It is said there are five stages of grief. Since losing my daughter at 31 weeks, still at birth, I have been through several of these stages, and apparently not in the right order.
Denial? Check.
Depression? Check.
Currently, the stage is ANGER.
I am ANGRY. Super angry. Why did I lose my daughter? How dare God or fate or destiny or whatever controls the state of things take my child away from me. I am just angry all the time. I get angry seeing and hearing other pregnant women talking about babies. I get angry when I hear pregnant women complain about being pregnant, whining about how they want it to be over and complaining in general about their pregnancy. I want to yell and scream and shake them. I wish I was pregnant. I wish I had a child kicking me in the ribs and keeping me awake at night. I wish I had heartburn, sciatia and RLS thanks to my wiggly unborn baby. Pregnant mamas have a right to complain and vent, some of these mamas are my friends, my good friends. AndI hate feeling angry at them, but I can't help it.
I am also angry at mamas with newborns complaining about their child not sleeping, not eating, not nursing or taking a bottle, or whatever complaint is handy. I wish I had a newborn that was not wanting to eat or sleep- at least that would mean I had a breathing baby in my arms, and not a box of ashes on my dresser.
Is this my right to be angry? Yes. But I have been keeping it to myself for fear of hurting someone I care about.
Welcome to my blog.
About Me
- Earthy Mama
- My husband works hard to support our family outside the home, so I have to work hard to support us from the inside. First and foremost, my job is to try to be a good role model to my children and raise them to respect others and the Earth. But my second job is saving money. I have been able to cut our monthly spending by nearly 95%! By blogging deals I find and receive, I hope to inspire others to do the same. With the amazing deals that are available to EVERYONE, no one should have to go hungry.
Natalya Isabelle 7.12.05
Margaret Elizabeth 7.2.07
Zachary Alexander 11.06.08
2 comments:
I'm glad you're blogging. And if you've experienced 2 1/2 stages, only 4 1/2 to go, right? You're going to make it, Brandy. Someday...
October 11, 1979 I was lying down with Brandy, who was almost three, and I was 9 months pregnant. So far my pregnancy was normal. All of a sudden my water broke and it was everywhere. The fluid was also a dark color. My husband rushed me to the hospital and when they put the fetal heart monitor around my belly, they said they could not find a heartbeat. They then attached a monitor wire to the baby’s head and finally told me my baby had died. I was aware of what they told me, but I knew if I let myself believe it, I would never make it through the labor. My sister-in-law came in and I told her she was not allowed to cry, because I knew if anyone came in there crying, I would not be able to hold myself together. She went right back out. I guess she knew she couldn’t honor my request.
The doctors told me I could have as much anesthesia that I wanted so the anesthesiologist came in and he was wonderful. They gave me an epidural and drugs to help me relax and sleep thru the labor. They lowered the lights and everyone tiptoed around the room. I don’t remember much about the rest of the time, just that I didn’t want to be there.
After my son was born, I remember seeing them unwrap the cord from his neck. The only thing I was told was it probably happened when the water broke. They didn’t go into any other explanation. They asked me if I wanted to hold him, and I said no. I don’t know why, but that was okay and I was fine with that decision.
I was moved to a room not long afterwards and was still in denial. I wanted the whole situation to just go away and take me back 9 months. I found out later that the hospital was going to move me to a room with three other women that had just had babies. My brother, (bless him) after learning this, ran to the nurse’s station and demanded I be given a private room, no matter what it took. Thankfully, they complied. (I was going to the Vanderbilt clinic, basically for poor people with no insurance, so I don’t think they were too concerned about my feelings). I was fine for two days (I was there three days). Everyone visited and I acted like nothing was wrong. On the third day, around 5 o’clock in the morning, I lost it. I started crying and couldn’t stop. I called my husband and cried for a long time.
After I got home, it was easier, because I had Brandy. We read books, ate in bed and gave lots of hugs and kisses. Brandy was (and still is) a very intelligent person. She was aware that I was expecting a baby, and then went to the hospital, but I returned with no baby. It was really hard to explain to her what had happened. Brandy started having issues about going to the bathroom. Even up to the time she went to Kindergarten, she had to go to the bathroom four or five times a night before she went to bed and many times during the day. The only thing I could figure out was that in her mind, I had an accident in her bed (when my water broke), then went to the hospital. It finally worked its way out about the end of Kindergarten, but it was a tough time.
Not long after I got out of the hospital, I sometimes would go out and panic. I didn’t like to be around crowds and would cry unexpectedly. This was very disconcerting for my husband because he just couldn’t understand why. I finally had to have some help with anti-depressants and only took them for a couple of months, but it helped me ease over the rough months.
I still think about my son from time to time. Especially around his “birth” day. I know things happen for a reason, even if I don’t understand, but with the help of my beautiful daughter and the birth of my son in 1981, I understand that life is about my children, their love and wonderful innocence and that I have more than I thought to give to them.
They have brought me more joy than I thought was possible. Now that I have my granddaughter, too, I can relive the joy all over again.
Brandy, you have all the love and support from Rick and I and all your family. God is always there with you too, even if you might be questioning your faith. He is there.
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