ripples, ripples everywhere

You know the story. Your baby dies-- a profound, ugly, messy, bloody wound. You nurse it, gradually you learn to live with it, you know, because you have to, yadda yadda. But that's not what this post is about.

And you know what happens after, too, the thousand tiny little cuts that follow. Family members who get pissed because you are not reveling in their joys or because you are not symapthetic enough to their grand tragedies, which, you know, don't seem that grand to you. Friends who somehow just can't find the time to call, or call because they just had to share the funniest thing their three year old just said. Strangers who say stupid things because they don't know, or because they just heard and react with a violent case of word vomit. And everyone who thinks they know just how you should be feeling by now (better) and what you should do to feel that way (follow their sage advice, naturally). But this too is not what this post is about.

What it is about is the unexpected ripples, the things you wouldn't have thought would have to do with your baby dying. For me, right now, it's my job. Lack thereof, actually. My last contract ran out in November, and I've been looking since. In my field, the jobs are mostly seasonal in start dates. So there was nothing for the spring semester, and now it looks like I didn't get anything for the fall either. More than a hundred people apply per position these days, and I am not looking beyond the area where we live, so it's not entirely unheard of for me to not have found anything yet. But it is unsettling, in the makes you see bleak scenarios kind of a way. There was also a crushing blow of a good interview and then not a peep for weeks, until finally a very pleasant rejection letter, all about a stellar group of candidates on the short list, which I made, and the tough decision, which they made.

I am one of the crazy people. I have what I see as a calling. And that means that I can't, still, see doing anything else. And dammit, I am good at this thing I do, at this thing I feel as my calling. Walking away, doing something else, it feels in no uncertain ways like giving up. Not just on this thing we call a career, but on myself, on what my definition, my understanding of myself is.

The ripple of this, the way it goes back to A's death, is that I was then in the middle of a one year position. I went back to work three weeks after A died, less than three after he was born. And I finished that year, somehow, cobbled through it, despite shit for attention span and a newly-acquired failure to care about a bunch of things in that job. I even put together a good piece of work by the end of it. But then I decided to take time off, to give myself breathing room. That was a wise choice. I should've stuck with it. I should've spent the time alternating between doing little and doing some of those projects around the house that sit on that looooooong term to-do list that always becomes way more long term than you mean it to. And then I should've looked for a position for next fall.

What I did instead was apply for that one position at the end of that summer, and I got it a couple of months into the fall. It seemed promising, it seemed like a great opportunity. But it didn't end up being that way. It ended up being far less challenging and interesting than it was supposed to be, and far less productive. Part of that was my fault, as I tend to get demotivated when what I am doing isn't interesting or challenging. Part of it was the hellish and medically complicated subsequent pregnancy. And none of it matters now. Because now I am looking for a job in a far worse economic climate than I would've been had I not taken this detour, and competing against a lot more people.

A week and a half ago I was in a complete funk. Now I am alternating between that and a stupidly stubborn determination to somehow get out of this hole I dug for myself, even if it means a long way around and a bunch of seasonal jobs with uncertain prospects along the way. I have a calling, and I don't know who I'd be if I gave up on it. I don't want to look over the edge of this particular cliff. I am too scared to look. But when the funk gets me, I am feeling like maybe I am already falling off that cliff, already midflight, already done for, and all that's left for me to do is to acknowledge the end.

What are some of the surprising ripples you have encountered so far? What has changed, for the better or for the worse, in places you didn't expect changes?

Comments

[Sue]

My grandmother just died last Thursday night. The family gathered at my childhood home for the funeral and brief shiva. I got to spend major quality time with my 10 month old niece, whom I have not held since she was two weeks old. I was in love with her long distance; now it fills me, this love I have for my sister's daughter (her first child after a loss at 18 weeks). I feel it physically.

I saw my grandmother for the last time when I visited in March. The first night we stopped by, she was laying down, napping. I sat next to her on the bed, holding her hand. "It's so good to see you, darling." Our conversation found its way back to how she was not the same Grandma, anymore. About all the things that frustrated her, that angered her. I interrupted with "But with (my niece) around, can it be that bad?" Oh, she smiled in spite of herself. "Such a wonderful baby, she's so good, so happy..." and she held my hand, and gave it a squeeze as she looked at me. "Your time will come, darling. It will happen for you."

My brother's wife is pregnant. 14 weeks. They tried for 4 months. My brother is thrilled; she is still nauseous.

I was angry during my last trip; everything set me off and I barely held my tongue. It was the same this time. Only worse.

When my sister was first pregnant with the twins she lost, I feared this. How could maintain things without the grief eating me up. I don't know how I'm going to have any kind of relationship with my family. And it's not like they were insensitive before. Maybe it's the delight with which my niece greeted my father, and with which my father greeted his granddaughter. Delight I am so very glad they get to share. I really am.

Maybe it's the moving on without me. Maybe it's all the people telling me, as they watch me holding or playing with my wonderful niece: that this will be me next year. It will be mine next year.

[Marjorie]

Just this morning, I was looking out the bathroom window and could have sworn I saw a swing-set down in the yard. But it was just my imagination, and that realization immediately got the water works going. Before that moment, my day felt like any other...at least a better version of any other since our daughter's still birth.

Of the things that have changed, I think I am the one who has changed the most. I have very little patience for the things that do not matter now. I ALMOST do not care what others think of me... I say ALMOST because that feeling is usually fleeting. My counsellor has urged me to not care what others think, since I can not please everyone in my life, I have to learn to please myself. But right now, I get the feeling from some people, that I have grieved "too long", and this attitude from those who are supposed to care, suprises me. I get the feeling that they grimace when I say something in reference to my daughter, or when I turned down the invitation to the family Mother's day brunch. Imagine that! I didn't want to go celebrate Mother's day and be reminded of everything I lost when she died, and what I should have!

I am surprised at my drive to get pregnant again in the midst of this storm. I know I can't replace my daughter, but we know that we want to be parents. This is the start of our 3rd month TTC since our loss, and due to my work schedule, and my husband's school schedule, I doubt it will happen. At times, I feel like a woman on a mission. Obsessed and driven to have a LIVING child, then I realize what I'm doing and take a step backwards.

I am angry that these "ripples" have to take place at all. I shouldn't have to go back to work in two days and greet my co-workers with my standard "I'm doing" response to the "how are you?" question. I should be nursing a 31/2 month old, up at all hours of the night changing diapers and singing lullabies. I should be trying to figure out how to get poop out of the crib sheets, I should be pushing a stroller when I go for my jog, rather than going alone. It all sucks....and it feels so wrong... I am scared and relieved to be returning to work. I love my job...and at least I KNOW how to do it. I don't know how to grieve, and quite frankly I don't think I'm that good at it!

[Sally]

So many to list, where to start? Changed relationships with friends and family of course, some of those were very major changes as well and I'm still adjusting to those.
Work for me was a big one as well. She was stillborn in August 2008 and I had just started 14 weeks paid maternity leave then was due to take 12 months unpaid maternity leave after taht. And whether people think it was the right move or not, I still took that leave. I was so grief-stricken, as we all were and so looking forward to that time off with my baby, I couldn't stand the thought of going back. I was also getting some income protection insurance payments (I'm in Australia where we get better looked after in that regard) so financially it was an option for me to stay home. I also hated my job, so couldn't for the life of me face going back.
Then six months later, I was pregnant again and really didn't want to be working while going through that terrifying time. In October 2009, my maternity leave was up and I asked if they could offer me another 12 months upaid leave (my son was due to be born in Nov 09). They said no. I don't really blame them. So now it is May 2010. I have nearly been out of work two years. I am no longer receiving those income protection insurance payments. I have had two babies but now no job. My son is six months old, and any money we had saved up to take care of the baby we thought we were going to get in August 2008 is gone. I had planned on taking 12 months off work to raise a baby, now I am going to need to look for new work when Angus is only six months old. I'm not ready to leave him yet. People talk about separation anxiety, and I think I have it worse than him!
I know reading back over all of that I am lucky. I have had time at home to grieve. I haven't had to rush back to a job I hate. Hey, I even got pregnant again easily and got a live child to bring home. But I guess I'm just a long way from where I thought I'd be when I packed up my desk and walked out of my office this time almost two years ago.

[Anon]

We are financially shot. No, not shot, more like drawn and quartered. Food bank, and yet cannot qualify for aid because of excessive income. What? Oh yeah...it is the medical bills taking chunks at a time. And they still haven't figured out what is wrong with me and now likely will not as I cannot afford to go in.

Teeth - losing 3 of them. Remember the old saying about gaining a child, losing a tooth? Take the teeth if I get to keep the kid. But this just isn't right.

[Audrey]

I want to take a moment and acknowledge the previous posters. I had been ruminating over Julia's post and came back to respond when I read the other comments. I am sorry for the pain and the trouble you're facing. To Anon, it's a big pile of crap to be financially ruined by medical expenses. And no, it's not right at all. I am very sorry.

The big ripple for me (3 long years out) that I have been thinking of is a blessing of sorts. I have shared the creative parts of me for the first time in my life in the wake of my daughter's death. For all the time I've spent with my face in a viewfinder or hunched over a journal or keyboard, I had never shared my creative endeavors before, never submitted a photo or a poem to anything (and really just didn't participate more generally). I was always worried that it was vanity to do so and more to the point, that my work wasn't strong enough and that "I am not an artist anyway."

Now I see it differently. It's not the pretense of the importance or success of a single piece of work that matters to me, it is the importance of community that has drawn me out of my shell.

[eliza]

Ripples. I think the biggest ripple is still the friends I lost. The shock of that, of losing a circle of women I thought I had grown close to and the shock of the way it happened . . . rather abruptly. It's changed a lot for me. I have fewer friends, fewer resources, fewer places to turn.

And though this sounds utterly ridiculous . . . I feel like I lost communities. There was a message board I participated in for years - before ttc, while ttc, throughout three pregnancies. I went back maybe two or three times after we lost Gabe and while I miss it a lot . . . I couldn't go back again. They were lovely women, and kind, but my world had shifted so much there was no longer a place in it for that. The petty dramas, the mothers who don't understand, trying so hard to say that something I now view as utterly unimportant is in fact a problem worthy of energy.

I think in many ways, I am a far more compassionate and far less judgmental person than Before. But in other ways, my tolerance is low and I often don't have the energy to remind myself that because my problems are of a different nature or seem to be greater does not diminish the severity or magnitude of problems for other people. I would be quite angry if someone suggested to me that I ought not express how I feel about my child being dead because someone else has bigger problems, but trying to extend the same courtesy constantly to others . . . I just can't always. And so I stay away from there. And realized how much time I spent online, how I counted some of those women friends and how much support and understanding I received there that I no longer have.

I am more of a hermit now, really afraid to leave the safe haven of my home and reconnect with the outside world.

The biggest ripples are oddly positive. I don't know how I feel about that, whether or not that feels wrong. But losing Gabriel prompted my husband to make changes to things that have depressed him and held him down for too long; he went back to school to finish his degree. A long, slow process, but one which will boost his self-esteem, his confidence, and hopefully open a door or two somewhere for him.

And my own work - well, before I was floundering a bit. Uninterested, without direction, unsure what to do. After, I became more focused, found a goal, gained some confidence and my footing. My boss said in my review that it was a world away from my last review, that they were extremely happy with me, that I had improved in every way and that I was a huge asset to her personally. She reiterates that often. Because of the economic climate, there will be position cuts soon. I think I might have been on the list a year ago. I am fairly sure I've worked my way off of it now. Were Gabriel here, I don't know that would have been the case. Between maternity leave proving me dispensable and not having some kind of motivation to push forward at work (nothing else to do within my control at that time) and a baby at home, possibly making me less inclined to be here, I think often that I would have been in danger. Since we absolutely can't afford that (without the baby), it's something of a relief to find that I'm doing better in this one arena.

[niobe]

I think -- and please don't flame me for saying so -- that, in general, I'm a lot happier than I would have been if the twins hadn't died. I mean, I really, really don't want to say that their dying, although heartbreaking at the time, had a silver lining. But sometimes it feels that way.

[eliza]

Exactly - niobe. The silver lining - that is exactly what I mean.

[Monique]

Everything changed - most of my friendships are gone although the few that remain are strong. My career is gone (by choice). I couldn`t imagine going back to my job for many reasons, mostly that my employers were complete uncaring assholes in the wake of my son`s stillbirth (that is a whole long other story) and I also couldn`t face working in an industry rife with egomaniacs and their constant microdramas (I worked in film and television). So, although I would never, ever call it a blessing, or believe that everything happened for a reason, or somehow think there is a silver lining to having your child die - I did make a career shift and am much happier. I actually like going to work and work with a bunch of lovely, caring women and rather than making crappy tv that nobody watches - I am contributing to an organization that helps women heal and transform their lives. I make a lot less money but I could care less.

[Shelly]

Ripples are what I call the "secondary" losses. Not only did I lose my baby, but I feel like I've lost myself. I didn't realize how profoundly changed I would be by this expereince. And I don't think others know what ot make of this. I lived a charmed life before my daughter died. No major tragedies, illnesses, or loss of close friends or family. For that previous life - I am thankful. But I now I know life is hard in a whole new way. Not knowing who I am anymore is the biggest ripple/secondary loss for me. I work in a social-worky type job with pregnant and parenting teens. After being back at work for about 5 months now, I am slowly able to tap into my kindness and compassion again, but sometimes I am still so angry and jealous that these girls come into our program with mostly unintended pregnancies. It hurts me as all I want is to be a mom, and here I am, actually TRYING in my ttc, and it's not happening like magic, like it seems to happen for the teens I work with. Sigh...

[Emily]

First, hello everyone, this is my first posting.

I am only 3 weeks and 2 days out from losing my son Aidan, but I already know that my job is going to be a big ripple. I am an NICU nurse...at least I was up until I was 11 weeks pregnant and they put me on bed rest. Fast forward to week 17 of my pregnancy when the shit started to hit the fan and right away I knew that I might not be able to go back there.

Although Aidan never spent time in an NICU...he was born too soon for any NICU to help him...I don't know if I can bear going back to helping other babies. Helping save other babies' lives when my son's couldn't be saved.

Truth be told, I was having a hard time with my job before I even got pregnant. I knew I would be 'high risk' no matter how smooth my pregnancy, due to the fact of my own medical condition, so being in that environment felt like a toxic bath, increasing my own anxiety. I worried about something bad happening...and now, when it has, I don't know if I can face going back.

I'm lucky that I get a 17 week maternity leave, despite having no baby to care for. The time, I'm hoping, will help me heal (somewhat) and will help me to figure out where my career and my life, is going to go from here.

[Catherine W]

Julia - I sincerely hope that you find a position. It seems almost 'unjust' to me, that someone with a calling should be denied the opportunity to work in their field of interest. I hope that this recent funk is merely a minor tumble along the way rather than a plummeting from the cliffs.

Emily - I am so terribly sorry for the loss of your son, Aidan. I hope that you can find some comfort from this place, I know I have. I honestly cannot even begin to imagine the impact that your career had on you during your pregnancy with Aidan or how you must feel about the prospect of a possible return to a NICU. It must have increased your anxiety tremendously, to know your own pregnancy was unlikely to be straightforward and to function in an environment where there is no concealing the fact that not all pregnancies end happily. I hope that the time you are able to take on maternity leave helps you to make a choice about where you see your future.

Anon - I'm so sorry. It is so horribly unfair that you find yourself in this position. And the teeth? It isn't right.

I can certainly agree with some of the previous posts. In terms of work, I don't think that anyone expected me to return to my job. Due to financial considerations, I had to return and my employers were legally obliged to allow me to. However, whilst I was on leave, they had employed someone else to do my job. This has left me in a somewhat awkward position. Whilst I am very grateful to still have a position, one that has allowed me to work part time hours and pays relatively well, it is very strange to feel myself suddenly extraneous in an environment where I once felt I had something of value to contribute.

[Erica]

I had my first not-entirely-stellar work review this year, and the comments were right - I haven't been as active for the past couple of years. I'm just now starting to focus again and really dig into my job. I feel like I was just managing to do the stuff I really HAD to do for a little over a year and now I'm starting to contribute more energy and creativity again. But I have to do a bit of damage control - not a huge deal, but not especially fun, either.

I dread the ripples that will affect my daughter when she realizes that she has a big brother, but not one who can play with her and tease her and talk to her. I'm almost paralyzed thinking of how to explain that & help her come to terms with it and feel what she needs to without burdening her with my grief, too.

[jen]

I lost my relationship with both my mother and my mother-in-law. I lost a couple of good (I thought) friends. I lost all interest in a career, which may in the long run be a good thing.

I gained an appreciation of my living daughter. Now when she is being impossible I can always look at her and think, she's alive. I gained some spiritualism, something I have always felt to be lacking in my life.

We are also financially ruined. We were teetering on the brink before Aiden died, but the month I took of from work was unpaid and it was the final straw. We are filing for bankruptcy and losing the house that took us 3 years to remodel. The house my daughter first came home to. The house where I planted my first garden.

But - I have also gained the gut level knowledge that the small things don't matter. We have enough money to eat and have some fun, that is all we really need. Being rich wouldn't bring my Aiden back so it's not worth being angry about (most of the time).

The biggest change - and the most positive - is that I can now stand up for myself. I hope this is a permanent change because I have always been a doormat, but I'll take what I can get for now. I was selfish for the first time in my life while in the midst of deep grief. I realized that my life was easier when I was a little selfish. This was pretty much a life altering realization for me. I just wish it hadn't come at such a heavy cost.

[Lani]

The biggest ripple for me is in my relationships. I can't celebrate new babies being born to close friends & family members. I have lost so much time with people I love because being around pregnancy was and is too hard.

I lost Silas a year and a half ago and have been trying to get pregnant again since.

Every month, a hellish 2ww has changed the way I view time and patience. Our casual sex life is gone b/c its all about making a baby. I've been on awful fertility meds for months now that have screwed with my mental & physical states of being.

All this after losing a baby who was conceived so easily and who made it until the bitter end. I lost my faith in my belief system where I thought my body would do what it was supposed to do and birth my baby safely at home with my midwives.

My optimistic self is gone and in its place is someone scared to be hopeful and positive for fear of yet more disappointment.

I want to believe this is all just a blip and years from now I can look back and say "yeah, that time in my life really sucked." but I don't think I'll ever get over losing my baby. Ever.

I am forever changed by his loss and its rippling effects.

thinking of you Julia and sending you lots of love xo

[Pierre]

My first wife lost a child at birth around 1972. The baby's heart had been beating up till a few days before birth. The poor woman found out from the look on the doctor's face, and had to go through the whole birth experience knowing the foetus was dead. I remember rushing home to remove all the baby clothes and toys we had bought.

We entrusted out little son to her sister. I was so protective of him.

I never talked about it enough with her.

The second worst experience I have ever lived through. You never get over it.

My grandfather lost seven of his eight siblings to childhood diseases. I think it turned him into a bitter, mistrustful misanthrope.

[Heather]

ripples...

trying to remember other peoples' problems are relative, and real for them even if they don't seem to compare to my greif. accepting that my grief is not theirs, and they have no idea what it has done to me. nor do they want to. attempting to forgive them for this, and for forgetting the babies who are on my mind each and every day.

the almost unhealthy attachment I have to my living child, and now that I have to go back to work, one year post-loss, it's absolutely killing me to think of being away from him. I feel like he, in a weird sense, is being taken away from me. I'm not sure how this is going to go.

small things no longer matter. no more micro-managing the house, food, and minutes of my and my living child's life.

I'm able to better do what's better for me, and my little nucleus of a family, and not feel bad about it. Because that helps me survive. If they don't like it, tough.

Staying away from babies, who I used to love grabbing away, and holding and smiling at, and singing to in my terrible voice. Im not able to do that, in fact, it is difficult for me to even look at them. especially girls. especially twin girls. I miss that baby-loving part of myself, I miss that. But Im not ready. I may never be.

[B]

My main ripple? I wish I didn't take it personally that my MIL is moving a couple of thousand miles away.

She's not actually going til next year. But I still feel that she's rejecting me and any children we ever manage to have.

I know it's not about me. But it still hurts. It hurts me way more than it hurts my husband.

[mirne]

Ripples. Many of them. Relationships changing. Friends no longer calling. Calling us with condolences after Freyja died. Sending us notes with condolences after Kees died. Nothing after Jet died. People who I thought were closer to me than my family -- they don't contact us any more. They are busy enjoying their children - their families. Ripples.

Work. Career. Whatever. I don't think I bear any resemblance to that person I used to be. That very strong, controlling, delegating, client-focused, lawyer. She slowly disappeared. A bit at a time. Ripples.

Craig and I spend our days at home now. Together. Trying to deal with three deaths. Three children gone. Trying to work on the now. On the continuing effect of the ripples. Trying to piece together a future.

It's hard work.