March 1

These just opened today. 

29 weeks 1 day

Nearly there. The bloom of life is so close. I am holding you all in my heart <3

back to work

i (finally) went back to the yoga studio where i was teaching through my pregnancy. i had exchanged emails with the main teachers there during my loss. i emailed them as we found out about nathaniel's conditions. we've had a few email exchanges in the last year and a half. but i hadn't been able to go back to the studio.

i have been mad at yoga for not saving me from the pain of my loss. before he died, i knew how to ground myself and breathe deeply. i have survived hard things before. i could sink my energy and breathe. but when he died i couldn't breathe. every breath was so, so painful. and my breath cycle adjusted to accommodate the pain. my nervous system was destroyed like i had survived a bomb explosion.

but in truth, my very sick baby boy died peacefully in my arms.

none of it makes sense.

my first class back as a student, i was held by friends who knew what happened to nathaniel. i sobbed for a bit, but i made it through the whole class without exploding.

my second class back, i ran into an old friend who didn't know what happend. the last time i saw her, i was big with nathaniel. she came up to me with a big smile and said how is your family?

i thought fuck. she doesn't know. i was hoping that she had found out through. . .someone else.

i had to tell her that my baby died. where do i even start?

*******

few people know his story. i have shame, or something, about the fact that he was sick and we didn't know. i'm absolutely embarrassed, even here, about the fact that i was 37 years old and i didn't have any kind of ultrasound or genetic testing. please know that i wanted to, but i didn't for complicated reasons.

the truth percolates down to the fact that my husband is afraid of doctors and the mainstream medical establishment. he has a degree in science from an ivy league school, so ignorance is not the issue. just fear.

in retrospect, i should have had the testing i wanted, the testing i knew was best practice, considering my age. considering his. but i wanted more to have a baby with him. i wanted for us to be together. and he wasn't going to get on my side of the issue.

so i agreed to a homebirth, for him. i agreed to no testing. and then at our 36 week appointment, when the midwife suspected our baby was breech, she requested that we get an ultrasound as soon as possible to confirm position.

and the story of our loss begins there.

and now i don't know how to tell nathaniel's story to my friends. the fact that he was sick absolutely colors the loss. the fact that he was sick somehow doesn't ease my grief.

it doesn't make sense.

*******

my third time back to the studio i talked with two different friends, both of whom knew about nathaniel. one of them had gone to nathaniel's service, and i hadn't seen her since. we hugged and kissed and hugged and kissed and laughed to see each other. the other friend was the photographer at my wedding, and i had run into him at the grocery store about six months ago. i told him there that my baby had died. i don't think he knows the details.

********


when i think about how to tell other people about the loss, i don't want the fact that he was sick to dismiss or diminish the loss. i don't know what details to include. i don't know what details to leave out. i don't know if i can show them his picture. some people think that a photo of a dead baby is morbid.

how am i supposed to talk about nathaniel? it's still so awkward and the narrative is pocked by vulnerabilities, shame, embarrassment, and challenges within my relationship. it's also marked with making difficult medical decisions. about life. about resources and statistics, about complex and controversial medical procedures. about severe, global disability. all of that is part of nathaniel's story as well.

how do i tell his story? what story do i tell?
 

18 months

nathaniel would be 18 months old today. the only other person who acknowledged this - who remembered it - is my 17 year old living son. i know that it's unreasonable to expect other people to remember something like this. but had he lived, 18 months is a huge milestone in development. without the milestone, there is something else, and i don't know what to call it. 

what do you call these days? 

move

we went through the move. i went through the move. there are days that i want to call the movers back to take everything home. but the day of the move was fairly peaceful.

all of nathaniel's boxes and things waited in the front room for the movers. a blanket draped over his car seat. a mover came in and asked, "is there a baby in there?" before he picked it up and took it to the truck.

i found a closet for nathaniel's boxes and oddly shaped baby things - his brand new stroller, his bouncy chair. i thought to myself, how can a dead baby have so much stuff? but here i am, still keeping it all. moving it from one house to another. i've wondered, if we end up having another baby, could i let the other baby use nathaniel's stuff? i honestly don't know.

it's a crazy babyloss moment, keeping all of his stuff.  

so now the farm house is full of boxes. i'm taking part of my saturday to catch up with blogging, because isn't that better than unpacking? the farm is on an island called sauvie island. it's located about 20 minutes from downtown portland in the columbia river.

it's peaceful here. very dark at night because it's away from the city. my neighbors have cows.

we still talk about having a baby. whether to or not to. we weigh the many risks of age. we are both haunted by the truth of life and death and all of the stories of loss we now know. we fly around the lands of yes, no, maybe.

i dream about flying away.

stress

last year i bought a tree from the church lot up the block. i dried the roses from nathaniel's service and put the petals in clear ornaments, and decorated the tree with these. we put lights on the house. the energy of the grief pushed me forward. nathaniel was gone five months christmas day.

this year, the living room is full of boxes. empty and flattened, most of them right now. we've spent most nights these past months at the farm. i commute about 40 minutes to and from the city now.

i honestly don't know how i feel about it. most days i just feel confused and overwhelmed. we bought a farm. i moved my city chickens out there. the dogs. the cat. we have some furniture at the farm house. books. my art supplies. i bought and have been raising 10 ducklings. i bought 4 geese.

i like the birds. i hate the commute.

i'm trying to get the city house packed up but every time i try i get so stressed out. i don't know if it's going to happen. there's a deeper sense of inertia now - some leaden force that binds me in place.

i try to motivate my world by imagining some beautiful life that probably would have never been had nathaniel lived. 11 acres on an island. my own studio. but it feels like someone else's life that i'm trying to put on, like a jacket that looks great on the model but might not fit me. like some shitty consolation prize.

i don't know if it's just because of the holidays or if it's something else. if my body reacts to the moving with anxiety and pain, do i just then stay put? or do i push forward through the pain and try to imagine a different life? try to invent myself again?

i am still grieving in my body intensely. the pain is back in my breath today. i've actually had some success working with my breath for about the past month, which is amazing because i couldn't work with my breath for more than a year after nathaniel died, and my breath had been my number one coping skill for years. i've had some success with just slowing waaaaay down. walking very slowly. bringing mindfulness to my movements. but some days the anxiety just picks up and shakes my being, and it feels like my world could come apart with one or two sentences.

i know the stress is not good for my fertility. i know the stress is not good for me at all. but i can't seem to get away from it.

what do you do to manage the stress of grief?

mom face

recent conversations about faking it inspired this piece


mom face

nose to nose with a living baby
baby smiles
baby kisses
baby gurgles
baby face and mom face reflected together
this is how we both learn
love

raising a living child
face to face
smile
instruct
encourage
my son knows this mom face
is his mom's face

when my baby died
my mom face still
expected connection
first eye contact

but
absent
contorted

muscles involuntarily
twisted in a mask of pain

this revealed a new story
in my mom face


black eyes
broken teeth
swollen, beaten down


my living son witnesses his mom's face
confused
by his own brother face
wounded

*****

i try to smile

remember my mom face
the unbroken story
of childhood
and motherhood

i hide

can he see me? what does he see?
my body takes over and i cry out

stop.

i cannot be lost.
i am completely lost.

*****

peer closely and see
my own little girl face
wailing
her baby is gone

peer closer and see
his little boy face
lost without his little
brother

two lost children
playing mom face
son face
searching for baby brother's face