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I Knew

August 15, 2013 by 4 Comments

Told by: Karin

At 32 years old I had had two normal births and pregnancy has never been an issue. I was in a new marriage and we both wanted a baby, so when we found out that I was pregnant the joy was amazing.

I knew exactly when I got pregnant so I know that exactly at 12 weeks I started spotting. It started while I was at a friends house, and I knew. I just knew. I had been working as a Doula for 6 years and I was seriously considering becoming a midwife, so I knew.

So I just sat quietly for a couple more hours at my friends till my husband came and picked me up and I asked him to take me to the hospital. They did an ultrasound and it said that my baby was only 6 weeks, when they said that I knew. They tried to comfort me saying that maybe I had my dates wrong, but I knew.

The (because I am Rh-) they told me I would need a Rogam shot, I broke down. My husband didn’t understand why a shot was so upsetting to me. He couldn’t understand that the only time the give those shots is after birth and during a miscarriage. I hated the nurses and the doctors because they wouldn’t just say the “m” word. I hated them because they treated me like a child. They kept saying “if this is happening” I knew it was and they continued to discount what I knew. The offered to let me stay and have a procedure, I declined and told them I would just go home. I just wanted to be alone with my baby when it was born. I didn’t want those lying, overly nice doctors to touch my child.

So I went home, and my baby was born in the middle of the night in my bathroom. Because she had died at six weeks there wasn’t really anything to see, but oh the pain it took to bring her into the world. Truly while I was heart broken, I was okay. Until “friends” began to question weather I was ever pregnant in the first place. Asking weather I lied for attention, all because the couldn’t understand my decision not to have a D&C. They couldn’t understand why I couldn’t let doctors rip my baby out. I was alone with my pain, because as much as my husband loves me he was consumed in his own pain and loss. Miraculously three weeks after I lost the baby I ended up pregnant again. I didn’t find out until I was almost 18 weeks because I assumed my lack of a period was due to my loss.

The thing is, 5 years later, that I struggle to share because of guilt or shame or whatever, is I still miss my other child, I still cry because I never got to feel her move inside me or hold her in my arms. I never go to celebrate or grieve her 6 weeks of life. I was made to feel guilty because of my choice to go home, I was shamed because I was pregnant but still sad about my loss. I feel like my pain is worth less, because I wasn’t as far along as others, I am trying to heal those wounds today and I am trying to mother my own grief.

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Filed Under: 06 weeks, 12 weeks, Mothering Our Mourning

The Delicate Dance

August 2, 2013 by Leave a Comment

Written by: Kristin

I have daughters.

6 that I am certain of in fact.

There are 4 running around my house. Helping with chores or the  babysitting, one is cooking, another is coloring. I even have one jumping on a trampoline, as though trying out for the circus.

I have a daughter with heavy chipmunk cheeks, wavy brown hair, and that signature stork bite at the nape if her neck all my children posses. She used to hiccup every night at 10 pm! How funny!
She lives with Jesus.
I try to imagine the splendor of her days.

Then there is my 6th daughter I’m certain of. She is tiny,under 3 pounds right now, but so strong. I feel her responses to my pleas, ” hunny, kick for mommy, let me know you are well. ” Soon enough, I’m hoping to hear her cry – to be given the gift of comforting her.

All of of my children, are subsequent children. Both sons and daughters.

Loss has always been an aspect of my children’s existence. But now, just now as it has been so deep, ongoing, recurrent has the blanket truly unfolded on us. The precious fragility of life is too well known.

Over the years, I’ve questioned my responsibility to my daughters in my response to loss. I’ve been aware of the impact on their present and future lives. I’ve tried to model trust in God, His goodness and love is not dependent on circumstances.
I’ve wondered why they too must endure so much, wishing I didn’t need to see them being refined with me.

I am trying to come to a place of peace. I don’t know or understand the mind of God or His plans. That is ok.

It is a beautiful, delicate dance to mother these daughters through the days we are given.

I will lay on bed rest while my oldest daughter mothers me. She will feed me, give me injections, and brush my hair as she listens to my heart. I will see the effect of deep tragedy behind her eyes and trust my God mending her broken places with pure gold.

I will assure my middle teen that she is allowed to live. To move forward and experience life. That panic grips her and comes out as rage, she is safe to unload it on me.

My crazy 9 year old cannot bare the pain or truth that death is part of life. Distraction and denial has been her safety net. I catch the glimmer of fear in her face from time to time not wanting to know what sometimes happens. I strive to reassure her that she is safe and life doesn’t always end in loss.

The 5 year old misses the sister she longed to stroke and mother herself. She fiercely protects her memory, wants visions of what she might do in heaven, and says the things we all think.,, ” I wish we could do it over,, I wish we could see her again,, I hope this baby doesn’t die when it is born. ”
She guards her heart, and needs long periods of time in silence, cuddled close to my side.

Why have we lived this together?What will their life bring?
Will their hearts break twice, once for their own loss and again watching their children suffer the effects?

It isn’t for me to know. For now I gratefully accept they are here. They are with be now. They are the answer if when God said,”Yes”.

Stillbirthday invites you to learn about our Love Letters collection and to share yours with us.

Filed Under: all, Holding Umbrellas, Love Letters to My Daughter, Mothering Our Mourning

Love Letters to My Daughter

August 2, 2013 by Leave a Comment
Love Letters from Mothers to Our Daughters.
Stillbirthday Sisters
Stillbirthday Sisters, have a very, very special and important place in our stories.
If you are a stillbirthday mother, and you have a surviving or subsequent daughter, have you thought yet how your loss(es) might become a part of the way you think about or pray for your daughter’s future fertility?
The way you broach the subject of fertility with her, even?
This certainly includes the fertility of your son’s possible future fertility and his partner as well, but this collection of Love Letters is specifically about Stillbirthday Sisters, and about Stillbirthday Grandmothers.
Stillbirthday Grandmothers
It can be so heartwrenching, to seek to protect your daughter, while she is giving birth to her baby who is not alive.  Grieving your grandchildren while also aching for what your adult children are enduring can be enormous, and your pain and feelings can often seem overlooked or forgotten.  In this particular collection of Love Letters, you can write to your daughter, speak to her courage, her grace, and your love for her as you have an intimate view into her broken heart.
Love Letters
Mothers, you are invited, to write a Love Letter to your Daughter, and we can hold your letter at stillbirthday.  You can include your thoughts, fears, prayers, and hopes you might have for her. You can write your letter just by using our sharing tab.
This gorgeous photo was featured at Birth Without Fear. 
Filed Under: Love Letters, Love Letters to My Daughter, Mothering Our Mourning

Mommy & Me

June 27, 2013 by Leave a Comment

The tiny cowboy hat that is used for our giveaways and represents my baby born in the first trimester. 

I can find joyful moments as I think upon my child, even in grief.

Filed Under: Claim the Space, Mothering Our Mourning

Getting to Know Me

May 21, 2013 by Leave a Comment

Shared by: A Stillbirthday Mother

A part of our Love Letters to Our Bodies

I was pregnant in 2007.  At 23 weeks I made the ultrasound morphology (4D).

Unfortunately, my baby had a problem – my baby had no eyes and likely problems on the brain.  There is no cure for it.

I had three days to decide…

So I made a birth induction.  In the hospital, I didn’t want to touch my belly, afraid to get too attached.  When I came back home, my baby belly was not to see anymore – no stretch marks – it looked like nothing happened.

When we made the decision, I hoped to not see an empty container.  I had lost a great deal of my weight, and it has taken years to resume it.  Also, my breasts became very small, from an M to a XS-S.

I hated to see my skinny body in the mirror.

After time, I started to re-touch my belly.  Now, I have a special balm for my navel, for homeopathic support of my feminine body, and to be in contact with this part of my body in the hopes of welcoming new life.

 

 

Filed Under: Love Letters to My Body, Mothering Our Mourning

Anticipating Destiny

May 14, 2013 by Leave a Comment

Shared by: Lemanuel

A Womandala, as part of the Mothering the Mourning collection of art and writing.

Filed Under: Mothering Our Mourning, Project Zero: Zeroes Count - Womandalas

I will nurture you instead

March 5, 2013 by 2 Comments

A part of our Love Letters to My Body collection, held within our Mothering the Mourning section.

Written by: Heather

Dear Heather-Body,

I know we’ve been through some tough times, you and I. No one can prepare you for how hard the process of growing older can be, both your side – the physical- and my side – the mental and emotional. I am so sorry that through all the natural hardship of aging, environmental toxins, and outside psycho-somatic stressors that I also added to your burden by not treating you right. I have consumed alcohol, caffeine, and tons of red meat, stayed up all night, partied, smoked cigarettes, starved you, squeezed you into uncomfortable clothes and shoes…I have even stared at the sun. I have had a concussion, broken bones, and sprained ligaments. I have not taken my vitamins. I have hated you. Through all this, you have supported us. You have protested times of high stress by creating a blood clot, among other things, just to try and tell me how hard this is for you. But, you haven’t given up yet. You rose to the challenge and gave my pregnancy with my daughter at 38 years old. You amazed everyone, including me, with your ability to accommodate what was anticipated to be a nine or more pound baby. You rose to the challenge and labored and delivered that child into the world despite her cord having brought about her death. You kept up your end of the bargain and made milk for her. You gave me aching arms, soft breasts, hips, thighs, and belly as a testament to her. And I hated you for that. I felt guilty. I hatefully resented you because of the reminder, but you were trying to tell me: I am doing this for us – not just us two inside and outside, but three of us including her. She is now a part of you, and you were of her. Her sustenance is in those curves, her cells are in your brain, the muscles and skin of your core bear her mark. Body, we will never forget, you and I. You will carry that memory of her in you forever, and that is a reason for love not hate. I didn’t realize that at the time, but now I appreciate all for which you stood strong. I love you for that. I am PROUD of you for that. I’m taking it easier on you now, as I’m taking it easier on me. I am patient with you, as I am patient with me. I still have a mother’s heart with no baby to nurture, so I am going to nurture you instead. I will honor our process and the time it takes. You will heal and so will I. The world is an unkind and hurtful place, so I will be kind to us. This is our one time together, our one shot. Let’s make the most of it. I love you, always.

Filed Under: Love Letters to My Body, Mothering Our Mourning

Love Letters to My Body

February 26, 2013 by Leave a Comment

In The Invisible Pregnancy, I challenge you as a mother to explore the intrinsic beauty and value of your body.  Mothering your mourning requires you to discover that you are valuable, that you are beautiful, that you are worthy.  To help inspire you to explore these, your sacred truths, and these challenging concepts of The Invisible Pregnancy, I’m inviting you to write love letters to your body.

Use this link to share a letter.  You may include photos.

I invite you, gently, respectfully, to learn to love your body, as a way to Mother Your Mourning.

 

Filed Under: Mothering Our Mourning

Womandalas

February 26, 2013 by Leave a Comment

The symbol of stillbirthday is the burning zero candle.  The original photo was taken at my son’s funeral, after a doctor called my baby debris, and after a popular babyloss bereavement photography organization told me that my baby was too young for their services.

The burning zero candle represents the heart of a stillbirthday.  When our children die, at any age (before birth or after), we do not forget the value of their life.  We do not forget that they were and are a part of us.  Monumental events, such as their birth date or death date, become significant to us.  Oftentimes, long after our loved ones move on and forget, stillbirthday parents quietly observe the anniversaries of these sacred, special, painful days.

Zeroes are placeholders; they hold value.  They are intrinsically significant.

Stillbirthday’s Zeroes Count project is a call to invite stillbirthday family and friends to craft art pieces that integrate an image of a zero within the piece – the way this is done is totally up to the artist and the spontaneous inspiration that prompts them.

These art pieces are collected with the goal of piecing them together in a book; a colorful, beautiful, powerful collection of womandalas and mandalas.  The funds of this book project will help our Palliative Birth Center project, and the inspiration for this project came from The Invisible Pregnancy, a collection of beautiful challenges for bereaved mothers.

About Womandalas

“Mandala” is loosely translated from Sanskrit to mean “circle”, a shape entirely similar to the zero.  More than simply a round shape, a mandala represents wholeness, a collection of integrated parts gathered around a central source.

Awareness of the mandala may have the potential of changing how we see ourselves, our planet, and perhaps even our own life purpose.  ~Bailey Cunningham, Mandala: Journey to the Center

 

A mandala is…an integrated structure organized around a unifying center. ~Longchenpa

How to make your womandala / mandala:

If you’d like to create a piece for our Zeroes Count project, your only instruction is to allow yourself to freely create an art piece with two things in mind:

  • an intentionally contemplative state on your womanhood, incorporating your motherhood, which may include your pre-conception,  pregnancy, birth of your baby, death of your baby, your grief, and your journey to healing, and allowing these feelings to prompt spontaneous, authentic art.  For stillbirthday fathers or other loved ones, translate this instruction as appropriate to you.
  • a desire to include a circular or zero shape, drawing upon the value of the unifying stillbirthday zero.

You can email your piece directly to heidi.faith@stillbirthday.info, or use our share your story link.  By sharing your photo with stillbirthday, you agree to release copyright permission to include your photo in our Zeroes Count project art collection.

The jar is a circle.

Filed Under: Mothering Our Mourning, Project Zero: Zeroes Count - Womandalas Tagged With:

Empathizing with Elizabeth

February 18, 2013 by Leave a Comment

I’ve written about Elizabeth here at stillbirthday before.

Elizabeth, was a very old woman.  She waited a very, long time to become pregnant.  When she did, she remained in seclusion until her fifth month of pregnancy.  And I’ve shared why I believe this is.

To the world,

When you tell me to get over my loss, when you define it for me, when you try to take it away from me, it feels as though not only has my child died, but it feels as if you want me to believe my child never lived.  In short, not only did I lose my child, but your empty platitudes serve to threaten my motherhood.

In grief, I can related to Elizabeth hiding, until it was absolutely apparent that she was a mother.

You have an opportunity to invite mothers out into the community to share the pain, the beauty and the power of their motherhood.  They’ve already lost a child.  Don’t try to take away their motherhood.

For suggestions on how to better come alongside a bereaved mother, please visit our friends and family resources section.

Learn about Mothering the Mourning

Mothering the Mourning holds a radical and revolutionary truth that grief should not be silenced, the love for our children should not be closed up, we should not disengage from our relationship with our children at their physical death and we should not detach from our own reality of love.  While grief is the collection of feelings we have, mourning is the outward expression of these feelings.  Not all bereaved parents embrace both.  I have grief, and I have come to realize that my grief needs mourning, and, my mourning needs my mothering.
In my book The Invisible Pregnancy, I further explore the challenging concepts of nurturing and disciplining our mourning, and other challenging concepts such as recognizing the beautiful truths in what I identify as ec0-thanatology.  If these concepts seem intriguing, I’d recommend getting your copy of The Invisible Pregnancy, or consider hosting an Invisible Pregnancy Mother Workshop– and you and I can meet! Mothering the Mourning is my way of recognizing that my grief connects me to my child, my mourning connects me to my grief, and that I can seek out and find the many beautiful aspects of these connections.
Filed Under: Mothering Our Mourning
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The SBD® Doula provides support to families experiencing birth in any trimester and in any outcome.

Here at stillbirthday.info, you can learn about the SBD® Doula.