7 by 7: april 2009

1 | Give us a few words you would have used to describe your body, your health or your sense of physical vitality before the experience of babyloss—and a few that you’d use to describe it now.

Chris : Before I felt solid, strong & purposeful.  Now I'm just amazed that I can get my body to do anything at all.  My muscle memory for how to be correct in the world is what carries me along a lot of the time.

Gal : I am stronger now physically, and healthier. My pregnancy with Tikva actually strengthened me - her gift to me. I am older, though, more weathered, so a new kind of doubt is there too.

Janis : confident, proud, trustworthy, miraculous (in terms of making and birthing babies). Now, I see it cannot be taken for granted, yet it is still such an important vehicle. So the word for after is: mixed feelings.

Jen : Before: always plump, somewhat abused by the cigarette habit I’d been trying intermittently for years to give up. During pregnancy I felt generally better than I had since my teens. After: tired, entire lives older than it should feel, too soft in all the wrong places. Whereas I’ve never been confident in myself physically – at best it would have been content – it would now likely register at below zero. It’s something I’m working on. Emotionally, however, I am astonished at what I can apparently handle. Or at least survive.

Julia : I've gone through phases with my body. Right before my pregnancy with A, I was, I think, confident even if not satisfied. Now is a hard one. Both A's pregnancy, and my last one, with the Cub, as well as the aftermath of each, have been hard on me, in somewhat different ways. I made an effort to be kind to my body after A. I have succeeded, mostly, but the body isn't much better for it. The cumulative effect of these last two pregnancies is that I am tired. Just.so.tired.

Kate : Before: presumptuous. Oblivious in my skin, and which had me focusing on stuff like saddlebags and zits. After: seasoned, appreciative, solemn. Which doesn't sound like much fun, but I'm better for it.

Tash :  Before: petite, athletic, strong, healthy, feeling as though there was still potential for growth -- a triathlon maybe, or scorpion pose. Now: flabby, overweight, stout, stiff, feeling as if I'm over the hill and the best is long behind me.

2 | What do you do to take care of yourself? Has this changed?

Chris : Eat well, relax, read.  I am hoping for hikes as the spring rolls in.  I was never one to exercise or go to the gym and I still hate it.

Gal : I do yoga once or twice a week. I get acupuncture monthly. I take walks in the park and breathe fresh air. I get good sleep. I eat as much chocolate as my soul desires. Not much is different, except that I feel more deserving of it all now.

Janis : Yoga and chocolates are my lifelines. They still are, and I also need a lot of time for myself. Solitude for the heart and soul.

Jen : I’ve recently gotten back into the habit of going to the gym regularly. I feel worlds better now than a few months ago when it would have been an accomplishment to step on a machine once a week.

Julia : Not much, physically. I make an effort to walk during the work day. It helps that most of the parking available by my job is far-far away. I give myself breaks, let go of things that would've driven me mad to neglect, before. Alone time, when I can. Blog time, or I feel suspended, unconnected. Time with friends. Time with friends from the computer, who are now most definitely corporeal. A small drink here and there (between the pregnancies, the drinks were larger and more frequent, as they will be again, some day).

Kate : What restores me is the illusion of my own space and time, even for a few hours. I lack the discipline for regular exercise, and am totally mystified with admiration for those that have it. The guilt associated with this has always been there but since losing Liam, it's exacerbated with the 'ohmyGOD get off your ass, life is a fragile thing!'

Tash : I still run, go to the gym, and eat a low-sugar balanced diet. Just none of it as disciplined as before, with a steeper climb to start off with, and it shows. I've only recently got back in the swing of preventative medicine like the dentist and gynecological annuals.  

3 | Give us one or two words to describe sex or physical intimacy before, and then after the loss of your baby.

Chris : Before it was fun and hopeful.  Now it is both fraught with uncertainty and a  balm for my pain.  We enjoy ourselves but there is a great sense of purpose and intent.

Gal : It's hard to explain, but now it feels even more intimate. We've been through the unimaginable together, so our intimacy - of all kinds - is just more, deeper. Dave is the only one who really knows what it was like to know Tikva. I think of that often when I look at him.

Janis : Before: intense, fun. After: intense, emotional.

Jen : Before: regular, fun, satisfying. After: fairly regular, satisfying, much more intimate and intense. We’d both admit that we’re still terrified of being pregnant again before we’re ready.

Julia : Before: fun, important (as in a priority, not as in fate of the world in the balance). After: entangled, involved.

Kate : Before: carefree. After: loaded.

Tash : Before: Freeing, confident. After: Overthought, naked (in an on-stage-at-the-talent-show kinda way, not a sexytime-fun kinda way)

4 | Has loss and/or grief left a physical mark on you (a scar, a chronic condition, insomnia, a tattoo)?

Chris : The lack of any physical expression of my loss and pain was intolerable to me.  I don't have Silas here, so I needed something to mark me.  I have a tattoo on my right forearm that provides a powerful connection to my absent son.  For a while I had headaches every night around 3am but thankfully those stopped.  Now a sour stomach plagues my nights.

Gal : Almost 10 months after Tikva's birth, I still have a faint pregnancy line down my belly. I love it, I hope it stays forever. I still have tears running down my face at least once each day. My gray hairs are more abundant, and I definitely look older.

Janis : I have aged. I am flabby and old. I feel extremely tired and ravaged in every sense of the word. When I look into the mirror I do not recognize myself, but my friends seem to still recognize me. I dunno how that works.

Jen : Certainly a c-section scar. A few stretch marks. About 30 extra pounds. The circles under my eyes have finally started to fade. Sleep has been a major issue for me since she died, but as I get my ample ass to the gym more often, the easier I’m finding it to drift off. I’d be awake for weeks at a time without the books I consume.

Julia : Do 50 pounds count? PCOS, which means dropping weight is a bitch. Post-partum thyroiditis, which means a whole host of symptoms and medications, none of them good. Including, yes, the weight thing. Both times two now. A possibility (probability?) of a medical procedure on the horizon.

Kate : Two years later I'm still unsure how I feel about my c-section scar. Some days it haunts me, and other days I feel as though it's my tattoo, chosen. I look like anyone else on the outside, as does my family, and I almost cling to the evidence of the NICU, of him.

Tash : A pooch that sit-ups don't seem to have the least effect on. And I grind my teeth now. Oh, and deep dark bags under my eyes, even though I haven't cried in ages and sleep quite well, thanks. And gray hairs. Would a tattoo divert attention away from any of this?

5 | Do you medicate or control your emotions with food, wine, altered states, prescriptions? Without judgement, what have you gravitated towards in an effort to heal, and how do you feel about it?

Chris : I just want to give a big shout-out to all the micro-brewers all across the land.  Keep those IPAs coming!  And thank you wine, for existing.  Wine is wonderful.  Food has also been a refuge.  Chocolate.  Lobsters.  Pizza.  It's sorta like an anti-celebration, but it works.  I was surprised to find that neither of us relied on things like Xanax for relief for very long.  Initially it helped, but it was always a decision of last resort and it's not something I look to anymore.

Gal : Besides chocolate, which is comforting, I really haven't felt drawn to control or stop my emotions. I'd rather feel them deeply and let them journey through me and from me.

Janis : Not really. I think I escaped into words.

Jen : I’ve been on antidepressants since just before Christmas. I was against them for the longest time, believing that given my addictive personality I’d end up on them at best for years and at worst for the rest of my life. I started during a period when things were sliding backwards for me at a pace I simply couldn’t handle. It was lower and more painful than I ever admitted to the people who love me and hiding how sad I was became more than I could cope with. Now I’m on a course that will have me weaned off by late spring, and I’m ready.

Also, wine has always been and continues to be a fairly close acquaintance of mine.

Julia : Between the pregnancies, I needed that drink. Or three. Not every night, but not infrequently. Somehow, it made it easier to think, put sentences together. It quieted the background, helped me focus on whatever it was I needed to process that day. And is there really a better way to deal with a BFN than a fruity yet stiff cocktail?

Kate : I stopped eating meat. I'm no bleeding heart, nor do I mind or judge the plates of others. It was simply an intentional way to get the fuck away from death three times a day. Being a vegetarian helps me to feel peaceful. And smaller/tidier/healthier, fringe benefits.

Tash : I was so afraid of wine in the beginning -- I opted not to drink it for the longest time until I was sure it was because I truly wanted to just enjoy it, not because I felt I needed it. I did a lot of a coffee, and still find it the most comforting substance, especially in the morning when I'm realizing for the 26th month of waking up that this wasn't some bad dream.

6 | Was physical healing important for you in the first year after your loss? What did/does physical healing entail and how did/do you work towards it? If physicality hasn't been a priority for you, what do you do that makes you feel stronger or more able to cope?

Chris : At this point, for me, physical healing is secondary to healing my emotional and psychic wounds.  I'm sure more exercise & activity will benefit me, though.

Gal : I'm still in the first year, although sometimes it feels like a piece of the loss began over a year ago when I learned of Tikva's condition in utero. Being supported by friends and family holds me together. Eating well and enough and feeling nourished. And writing, lots of writing.

Janis : Yoga really helped me, physically, spiritually, emotionally. I also went to a couple of energy healers. Being out in nature also strengthened me and inspired me, and helped me feel connected to my son.

Jen : A year passed last week for us. For me, getting a job was a major factor in making me feel stronger in the beginning. Now, improving physically has become a priority that I’m finally enjoying.

Julia : I wanted to. I had the best intentions. I got benched by thyroiditis for a while. Other things after that. I think I ended up going to the gym a grand total of four or five times. Though I surprised myself a few times that year with the things I could still do, like swimming out into the open water to chase a catamaran. And catching it.

Kate : Physical healing wasn't an explicit priority -- at least in terms of fitness. For a very long time, sex was near-incomprehensible. It felt inappropriate to relish in this baby-losing body. For me, the reclaiming of this flesh had more to do with Marvin Gaye and new underwear than it did jogging.

Tash : Oh good lord, no. I can't remember how long it took to even cut my hair, let alone think about taking a vitamin or eating something other than cold cereal. Eventually, I wanted to run again, and about four months later I did. It helped immensely, physically and emotionally. Until I blew out my plantar fascia. Moral of the story: when healing, do it slowly in small increments, not all at once.

7 | If you could change anything about your body and/or health, what would it be? What would it feel like to be either at peace with your body, or at peace with this babylost state?

Chris :  I hate my teeth, I hate my eyes and right now I can't stand my stomach either.  I'd trade any of them in an instant.  Teeth first, though.  I seem to wear glasses well.  However, I don't really feel like I'm at war with my body.  It's just how it is and I'm okay with it.  My body is strong enough to bear this loss and I can still do everything I need or want to.  Overall I'm fine with my body, but I will never be okay with losing Silas.

Gal : I would turn back the clock to be 10 years younger and have more childbearing years ahead of me. I feel at peace with my body, appreciate its vitality and resilience, and the resilience of my soul. I feel like being at peace with my babylost state is something I have no choice but to choose to be and feel.

Janis : I don't think I can change anything, because now I feel I am no longer in control. I can change this, or that, but there are a myriad other variables out there. I am not sure what it will feel like to be at peace, but I think it will be just that- feeling at peace. No wants, no desires, no regrets, no could-have-been's, just accepting, just being. (I think if anything, I wanna change my life, change what happened...)

Jen : In a perfect world I'd know that I'm perfectly healthy; able to carry and deliver a healthy child. I have no idea what being at peace would feel like.

Julia : I accept both. I am not ok with either. My body is the way it is because of childbearing and what, for me, comes with it. That makes its present state earned, but it doesn't make it good. I call my feeling acceptance, though I am beginning to suspect that it's actually resignation. One day I might find motivation to work on it, but for now, from here, it just looks daunting. As for the babylost state. It will never be ok that A is dead. Yet he will always be dead. I accept that he is gone. But it will never be ok.

Kate : I am now a night-owl, and don't get enough sleep. I'm also not physically fit. This leaves me feeling pretty ragged sometimes, but staying up late to write feeds me in ways that keep me sane, if not toned. So I'm okay with that. (This is weird, actually. I wrote this question, yet I'm shrugging at it. All I can think of to say to "what would it look like to be at peace" is "hmph. dunno.")

Tash : I keep thinking, irrationally, if I could just change one little thing about my body, I'd deal with the whole grief mess sooo much better. If I could just lose the 20 pounds. If my skin would finally lose the pregnancy blotchiness. If I could have joints and feet and ovaries that were just five years younger. If I got a boob job. And then I realize I wouldn't feel that much better at all. I suppose I've found some level of peace in the notion that I'll never be content with my body.

7 by 7: january 2009

1  |  Welcome to 2009. What have you left behind in the year just past? What do you hope to find in the year to come?

Bon : Left behind: one foot in front of the other. Hoping to find: the capacity to look to - and even make choices impacting - a long-term future.

Janis : Left behind: innocence & confidence. Hoping to find: serenity & acceptance.

Jen : Left behind: certainly my ‘innocence’ as well as my tendency toward optimism. Hoping to find: the courage to try again.

Julia : Left behind: teeth on edge, all the time, at least for now. Hoping to find: productivity, or something like it; a way to explain in face to face conversations how permanent and permanently altering this whole thing has been for me without getting upset that an explanation is needed; some level of comfort in largish groups.

Kate : Left behind: the cynic who disbelieves Liam's voice. Hoping to find: my feet.

Niobe : Left behind:  the delete key on my laptop; Hoping to find: the elusive Higgs boson  

Tash : Left behind: The end of a seemingly endless litany of "firsts; Hoping to find: a way through the seconds, and thirds . . .

2  |  We've just come through the season in which our culture touts cheer and peace and family togetherness rather relentlessly. How did your child's death impact your experience of the "holiday" season, personally or culturally?

Bon : My first Christmas back in my own culture after five years away was also my first Christmas without my son...so I simply traded one disconnect for another.

Janis : For one I assume a lot less these days, for instance no longer thinking that holidays is about family and joy and such. Every day is a day of extreme joy and tragedy, it does not matter if it is something marked out on the calendar.

Jen : I went home to Canada for Christmas for the first time in two years. My family made every effort to welcome us home into a safe place of warmth and love. I thought about her every day. I also felt responsible for keeping my game face on. I didn’t talk about her much with others.

Julia : We are Jewish, so Christmas is not a problem in terms of family. As for society, I stick my fingers in my ears and sing la-la-la-la loudly all the way until the 26th. But the Old Country culture is big on New Year's. It's a fun holiday to spend with good friends, laughing, being silly, and staying up as long as you can hack it. It is also, always and forever, n years and 11 months for us. It brings in the last, long month before the anniversary. But because for idiosyncratic reasons we still would prefer to ring it in with friends, it is now a rather complicated holiday to wrap my head and heart around.

Kate : Christmas makes the wind whistle through the hole in my chest. Saying hello to the hole and carrying on is some kind of mastery. I'm not quite there yet, but I'm working on it.

Niobe : I've said this before, but I think my greatest loss -- greater even than the loss of the twins -- is the loss of my connection (tenuous and flawed as it was) to my family.

Tash : The big elephant (wearing a Santa hat, incidentally) always seems to want to the seat next to mine, whether I'm trying to decorate the tree, enjoy my feast of fishes, or watch Bella open presents.  It's hard to string up lights that he won't just lumber through and trample.

3  |  If you celebrate in any way through December, are there ways you include or acknowledge your lost baby/babies?

Bon : Somewhere between solstice and Christmas Eve we take an ornament out to Finn's tree in the backyard and hang it...to include him.  After the first year, when it helped immensely, it's rung a little hollow...but this year we brought his siblings out for the first time, and Oscar's little voice saying "Merry Christmas, Finn" was strangely...comforting.

Janis : Nothing in particular, except hanging his ornaments on our Solstice tree. The missing is there, though it feels a bit more poignant during this cold season.

Jen : I simply thought of her every day, as I always do.

Julia : Not by design, no. But two years ago we decorated our New Year's tree while I was pregnant. It took us a long time to take it down that year-- lack of energy and time and all that. It finally came down not too long before A died. Last year we figured out that taking down the tree is marked in Monkey's memory as an event that preceeded the death. And so now it is marked that way for me too. And because of that decorating is also colored bittersweet.

Kate : Alone, in my head, I listen for him. That is all.

Niobe : No.

Tash : My SIL sent me an angel  ornament this year, for Maddy.  I cried because a) she remembered Maddy; b) she took the time to find this ornament and send it; and c)  she did it, and not me.  Shouldn't a mother be the one to do these sorts of things?

4  |  Through the year are there any holidays, seasons, or parts of what were once cherished rituals that have changed for you because of your child's death?

Bon : The raw, muddy vulnerability of spring will always evoke for me what does not make it through to blossom, as well as what does.  The crocuses that died in the late freeze last year...I cried over them inconsolably.

Janis : Not really... except perhaps dh's birthday will always be somewhat tainted because it comes a few days after his death.

Jen : A former Christmas fanatic, I absolutely dreaded the season this year. Although it turned out to be fine, pleasant in some ways even, I doubt it will ever hold the same excitement for me again. Speaking of rituals, one of the daily mundane things that continues to chip away at my heart is making a cup of tea. The sound of the kettle coming to a boil reminds me of standing in the kitchen at 3am, bobbing up and down to comfort her while we waited for a bottle to warm, satin cheek to overtired, blissfully grateful neck.

Julia : I used to love New Year's, both the holiday itself and the traditions we have developed with our friends-- making nearly a week of it, going skiing, now with kids. Now it is all very mixed, comforting and hard at the same time, some days mostly hard. Monkey's birthday is the day before A's estimated due date. She was born exactly on hers. It remains to see what the second anniversary of that feels like. The first one was pretty brutal for me, partially because approaching that day was so hard on Monkey.

Kate : The holidays have changed no more than every other day, or just as much. His absence hits me suddenly and I freeze, and I try to hide it or steal away to be alone, with him. This happens on March 2nd or July 24th just as much as on Christmas morning.

Niobe : On almost every holiday and holy day, I realize how alone I truly am.

Tash : I used to love winter -- the season and the holidays.  Now it's like biting into a chocolate and realizing the center is poison.  I know what's in the middle, and it's brutal getting through it.

5  |  Do you do anything to remember your baby/babies' birth and/or death day? Or will you?

Bon : Cupcakes, again to include him overtly in the rhythm of our days. And I try to find the quiet space to seek him out.

Janis : I did, and I guess I wll continue.

Jen : Her birthday is the day after my husband’s. I plan on taking the day off from work and spending it with him. I actually hope to flee the country over the week when her death day falls. Iceland, Croatia, maybe Switzerland. Anywhere but here.

Julia : We went with the flow the first year, and for us it was the right thing to do. This year there are supposed to be cupcakes. So said Monkey. I never thought we would be cupcake people, not as late as the day before the first anniversary. But sometime after we baked cupcakes for her birthday last spring Monkey said she would like to do that for A too, and now it feels ok, right even. She has talked about it since, so I am assuming it's still on.

Kate : For the first anniversaries I was in survival mode, very defensive, feeling pressured by the world to put on a 'brave face' (eat me, world). In the coming years I look forward to doing whatever feels right for me, regardless of what anyone else thinks of how tough I am or am not. I reserve the right to fail.

Niobe : Never did.  Never will.

Tash : I was surprised at how angry I was on the anniversary of her birth.  Despite that, I bought the two of us -- Maddy and me -- flowers and lit a candle at the time of her birth.  I lit the candle for six nights.  I suppose I'll do the same this year unless I'm otherwise inspired.

6  |  Is there anything about the winter season (for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere right now) that lifts your spirits? Is there anything that especially brings them down?

Bon : I like the contemplative quiet of fresh snowfall, the forced hibernation and liberation from routine of a good storm.  My spirits are not so fond of winter colds, however.

Janis : The snow cheers me up (so long as I do not need to shovel it.) The quiet of it all, the mersmerizing dancing tongues of fire...the fact that it is (for me) a time to hibernate, rest and spiral inward. People who pushes the ho-ho-ho of the season drives me bonkers.

Jen : From about an hour after we landed in our hometown before Christmas right up until the day we left, it snowed almost constantly. I thought it a generous gift to us; we’d actually missed snowy winters quite a bit. I enjoy curling up in slippers and a blanket to watch a snowfall. I love the crunch of it under my shoes when I walk. I love the hour before it becomes marked with tire tracks and footprints in the morning, when it looks like a sparkling blanket laid quietly over the city while it slept.

Here, I find the consistent grey sky and biting wind difficult to endure for weeks at a time.

Julia : I still love the snow, especially the blanket of the first heavy snowstorm. But now it also makes me sad, more than a little. And yet I do not wish it to melt or to not fall. And I am more content watching it from inside the house-- I no longer need to be thoroughly in it. Somewhat related-- because of how physically out of shape I am, getting ready to go skiing, with my knee braces and my nontrivial-to-buckle boots, and JD's ski pants and jacket (because I am long past fitting into my own) is an exercise in frustration.

Kate : I adore winter driving more than anything. No, it's not that. It's that feeling you get what the inside of your nose freezes. That's the best ever. No, wait. Has to be the multi-day power outages. Totally my favourite. Truth: I seek out medicinal wine. A fireplace that coughs smoke back into the room. People who are not afraid of my dark.

Niobe : I don't like the cold.  I don't like the dark.  But I do like the almost-frozen river, riven with splintering ice.

Tash : I used to love winter -- minus the ice storms.  Now there's very little about it that I find endearing.  It's hard to stay warm, hard to stay awake, hard to feel sustained.  And yet a week or so ago, doubled over with flu, I ran out to photograph the end of an ice storm -- it was so quiet, so eerie, so dangerous, and somehow so magical.  Maybe it's about learning that I don't always need to function -- there's something to be said for just sitting there, waiting.

7  |  During your hardest times, how have you found your way forward?

Bon : Writing has been a way for me to speak, to reconcile the chasm and woundedness inside with the mask people tried to take at face value.  It's also been a way to sort things out for myself...to consider what 'forward' would even mean.

Janis : Hunkering down and digging in my heels, protecting my space fiercely and refusing to grieve by other people's time-table. Surrendering.

Jen : During the hardest times, I don’t think I move forward at all. I become a turtle, pulling in to hide under a lonely shell where no one can touch me. It’s what I need to do. Fortunately, my husband has grown to understand that when it’s bad, I often can’t talk about it. I need the time inside myself to wordlessly muddle through the pain. I sleep and read and cry. I wait for it to subside.

My resolution for this year is to summon the courage to move forward more often than I stand still.

Julia : One foot in front of the other, though while that is nearly always movement, it isn't always forward. Some days it has been in circles, and I am fine with that.

Kate : Retreating. Feeling around the edges by myself, sensing all the other babylost mamas doing the very same. I am alone, and yet I am not.

Niobe : By realizing there is no way forward.

Tash : By understanding that sometimes you need to take a few steps back in order to move forwards.  Sometimes going forwards means taking the long way.  Realizing there are others with the same confounding map going around in circles, just like me.

6 by 6: september 2008

1 | Do you feel as though a higher entity/supreme being/energy force has a presence in your life? What do you call it, and what makes you feel it exists?

Bon :  I have mixed feelings on this one...I don't have a faith, per se, but am willing to err on the side of Pascal's Wager and generally try to live as though there might be some greater spirit of good and enlightenment out there. If I were to call it anything, I suppose it would be "god" (intentional small caps)...but that's as much a Sunday School hangover as anything else.

Janis :  I do feel there is a power/force bigger than us humans. I do not have a name for it though... sometimes I call it the Universe. I know we only have seeming control over some things, and the rest, is this force at work, or rhythm...

Julia :  I do think there is something out there. But whether of the somethings there is a being supreme over all the rest is not something I think about too much, or even care that greatly about. It would probably be considered a strange position for a Jew, but then again Judaism in general doesn't place particular importance on the matters of the other side. I find that it suits me just fine.

Kate :  I never thought there might actually, really be a supreme being or presence until Liam died. I physically felt his soul leave his body after I asked the presence to take it, and make it safe, and make it whole. And it did, and with the gift of that experience my entire worldview and belief system and heart have been altered forever.

Niobe :  I think it of as the tetragrammaton, the sacred, unutterable Name.

Tash :  No, I really don't. I guess on occasion, if I felt anything, and had to pinpoint a location, it would be a force from deep within. Sometimes it's just indigestion.

2 | Describe, in a word or two, the nature of your spiritual self before and then after the loss of your baby/babies.

Bon :  Before...critical of explanations. After...more critical of explanations.

Janis :  Before... still somewhat cynical. After... a bit more open.

Julia :  I don't actually think that I changed in this aspect at all. I do not feel entitled to special favors, before or after. I don't think the universe revolves around me, or anyone else. I think it just revolves. But now and again I get to catch glimpses of beauty and wonder in it.

Kate :  Before... indifferent, self-sufficient, self-centred. After... blown open, full of light.

Niobe :  I don't think you can exactly call me spiritual -- not before and certainly not after. I deal with religion the way I deal with most things: rationalization and over-intellectualization.

Tash :  Before... interested on an intellectual level but certainly not invested. After... validated.

3 | Do you pray, even if you wouldn’t call it praying? To whom? What for?

Bon :  I do. It always surprises me, and usually only happens in moments of extreme emotion. My prayers usually consist of one of two words..."thank you" mostly, for moments of extreme beauty and grace, or "please," in moments of extreme desperation. They're directed to the universe.

Janis :  I say Buddhist prayers in the morning, which is more like a ritual, and a meditation/study than a request, or asking for something. It's more for self-improvement; as I read the words I ponder the meanings (if my mind is not elsewhere). But I do sometimes request for strength, healing, for myself, for others. I ask them from the Universe.

Julia :  I do not often pray in the traditional sense. I never pray to ask for things or outcomes. I sometimes think of moments of piercing beauty as prayers-- visual prayers of acknowledgment and gratitude. There are also words of truth that sometimes make a sort of a prayer in that they are the voicing of the sacred and the raw. And there are blessings, formal ones like the blessings of our children each Shabbat, and informal ones that tend towards those sacred and raw truths.

Kate :  I would call it a conversation more than a prayer. I summon, and sometimes it answers, sometimes not. Sometimes it is Liam's light, sometimes it is that guiding presence on the night he died. I don't ask for anything other than company, comfort. I just want to talk.

Niobe :  Aside from the Shema just about my only prayer (and it's not a Jewish one at all) is: Thy will be done.

Tash :  I never used to pray, but I certainly used to wish and hope and have (little-f) faith in things. I find wishing and hoping meaningless exercises since last year -- there's nothing I want, nothing I could imagine wishing for, I hate to hope because I fear the let-down. Funny, I'm an atheist, and yet I've profoundly lost my (little-f) faith.

4 | Is there a particular line of scripture/teaching/sentiment that you find particularly helpful? Or is there one that’s commonly referred to but is unhelpful?

Bon :  Buddhism's four Noble Truths - all of which relate to suffering - were about the only formalized religious meditations in which I found resonance and comfort and some bit of a path to try to stumble along towards understanding and healing.

Janis :  I am a Buddhist so I can ditto Bon's answer; and in general I have found Thich Nhat Hanh's teachings to be very useful, especially those in the book No Death No Fear.

Julia :  Nothing that stands out, at least not from early on. Later there was this passage from the Rosh Hashana liturgy that I went back to hear again:  May we never abandon our memories. May our memories inspire deeds which lead us to life and love, to blessings and peace.

Kate :  Nothing in particular, and everything from all places: art, music, philosophers, friends. Rumi. Generally speaking, I am a Buddhist but don't know it yet.

Niobe :  Job 38:11: Thus far shall you come, but no farther.

Tash :  I used to think I was an atheist who leaned Buddhist, but lately when faced with such lessons, I immediately respond with arguments. I actually found great peace in this traditional Gaelic Blessing for reasons I outlined at the end of this post. It doesn't hurt that it was given to me by a person whose family had experienced the loss of a child.

5 | Did your faith offer rites, rituals or teachings that acknowledged your baby and your healing? If not (or if you didn't seek it out in an organized fashion), what rites, rituals or mantras have you adopted as your own?

Bon :  What few rituals have slowly evolved for us have largely been ideas that have come from the babyloss community...particularly having cupcakes as a family on his birthday. After he died, we did plant trees in our yard and a close family friend who is also a retired minister spoke, but not directly of god...rather of life and remembering even short lives.

Janis :  Yes, there were rites, rituals, prayer ceremonies... but I am not sure they aided in my healing.

Julia :  Our rabbi came to the hospital while I was being induced. She was also the one who performed the burial ceremony, and who encouraged us to come to Temple the first Friday night after the funeral to enter the congregation as mourners, to be publicly acknowledged as such. In general, Judaism's emphasis on the idea of mourning being for the living rather than the dead was very helpful-- it framed our feelings as normal, justified, and accepted by the community.

Kate :  I have no rituals other than writing, and listening, staying open. After he died I never considered seeking out church-based recognition (a grave, a service, priests, blessings, scripture). After he died I realized that the framework of Christianity, while comforting in many ways, was not quite the right shape to encapsulate my truth.

Niobe :  My faith has a number of comforting and healing rituals, but I chose to not to participate in them. Sometimes I wonder if that was a mistake.

Tash :  I think what I most envy is the structure and vocabulary that religious ritual can provide at a time like this. I can see a benefit in having a plan already laid out, complete with things to say, lessons to fall back on, beliefs that incorporate loss. I also think the community in which some of these rites of death take place in could be beneficial. I adopted nothing.

6 | Some people say that in a foxhole (a desperate, life-threatening situation), there are no atheists. You’ve been in a foxhole. Discuss.

Bon :  I struggle with this...part of me wants to say that for me the foxhole wasn't the period of his short life...but the survival after. I did not pray or plead for him to live, only prayed that he not suffer, that he feel our presence and our love. But then, even that was an appeal to the universe for a sort of mercy. Nonetheless, the experience did not cause me to believe either more or less in a god... perhaps I didn't have enough faith to experience it as a test of faith.

Janis :  hmmm... this is tricky. I do not see Buddhism as a religion (but a philosophy) so I guess you can still call me an atheist?

Julia :  I sometimes think that given my profound aversion to the idea of an interventionist God, I am sort of a functional atheist. Like Bon and Tash, I had no crisis of faith, but in my case it was because I did not feel that my faith, or anything else, was supposed to have been a shield against misfortune. Bad things happen, and I am not immune.

Kate :  I don't think that statement is entirely fair, and it's too often misinterpreted as a dig on atheists. What it means to me is that when you suffer -- when your blinders are removed and you lose your obliviousness, see the other side -- even the most hardened cynic is often left grasping for light, for meaning, for that presence. That is exactly what happened to me.

Niobe :  I've never been in a foxhole.

Tash :  Wait! (waves hand frantically) I'm in and still an atheist! And this may sound odd given my answer to the above, but often I'm relieved to be. I've seen a lot of mamas struggle with their faith after facing the unthinkable pain of losing a child, and I'm thankful I only need to concentrate on keeping my head down when the bullets fly, not simultaneously worry about the metaphysical reasons for my being there and the profundity of my survival (or not).

6 by 6: july 2008

1 |   How would you describe your relationship to fear before and after the loss of your baby?

Bon :  I thought I was pretty fearless, that I'd been there, done that.  Now, I live with this metallic tang in my mouth, far more painfully aware of all the fragile houses of cards beneath my feet.

Janis :  Before: I can conquer it and beat it to a paste. After: It strangles me and I am trying to strangle it back.

Julia :  Before: an infrequent visitor. Now: an egg timer. I am terrified for this baby, terrified of missing something, missing a chance to save him. I hope it gets better if this baby makes it, but I don't know... I get the cold slimy drag me to the bottom thoughts about everyone now, including Monkey. I kick at them, I try not to give in. I mostly succeed.

Kate :  Fear was a bad stink that preceded a sprint in the opposite direction. Now, fear is the price of admission.

Niobe :  I've always been afraid.  That hasn't changed.

Tash :  Before, fear was a rollercoaster ride, messing up a dinner party, another Republican presidency.  Now, fear is ever-present, my constant companion dressed in black and carrying a scythe.

2 |   Is your lost baby/are your babies present in your life? In what way?

Bon :  Seldom.  When I feel him, it is mostly an act of attending on my part, a stillness and reaching for the sense of wonder I felt when he was first placed in my arms.  The need comes less acutely these days, and there is a counter-need, too, to let go, to let him be, to honour the distance between us.

Janis :  Yes, intimately. The girls talk about him often too and last night Sophia told me, "Every night I see Ferdinand in our room." He has also appeared in dreams and .... spiritually... to my friends.

Julia :  As a longing, a missing. Monkey talks about A a lot. We talk less. I burn candles when I need them. According to the ultrasounds, the in-utero baby looks a lot like his brother. I don't know what that is likely to mean when...

Kate :  Sporadically. When I do get a sense of him, he is full of wonder and awe and peace, and he is whole, and he is simultaneously all the ages he should have been. He is my companion.

Niobe :  No.

Tash :  Well, there's a lilac bush, a tree, a soon-to-be-bench, a bracelet, a blog, and a box of ashes.  I guess she's everpresent.  And completely, totally, unreachably not.

3 |   Tell us about something said or done after your loss that left you feeling nurtured or supported.

Bon :  The times when people acknowledged him, said his name...and the times his father and his grandmother each said out loud, "I loved him too."

Janis :  Acknowledgement. When they do things for him. When friends just support my space and allow me to be.

Julia :  1) We said the funeral would be for family only. Our friends asked if they could arrange for food for us for after, and if they could come then. We didn't tell them yes until nearly 6pm the night before. When we came back from the cemetery, the table was set, the nicest Old Country catered comfort food was there, along with strong drinks, and a friend who made it all happen. She told everyone else to come a bit later. So when they did, we were ready to see them. 2) Some friends who asked to see A's pictures. Not so much for us, they said, but for themselves. To make him more real to them.

Kate :  Simple but rare...“I heard about what happened to you and to Liam. My heart hurts to think of it, and I can't believe what you've been through, and I’m so sorry.” (In one year, only two people have risked their own discomfort enough to say this while looking in my eyes and not flinching.)

Niobe :  I can't think of a single thing.  But, in general, I'm not very comfortable with being nurtured or supported.

Tash :  A fellow dog-walker whose name I didn't know, and who didn't know mine, came to my door a week after Maddy died with a card and a gift, and before leaving asked, "Could you tell me her name?  That way I can think of it, when I think of her and you."

4 |   Tell us about something said or done after your loss that left you feeling marginalized or misunderstood.

Bon :  The most marginalizing for me was the silence.  The pretense that all was okay, or that speaking of "it" was just too awkward to even acknowledge, left me feeling exposed and dismissed and adrift...because that response forced me either to don a mask utterly at odds with my inner reality, or broach the unspeakable myself.  And I was too weary and hurt to have the courage for that.

Janis :  Silence, pretending that nothing had happened.

Julia :  My MIL was terribly unsupportive, destructive even. She thought we were doing the grieving thing and the telling Monkey thing wrong, and she just kept telling JD about it. She is also the only relative who hasn't asked to see the pictures. Not that we were close before, but the rift now I don't think can be closed.

Kate :  “Gynocological drama... this kind of thing happens to everyone, you know.” (cue instantaneous Tourette's Syndrome, all-over body rash and delusions of faking my own alien abduction)

Niobe :  I can't really blame people for this, but the flowers, the endless repetitions of  "I'm so sorry for your loss," the over-solicitous "how are you doing?",  the intrusive questions ("what were their names?" "where are they buried?")  ate away at my soul.

Tash :  Tie:  "Did you bring the baby?" (receptionist at my six-week check) and "We're not going to go tonight -- they say it might rain."  (Family member, on the morning of a nationally-sponsored candlelight service for children who've died.  They'd known about the service for three months.  And no, it didn't rain.)

5 |   What's taken you a long time to do again? How did it feel, if you have?

Bon :  To stop comparing my lot against those of the people around me. What part of me has succeeded in this feels free.  What part of me has not, yet, still feels small and bewildered and vaguely persecuted, resentful of having to repeatedly adjust my expectations.

Janis :  Baking. It's an act of love for me, a way to nurture those I love. For a long time, I did not have my heart in me to bake anything. The first time I did it again, it took all of me, I was exhausted. I still do not bake as often as I used to... and everytime it still takes much energy.

Julia :  It took a long time to go into the building where my old department is. I didn't want to face these people. I didn't know if they knew, and I was so not looking forward to having to tell them. Eventually I had to go for work purposes, and it went ok. My old advisor was great, though that was not necessarily predictable. Others were mostly ok.

Kate :  To truly revel in this body. I'll let you know when I'm successful. Or not.

Niobe :  To have a relationship with my family.  My ties to all the members of my family have been frayed or shredded into unrecognizable pieces.  I can't imagine I'll ever be able to mend them.

Tash :  Taste.  Honestly, it came back incrementally, and only recently did I realize that I'm enjoying eating my food again.

6 |   How would you describe yourself as a partner before, and after?

Bon :  Intensely engaged but perfectionist. Now, more brittle and less present, but gentler, too, on both of us.

Janis :  I have become less demanding, more tender, gentler.

Julia :  I think I am more patient and more understanding now. Willing to give more slack. More willing to articulate what I need rather than getting pissed if he doesn't figure it out himself. Usually, usually that's true. Not always. Especially not when I feel myself stretched to the limit with fear and worry. But he has also learned to handle with more care, and that helps.

Kate :  Straightforward and sensible and confident. Then a prickly, touchy, needy, distant, full-of-shadows escapist.

Niobe :  I have trouble even understanding the question.  Being a partner isn't one of the ways that I define myself.

Tash :  Patient, honest, ready to prove the depths of my love, dealing with adversity through humor.  Now, vulnerable, impatient, a bit more needy than I'd prefer, still dealing through humor, thank goodness.  As for honesty, I once threw out a "NICU Graduation Party!" invite (after calling to confirm that Maddy didn't exactly graduate) without telling him, and for some reason it looms over me like a badly kept secret -- that somehow it's dishonest if we don't share every waking moment of this grief in lockstep.

6 by 6: may 2008

1 |   In a word, how would you characterize yourself before your loss, and then after?

Bon :   Me.  And then...this broken, bitter, vulnerable open wound.  Now...me, tempered.

Janis :   Half-asleep. and then half-awake.

Julia :   Prone to occasional fits of complete happiness. Then: raw. Now: aware.

Kate :   Oblivious. Then roughly awakened.

Niobe :   Before: sad. After: sad

Tash :   Young, very young.  Then old, very old.

2 |   How do you feel around pregnant women?

Bon :   In the early days, like their bellies were sharp as knives.  Now...i am one, yet again.  And still i feel different, utterly alien in the world of benign joy and expectation.

Janis :   Whole mixed bag of contradictory feelings. awe, dread, grief, etc

Julia :   If she is one of ours-- bereaved, infertile, or just someone who gets it-- protective and apprehensive. If she is "the other," like I am in a mine field. Them I try not to talk to much. Or at all.

Kate :   Filled with dread on their behalf.

Niobe :   Terror. What if the same thing happens to them?

Tash :   Blinding jealousy, anger at my limitations, fury at general naivete.  Can’t stand ‘em.

3 |   How do you answer the 'how many children' question?

Bon :   If i think i'll see the person again, i may answer honestly.  Usually, i just mumble.

Janis :  Depends on where, who and when and my mood. And how strong I am feeling in that moment. I hate to cry in-front of others.

Julia :   We have one living child. This is almost a dare, and a damn fast way to see what the one asking is made of. Or to at least to get them thinking about what they might hear next time they ask personal questions.

Kate :   It's completely random depending on my mood and my take on the person asking. Sometimes, I need to speak his name.

Niobe :   One.

Tash :   Depends on the day, the person, the conversation.  I wish I had a pat answer actually, because sometimes the pause is a bit disconcerting to the listener.

4 |   How did you explain what happened to your lost baby to your living children? Or, if this was your first pregnancy, will you tell future children about your first?

Bon :   He was my firstborn.  With his younger brother, we mention his name, look at his trees in the backyard...but have not yet reached the place where there have been questions or stories, so it feels forced, a little, and sometimes like fiction.

Janis :  We told the girls that Ferdinand's heart stopped beating and he died and cannot be with us in the same realm. But he is carefree, living amongst the stars and always near us. And always in our hearts.

Julia :  We said "he won't get to be born" (long story about relatives and semantics), and two minutes later she asked "Did he die?"

Kate :   When it happened my older son was just two. One day he said quietly from the backseat, out of the blue, that Liam didn't need a carseat anymore. I told him that was true, that Liam was a star in the sky now. He is three now and I don't think he explicitly remembers anymore. That's fitting for now, but it makes me sad.

Niobe :  I didn't have to say anything. He already knew.

Tash :   The baby died, she was very sick, and she can’t play, eat, drink, sleep, or cry anymore.  No, we can’t take the milk to the hospital and make her better, we can’t bring her home, she stopped breathing.   We need to remember her now.  Why does Mommy have salad on her boobs?  Good question.

5 |   What would another pregnancy mean to you, and how would you get through it—or are you done with babymaking?

Bon :   Doing it now, for the third time since we lost him.  One living child and one miscarriage in the interim, and one currently stitched-up cervix, a lot of bedrest, and twenty-plus weeks still to go.  It's an existential mindf*ck, like being a marionette strung between poles of hell and hope, jerking, without any control.  And yet it is a gift.  Sort of like a pet grenade.

Janis :    Gosh... after this loss of innocence I think the next pregnancy will be hellish. Every second  a moment of dread; a threshold to the end(death). Yet, I feel defiant about it too. As in, I want to rejoice every second and not let this get me down.

Julia :   Also doing it now. Calmer than I thought I would be. Except when I am not. My hope is tiny and doesn't speak much. Love and fear are big, but spend much time in their respective corners. The mindf*ck for me is that very raely does love get to stand up without fear coming out too. But I don't know that I could handle this if I didn't let love in. Many more weeks to go.

Kate :   Another baby would be some kind of dysfunctional redemption. Even though our loss was due to a rare form of twinning that's unlikely to strike twice, my husband says that if I want to get pregnant again I'll have to find someone else because he'll be busy running away to Mexico.

Niobe :  I'll never be pregnant again.

Tash :   Another pregnancy would mean I was comfortable playing Russian Roulette with the Universe.  And I’m not that brave, yet, plus I’m old.  I may be done.  Blogposts forthcoming.

6 |   Imagine being able to step back in time and whisper into the ear of your past self the day after your baby died. What would you say?

Bon :   Keep going.  And do not be so afraid to speak his name.

Janis :  I really dunno. I could not think of an answer for this one.

Julia :   It will get much worse than you think. The person you think might be an ass, will be. A lot. Trust yourself. But give yourself time. More time than you think you need. A lot more. That going back to work soon thing? Rethink it.

Kate :   I'm proud of you (for being brave enough to witness them, to love them in ways that were tactile for them, for changing the diapers of two two-pound babies. For finding the voice to sing to him on his last night).

Niobe :   People are going to say a lot of things to you. Every one of them will be a lie.

Tash :   Point is moot, I wouldn’t have listened anyway.  But I suppose on my way out the door while I was giving myself the finger, I’d yell over my shoulder, “You’ll meet many people who will understand, and who will bring you great comfort.  Oh, and yes, you’ll have sex again, speaking of which, I’ll see myself out.”