent intent- could be twisted and used against me. I had no idea I was putting myself out there to be ripped apart like that. I had no idea that the memory of my child would be profaned by such a terrible lie and my misery exploited to justify a cause that I want no part in.

Parents who love their kids feel responsible for every decision they make, which is why they think long and hard before making important decisions. Even though we try our very best and pray on things, respearch things, etc., sometimes things don't work out the way we want for out kids. When this happens, we blame ourselves. It doesn't matter how many people tell us that we did our best, that it is not our fault- giref defies all logic and we blame ourselves.

My first baby was born in the hospital under the care of negligent OBs. She nearly died and spent her first few weeks in the local NICU. She was heavily medicated for the first year of her life because the brain damage she sustained as a result of physician negligence. I blamed myself. If only I had found different OBs... if only I had said "no" to the epidural... If only I had been able to push through the lips... it just had to be my fault- something I did while I was pregnant, perhaps. Maybe I didn't try hard enough.

My second baby was born via elective section because another OB (resident) told me it would be the safest thing. I didn't want to go through my first birth experience again so I elected to have the section. During the section, the OB on call yelled at the resident because I was almost ready to push and should not have had the section. When I saw my son pulled up out of my opened abdomen, I began to cry. He was cold and he was crying and it just wasn't how I wanted him to be born. He was with strangers as he cried for his mom. I blamed myself. I failed. If only I had said "no"; if only I had been brave; if only I had remembered all that I had read... I let my fear take over.

My guilt soon turned into depression and the fact that, months later, I was still in pain from the surgery only made things worse. I still wish I had made a different decision. I love my son and I feel as if I failed him just like I failed my oldest.

My fourth baby was born at home. She was born at home but that was not what killed her. what killed her was physician ineptitude and negligence because the physician I was seeing throughout the pregnancy dropped the ball on so many things. Even so, I blame myself- just like I do for the other two- HOSPITAL- births. It is important that people know what killed my child because I do not want a lie to ruin the memory of her.

What was different about this birth, though, was the fact that other people blamed me. Even though an entire team of neonatologists and, more recently, an OB and another neonatologist have proven my innocence (and that of birth at home), people who do not bother to find out the truth and the facts have taken it upon themselves to judge and blame.

This further isolates a grieving parent and only multiplies her own sense of guilt and blame because, like I said, grief defies all logic.

I know that only God can judge me and I will have to answer for anything I have done in this life when I move on to the next. I know that, if we judge, we can expect to be judged as harshly as we have judged... It isn't anyone else's right to judge me and it isn't anyone else's right to capitalize on my misery and the death of my child.

This blog is not about birth at home. It does not defend birth at home or insult it. It is about the grief a mother feels after a child dies. It has been turned into something else entirely, though, with over 800 hits on the post that used to be in this posts place. Over 800 hits and ONE compassionate reader. I wonder if any of the readers who wanted  a good bit of drama and who wanted  to salivate over a good story got what they wanted... If so,  they have to know that their satisfaction has been at my expense and, as a result, they should feel ashamed of themselves and put some thought into Dr. Amy's methods and motives.

No one has the right to judge the motives of parents who do what they believe is best for their children. It is sad to think that we live in a world where parents can be informally charged with the death of their child simply because they do not behave in a way that is acceptable to Dr. Amy and her readers.

UNinformed Consent and D&Cs Ought to be a Crime

Something I find interesting is that most of my posts aren't read. My goal here was to let it all out, so to speak, so that other moms in my position would not feel as freakish as I do after feeling so terrible after having lost a 4 week old baby. Oddly enough, my posts on infertility and D&Cs are the most popular; followed by anything regarding medical ethics. Cleveland Catholic Cemeteries association was also somewhat popular... I don't know what this means. What I do know is that it is very sad that so many people have to read my infertility and D&C posts; this means that a lot of people must be googling this topic and thus a lot of people are either afraid of infertility as a result of a D&C or are dealing with infertility as a result of a D&C. Perhaps a few people are just morbidly curious but who would think of researching this topic just for fun (eeek!)? So, this is very, very sad. When I got my D&C, I was scared and confused and I just wanted to get back to my baby who was (quite possibly) dying in the NICU. At the time, I was afraid that she would be dead by the time I got back. My husband was in no state to advocate for my best interest because now he had a wife who needed a surgery and a newborn who was dying. I made him go back to her rather than stay with me because she needed him more than I did and, if she were to die, I did not want her to die alone. Obviously, there was a lot going on. I didn't like the first doctor I met with very much; he was brusk and semi- mean. He spoke down to me and I was really afraid of him doing the D&C. Thankfully, because I had insurance (which is sick in itself), I got to meet with another doctor who was actually very kind and had comforting things to say. The nurse was also very kind and sympathetic- even the anesthesiologist was great. The procedure was explained to me and I was told how I would be put under. The only thing I was not told was how the D&C could effect my fertility. I was also not told about any other options and was told that I had to have it done because, if I didn't, I'd probably be back later, anyhow, to get it done (the first doctor told me this and so whether or not I absolutely needed it was no longer an issue- or so I thought). Normally, I would have asked about other options or what would happen if I didn't get it done, etc. But, under the circumstances, I was just too out of it to think strait. At 9:30 PM on a Saturday Barbara was born after 2 days of labor and no sleep. I lost a lot of blood that night from the retained placenta. I didn't sleep much and held Barbara for most of the night. At 10 am the next morning, we were en route to the NICU because Barbara had stopped breathing. Around 2 pm, she was baptized and we were able to see her. Around 4 am Monday morning, we were on the way to another hospital because something was wrong with me. The D&C was performed around 8. So, you see, things were really messed up at the time. This was why I was interested in getting it all over with more than anything else- my future fertility was not nearly as important to me as the present baby in the NICU... If I knew then what I know now, I would not have gotten the D&C. If OBs truly informed women of all of the possible risks of a D&C- including infertility- I would have much less of an issue with D&C related infertility. My guess is, though, that most OBs- regardless of how kind or well- meaning they may be- do not fully inform women of all D&C related risks. This means that the majority of women who are getting D&Cs do not know that they are about to submit to a procedure that may render them infertile. I have a huge issue with this. If a woman was put under for a section and her tubes were tied without her permission during the process, she could sue. It would be all over the news! But when a women gets a D&C and becomes infertile as a result, no one bats an eyelash except for the couple experiencing infertility. Even though the OB doing the procedure is aware of this risk and does not relay this information on to his patient, there is obviously nothing wrong or unethical with the procedure being done, anyway. This is how it is looked at by the medical monster (aka. the "establishment"), individual OBs and society as a whole. In my mind, however, the two scenarios are one in the same. I never consented to being made infertile- just like the hypothetical woman whose tubes are tied while she is under. Yes- I am saying that a D&C performed without real informed consent that renders a women infertile is akin to forced sterilization. Not that the OB forced the sterilization per se, but instead consciously withheld vital information that has impacted the health, well- being and my ability to reproduce in the future. The act of consciously withholding information is something that must not be ignored. The fact is that a D&C can cause scar tissue (adhesions) to form which, in turn, can cause infertility and/or repeat miscarriage. Miscarriage can lead to more D&Cs... which lead to... you know... on and on. The truth is that women are just not informed and, as a result, we suffer. There is no balm to soothe the pain of infertility. There are no words that can make things better. It is a lonely state to be in and people often say the wrong things when we choose to open up about our problem. If we believe that God gives us children and we can't have them, it makes it even harder. We wonder what we have done to cause God to not give us children. We feel guilty. We see others relishing their state of pregnancy or parenthood and we feel bad. We wonder why god "favors" them over us. When we see neglectful or abusive parents, we really question whether or not God knows what is best. I have found that it is very difficult to be a Catholic and also infertile. Very few people understand how I feel and I don't seem to fit in with my Catholic peers. My priest, though kind, doesn't understand how it feels and, as a result, can be a little insensitive. It is hard to see so many other pregnant women or women with babies and even harder to hear other women bragging. It hurts. One thing that bothers me about the Church is that she appears to be more exclusive than inclusive and if you aren't the way others want you to be in any particular group, you are excluded. Sadly, the only thing that should be necessary for inclusion is that one is a practicing Catholic who is trying- in earnest- to live by the Book(s) (ie. the Bible and the CCC). Time and time again I have had the door shut in my face because I wasn't the way others wanted me to be. Dealing with infertility has only made this worse and it has caused me to question my Faith. Since losing my baby, I have learned a lot about the world and people and have become very sad, mistrusting, scared, shy, resentful and bitter. Dealing with infertility has only made it worse. I am so angry with myself and the doctor because I had the D&C. I am so angry that it is OK to perform a D&C without first informing the patient about all of the risks- however small. This should be seen as a crime rather than standard and acceptable. I see, by the number of people who have looked at my post about D&Cs and infertility, that this is a real issue that needs solved. The medical community won't solve it and so we must. We must demand the truth from our health care providers. We must demand that all possible options are mentioned and explored all the risks of all options are known and weighed in comparison to the benefits. We must demand that our intelligence is respected and that our bodies are treated as the wonderful creations of God that they are. We are not patients #27865 and #48964; we are human beings. We are more than just a uterus that needs a good scraping; we are people with hopes and dreams- many of them having to do with the children we someday hope to have. "Demand" is not too strong of a word and it is what we will have to do if we are to make things truly just, ethical and reasonable when it comes to D&Cs in particular and women's health care in general.

Barbara's Beautiful, Stupid Kidneys

When my baby was in the NICU, her attending neonatologist ordered a consultation with a pediatric nephrologist. This doctor, though my experience with him was limited, was by far one of my favorite people at the hospital with whom I interacted. First off, he was kind. He was also interested in my child and interested in getting to know her parents as much as he could. He had a good sense of humor and he treated my child like a normal human being- I can't tell you how much that meant to me and hod good that felt after watching the way almost everyone else treated her. He spoke to us like we were real people- he didn't talk down to us or dumb things down- he seemed to be experienced at feeling around in order to know who he was dealing with. He told me that Barbara's kidneys were "stupid". I had to laugh at this because it made sense. He wasn't insulting us or her; rather he had sense enough to know who we were and what he could and couldn't say. He brought some humor into a bad situation and I was as grateful for it then as I am now. I don't know why I thought of this today. The truth is that I have been hurting a lot lately and I don't know why. I seem to miss her more and more as the days go by when I thought I'd miss her less and less. I guess this is because I am doing research now on thyroid problems and her deplorable condition and birth and after is starting to make sense. People have accused me of killing my child and someone who is very close to me blamed my child's illness on my life style. In the NICU, there was a real "blame the mother" attitude which put me at odds with the doctors from the very beginning even though the NICU docs had to admit that it could not have been my fault. The more I learn, the more I know that I am not to blame- I did not kill my child and it has nothing to do with my life style. I was not negligent- I went to a doctor- someone I trusted- for help and he let me down. Even now, he refuses to admit he was wrong and also refuses to prevent the same thing from happening again. My mother tells me to sue him. What good would it do? It won't bring Barbara back and I don't think that he went out of his way to be negligent. The thing that bothers me about him now is that he refuses to listen and learn in order to prevent the same mistake from happening again. Imagine how it felt- knowing that people were thinking that I killed my child? Losing a child is the worst thing that could happen to a person but then to spread things and things... Getting back to the stupid kidneys... Her kidneys were not stupid; the people entrusted with her care were. My baby was beautiful and her organs were perfect- formed by God for some purpose although I still don't know what. Sometimes I don't think I can get through this even now because the pain is just too great. When I am alone, I cry. I feel just as bad as I did months ago. I miss her just as much and her absence is always felt. Sometimes I wonder how I can live anymore. How I can face tomorrow and the day after that, etc... People are very private about how they feel at times like this. Being private doesn't help anyone. It doesn't let other people know that are really OK for what they feel. Everyone thinks that I should just get over this but I will never get over it and if other people can't deal with this, it is not my problem. Mothers who supposedly don't love their kids anymore after they've reached adulthood and thus are on their own are bad parents, right... so why should I stop loving my child just because she is gone from this earthly life? I think I will ask to go to the cemetery today. I just need to be with her. My heart is breaking.

What a Mother in Mourning May Not Tell You

At the burial of my baby, I was calm and collected. Slow and steady tears streamed down my face but I was composed. I regret this. I thought "what would people say if I cried hysterically?" I wanted to be a big woman- a strong mother. I wanted to appear strong for my kids and I did not want to embarrass myself in front of my family. Inside, I was falling apart; I was feeling so many things that it was difficult to feel anything at all. Everyone was quiet and stoic- no one really cried hard. Since Barbara died, I have not reached out to anyone. I thought that they would be kind enough to reach out to me. My best friend is intelligent and selfless enough to know that I am like this and so she has always been there for me when no one else was. I never had to call her for help; she just assumed I needed it. I think this is because she lost a baby a few years ago and, I really think that unless someone has lost a baby, they have no idea what it feels like and how life is ever changed from that moment on. I am grateful for her. I am not sure if I have mentioned this before but only one person in my family has bothered to call since Barbara died and one person stopped by the day after she died. I have a huge family- and yet no one has bothered to call. Strangers have been kinder. My mother tells me that they didn't know what to say. My sister- with whom things are now patched- told me that she thought I would reach out to her if I needed her. Maybe this is what everyone thinks. Losing a child isn't like having a broken leg and needing help cooking, cleaning, etc. I would have an easier time asking for help for something like a broken leg... Losing a child flings someone into a sort of confusion, pain, anger and despair that is so private, personal and inexplicable. People can't expect someone in this situation to ask for help; it is just too much to ask. To expect someone to ask for help is to expect someone to be rational at a time when being rational is not possible. Someone who has lost a child is not rational; they are all heart. What a mother who has lost a baby may not tell you is how terrible she feels. This is because we are expected to get over it and take care of things. The thing is, only people who haven't lost babies expect this of us. Those who have lost babies know that you can never get over it. So, it is highly unlikely that a mom in mourning will tell you how horrific her life has become- how she can't sleep or eat and all she can do sometimes- even months later- is cry. If she doesn't tell you that it is this bad, don't think that it isn't. Expect that it is and go from there. A mom in mourning may not ask for help- either because she is too upset or embarrassed to do so. She may also not want to bother anyone with her problems. Please reach out to a mom who has lost a child- don't wait for her to reach out to you. Call her- tell her that you are there for her and that she can tell you anything and you won't judge. Offer to get her out of the house- maybe take her out for lunch or to get her hair done or for a walk in the park. Don't just assume that she doesn't need you if she doesn't ask for your help. Don't assume that things are fine if she doesn't say otherwise. As mothers, we must support each other. As Catholics, we are commanded by Our Lord Jesus Christ to love each other. This means that we should care for each other and offer help and support to each other. This isn't something to be luke- warm about; this is a commandment! Jesus tells us what we do to the lest of His brethren, we do to Him. If we love Him as we should, then we must love others and treat others as if they were Jesus. Of course, we are also commanded to treat others as we would like to be treated ourselves. Think about what you would want if your child died- how would you like others to treat you? I have been ill and so I did not go to church yesterday. I went to the cemetery, though. I found that I could not pray the rosary but instead just had to talk to God using my own words. I also have become disgusted with the church, lately. One thing that disgusts me is the lack of Catholic community. As a Catholic, I believe that I should have had a faith community on which I could rely but didn't. No one bothered to care and, in fact, some women were just nasty. This hurt. It is one thing that every- day people let you down but a Catholic should be able to expect more from fellow Catholics. Be there for your fellow Catholics! Get to at least recognize people within your parish so that, when something looks out of place, you will notice and can offer assistance. Don't just go to Mass one day a week and then go home and wash your hands of your faith until the next Sunday (or Saturday)- be a live part of the Body of Christ. Take an interest in everyone who attends the Mass of your choice- don't just stick with your own little clique- this is not what we are commanded to do! If you see a mom who was pregnant one day and not the next- with no baby in arms- go to her! Don't avoid her or expect that someone else will comfort her. Go to her! Even if you are busy with your own life- go to her! The time you spend with her will be nothing compared to the time you have to spend on other things throughout the rest your life and it is nothing compared to time spent in Eternity after death! You may not just provide comfort but also provide someone experiencing doubt a reason to believe! You will have affirmed that we- as Catholics- stick together and that it means something to be a Catholic with other Catholics. Think about it: if anyone- just one person- had shown me the least but of kindness in my parish I would not be disgusted with the Church like I am now.