Nine Days

The two of them met for a brief moment. One of them was alive, nine days old, seven pounds, four ounces, and still under the lethargic haze of infancy. One of them was dead, four hours old, seven pounds, twelve ounces, and still warm from the womb, from the closeness of working organs and a rapid heartbeat. The dead one was lifted in front of the live one, a surreal sight if there ever was such a thing. She was going to be your best friend, the mother whispered. It was hello and goodbye in the same minute.

They were meant for each other, our two girls, Lyla and Margot, born nine days apart to best friends who live on the same street.


Long before children were on the immediate radar, the four of us dreamed of a scenario where our kids grew up together, close in age and close in proximity. We imagined our babies crawling around together, our toddlers fighting over toys, our pre-schoolers trading sentences. It's only natural, of course, for two couples to wish the sort of closeness between their kids as they share themselves.

The mothers navigated the frightening waters of middle school together, and then high school and then University. The fathers own a business together. We have backpacked through three continents, riding crammed busses and jumping off bridges and sleeping in cars along the interstate. And somehow, despite living in different parts of the world for the better part of six years, our friendship remained steadfast.

And then one day they decided to move across the country, straight into our neighborhood. Then they fell pregnant. It was July when they told us, on a blisteringly hot afternoon.

Almost incredulously, ironically, we conceived Margot on the same blistering day we found out they were pregnant with Lyla. One tiny miracle created out of knowledge of the other. The women who became fast friends at the age of twelve, who have known each other for nearly two decades, were just five weeks apart. The stars were aligning.

In those early weeks, those early months after Margot died, it was hard to even imagine what we needed from our family and friends. It was shock and awe, the inability to focus, night time meltdowns, a mountain of anguish. Friends and family came and went, supporting and helping and listening in any way they can. But mostly we just tried to survive each day, one long minute at a time.

And then, suddenly, without notice, it felt like we were all alone in our grief, as if the veil of sadness had been lifted for all but us. It’s all fine and understandable, but the longing for wholeness became a desperation, to be able to share with someone our whole selves, both the anguish and the joy, however unbalanced these emotions were in our early grief. I found myself fracturing, turning into a splintered version of myself. I would smile and nod and deflect questions and give the world a sad, but more or less coping, version of myself. I longed to be my whole self, with more than just my partner. If we couldn’t share the aching burden of our missing child with friends, how on earth could we share any joy we found out of life?

But there is Brooke, mother to Lyla, friend since middle school, standing with us, kneeling with us, walking with us, crying with us, never afraid of our grief, never afraid to talk about Margot. She asks questions and then asks more questions, always wanting to share in our pain as deeply as she can. When a group of us are at a party, with babies everywhere, it is Brooke who talks about missing Margot, it is Brooke who asks what it feels like. Whenever I post a new vulnerable blog about our grief, it is Brooke who talks about it. She has abided with us, without a timeline, without expectations. And what is most astonishing, is that she has done all of this while in the midst of mothering a child for the first time. If there have been sleepless nights or breastfeeding issues or colds or exhaustion or hard days or figuring out the right bottle or any of those new parent realities, we never hear about them. And the love, the sheer perfect love of a child, that normally oozes out of a new parent, has been miraculously toned down around us. Her abiding grace, under such difficult circumstances, is perhaps the most selfless act I have encountered in my lifetime.


Nearly ten months have passed since our babies passed by one another. For a long time, it was hard to even look at Lyla, the most physical reminder of my Margot. The smiling, the giggles, the sitting up, the pure baby charm. Each little milestone was so acutely felt. But somehow through the months of abiding with Brooke and her husband, through the inevitable time that has passed, I can smile at Lyla now, hold her hand, watch her laugh. I can ask about her. She has become integrated into my pain, fused with it. She is part of the missing and she is part of the remembering.  But it is not too bitter. It is sweet. And somedays I wonder, when the rest of the world has forgotten my darling girl, when only her mother and I really miss her, will Lyla be like a marker in time, a beautiful reminder of our little girl, gone for so long?

Were there any children born around you when your child died? How does it feel to watch them grow up? How has your relationship with the parents changed? Are you able to be around the child, or is it too painful? Has this changed with time?

Comments

[Carrie]

There were four of us at our small church that were pregnant together, all due within 6 weeks of each other. Losing the twins at 24 weeks, they were here and gone before the other babies were due. The first year was the hardest. Especially watching the two boys play together just as I had dreamed Lucas and Caleb would. I completely skipped all firsts, including their birthdays. There was just no way I would put myself through it all. And their moms all understood.
I honestly believe though, that it is easier around them since I lost twins. The pregnancy, the dreams, and hopes were so different with Lucas and Caleb than they were with my previous singleton pregnancies and babies. I, in that morbid, often un-understood way, am grateful for that. I don't see twins running around near as often. I know that if I had lost a singleton baby that the pain of other babies would be much rawer and hurtful.

[Renel]

This has got me all choked up. One of my best friends Amanda was due with her baby just 5 weeks after Camille. Camille was my second child, Caleb was her third. We were so thrilled to be having our babies so close. She was at Kai's birth and Daryl and I had spoken of the ida surrounding out untimely death if Amanda and her husband Andy should be his new family. We were friends in highschool, she went to school on the east coast and then came back to California. Became a lawyer and then got pregnant. I was a few years behind her and she had two children before I had finished graduate school myself. Then having my son. Friends throughout our lives. 20 years worth of friendship. And then Camille died and she was still hugely and healthily pregnant. Caleb is a forever reminder of the baby I was
supposed to have. I sometimes wonder why her life us charmed and mine is broken. And so I remind myself of the love. I have met Caleb a couple times and even held him. He does not make me sad. The idea of him being alive while Camille is dead is what makes me sad. I knew I had to meet him because in my world where babies die I worried... What if he was to due and I never met him? I think it is amazing and beautiful that lyla and margot have met. I'm glad your friends have been so kind.

[loribeth]

One of dh's cousins had a baby boy in April 1998, exactly six months before Katie's due date, one of his cousin's wives was pregnant at about the same time I was & had a baby boy in September 1998, & another cousin had another baby boy in April 1999, exactly six months after Katie's due date. Need I say how grateful I am that all these babies were boys?? I think that has made it easier, somehow, although the initial few encounters were terribly, terribly diffcult. I can remember being at a family gathering on Labour Day a few years ago, & the first boy I mentioned was going into Grade 7, junior high, and everyone was fussing over him and how big he was getting. It was all I could do not to cry, thinking about my baby girl who would also have been going into Grade 7 that year.

As well, our next door neighbours had a baby girl in in April 1999 (referred to in my blog as "Little Girl Next Door" or LGND) -- six months & one school grade younger, but close enough. As you can imagine, it's been harder having her around as a constant yardstick -- especially when she was a baby & toddler (not quite as much now that she's becoming a sulky teenager, lol). It's been especially hard watching her come & go with her girlfriends, because I'd always thought she & Katie would have been friends.

She was the first baby I held after Katie -- my choice. I picked a time when I felt I could do it, & went over with a little gift. I looked at this bundle in my arms & realized it was not my child, & felt a little bit better. But I won't lie, it's been hard sometimes.

[Sara]

Wow. That is one of the most amazng friend stories I have ever heard.

I actually did not know any other pregnant women when I got pregnant. My best friend had a pregnancy "scare" (she has been told not to have another baby because of a blood-clot illness she has) at the same time I found out I was pregnant. After Lauren died, she said, "For a long time, I wished I had been pregnant. Now I'm glad I'm not, because I can't imagine how difficult it would be for you."

The only other pregnant women I knew I met online. I joined a pregnancy group on I-Village. Of all the women on the group, only two still contact me and check up on me. One woman whom I had had some conversations with had her daughter the day after I delivered Lauren, and she sent me the most beautiful email about how she feels my daughter is a guardian angel for hers. I have never met this woman in face-to-face, but she has shown me more friendship than some of my "real-life" friends. Her daughter is really the only baby I'm able to view pictures of, because I know how touched she was by the loss of my daughter.

[natalie]

This is a beautiful tribute to my dear friend Brooke whose spirit is exactly as you describe. I too am thankful for her willingness to live in the pain and tension alongside those she loves. How special it is that you are all so beautifully entwined.

[Mary Beth]

My best friend and I were pregnant together for our first babies, and they were born less than a month apart. For our second, her son was born less than three months before Calla was due. And when Calla died, I know it was hard for her to . . . feel like she dodged the bullet. She has been the most supportive of anyone I know, aside from my husband. She truly gets it.

Last year, a new young family moved in across the street. Their son is exactly 6 months older than E, and their daughter will now be 2 in a month or so. So basically, our family had Calla not died. And I don't think they know anything about Calla, as I've never mentioned it in conversation. We've become friends, and it's really strange to watch all the kids interact. I keep wondering what it would have been like to have my little girl and theirs playing together.

There were a bunch of us pregnant together when Calla died, and my husband's cousin had her baby girl a month after Calla was due. So at every family party I see a glimmer of who would have been there, too.

It's all so hard to navigate sometimes. Your friends sound amazing.

[Brianna]

Wonderful post, Josh.

Maybe I am lucky (HA! That is always a "funny" joke I like to make) that the one baby I associate with George lives two states away. I was able to avoid even seeing him in person for over a year. I'm not totally sure if that was healthy. I think it probably wasn't.
He isn't even really the same age as phantom George. Had everything gone according to the way I assumed it would, they would be about four months apart. As he has gotten older and developed his own personality it is easier to distinguish him from the idea of what George would have been like. Oh how I could say so much more on this topic...

How wonderful of Brooke to be so present. I know that she (and Paul) also lost the promise of a future they had so wanted to share with you guys. I see how much Margot was loved by them as well.

[Sally]

Beautiful, Josh. What incredible people. I'm glad they could stick it out with you and not abandon you both at your ultimate time of need.
For me, there were simply too many babies to list born around the same time as Hope. Just poking around on the new look timeline thing on Facebook the other day, I had a look back at some old status updates from just before I got pregnant with Hope and I said "I think I'm the only person left on earth not pregnant" in one. Most of my friends were pregnant, so a lot had babies in the months before Hope died and was born. And many more followed after we lost her. Most of those babies, the slightly older ones aside, I didn't lay eyes on for a very long time after she died. Some, I have actually never laid eyes on, more than three years later (this includes a baby girl born four days before Hope. I was due the exact same day as her mum and we'd shared a lot of the pregnancy together - the first for us both). My best friend and I also fell out completely when she had a baby girl (her second) five months after Hope. Our friendship simply didn't survive the complications that arose out of that difficult situation. It is sad, but losing Hope was and always will be sadder.
Those who were able to wait and abide and realise I couldn't see their babies for X amount of time are the friends who are still by my side today, and for the most part, their babies don't upset me anymore or remind me of what I lost. Time is certainly helping in that regard, I think.

[Natalie]

This is beautiful....and Brooke sounds like an extraordinary person....you are lucky to have one another in life...admidst the terrible and the tragic.

I am the <Brooke> (albeing probly less extraordinary), to a certain extent to my nextdoor neighbor. She moved in next door, in 2006, 38 weeks pregnant...and by some cruel twist....lost her baby boy, William.

Cut to 2007....I become pregnant...and so does she....only I deliver a healthy boy...and she miscarries again, this time at 30 weeks. Another boy. We were never told his name. I sat with her, cried with her, ate with her....but kept my son away out of respect....for the first 18 months of his life. She was gracious but I knew it was too much. She tries...she really does...but my son represents everything that she has lost. Twice.

Cut to 2010, she is pregnant again....my boy is now a toddler. She starts to come around again...timidly at first and holds my son for the first time. I hold my breath for 40 weeks....everyone does...it seems impossible that it could happen again (but we know it might)....thankfully, she delivers a perfectly healthy baby boy.

Ours sons are 3 years apart...and I'm not sure a day goes by that she doesn't look at me longingly....or curiously....with a reflection of pain in her eyes. She was supposed to have a son that was older than mine....she was supposed to have a son at the same time as I did.....but thankfully....she does have 3rd son...only younger. She keeps mothering, honoring, remembering and being grateful for her new son, as we all are. We talk about his two brothers frequently and have even managed to laugh about how we may have saved the neighborhood from too many boys....but it's bitter....and not all that sweet.

[Kara's Mom]

Such a beautifully written post. There are now 5 children in my family who were born within 6 weeks of my Kara. It is a painful thing to witness - the little place settings at the children's table at Christmas, marking their names, all except Kara. The birthdays, the holidays, the daily milestones and moments that we miss with Kara. It's been 3 1/2 years, and not a day goes by that my heart doesn't hurt for her loss and everything that entails for her and for us.

[Monique]

Your friend sounds really sweet, lovely and kind. The post-loss world is hard to navigate and some (most) people don't understand our actions and inabilities - you're very fortunate to have people who do. Sending love.

[Jeanette]

There are several, I can pick them out in the street, at school,online, but the one that hurts most is the little girl next door, born three months after Florence.
My neighbours are nice, good people, but we are not friends, finding out we were both expecting babies so close together, I think we both thought it might make us friends.
The little girl next door is lovely, it took me a long time to be able to look at her, and sometimes I spy on her from my loft window, I watch her playing and wonder, and wish.

[Angie]

I think this piece is so stunningly beautiful, Josh. Your friend sounds so lovely, compassionate, kind. There were a few babies in my life around the same time that Lucia died. My next door neighbor told me she was pregnant the day that Lucy died. So, I watched her pregnancy and birth, but I have never shied away from her baby. My sister's sister in law was pregnant at the same time as me, her baby was born in July though. It was hard in her early life to see my sister be her aunt. Anyway, thank you for writing about this. XO

[Crystal]

Wow... Brooke sounds like an amazing friend! Ya'll are so blessed. I don't have close friends but there were two women who were due within a week or so of my due date. One was a high school friend, "C" and the other was the mom "A" of my older's son's classmate. I was so relieved when I found out "A" was having a girl. I don't know why... it just made it different somehow. Its tough, though, to see pictures of "C"s baby boy on her Facebook page. Most days, I just quickly skim over her posts. But some days, I like to look and imagine what Nathan would have looked like, have he made it to term and be the same age as her son. Out of all the days in the year, BOTH of them delivered on my due date. It's hard to think about the fact that I should have a 3 week old in my arms right now. Instead, I'm empty handed... awake and on here because I can't sleep, not because I'm up with a newborn.

[Jessica]

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[Tash]

What a beautiful tribute to your friend. Brooke sounds incredible.

In my circle there were 6 babies on the way just as we found out that we were pregnant. Friends were delivering big bouncing babies into this world and I was next. After a year of fertility testing, two surgeries, and being told that I was infertile, our time had finally come. It was very exciting to be next. The last time I saw any of those 6 babies was during my hospitalization, before Liam died. I'm not ready to see babies yet.

There was also one co-worker due only a few weeks after me and when I returned back to work last week I found her baby announcement in my inbox. With photos. In the 700+ emails I had to go through there was a "Welcome baby Eric" email. Ugh.

I'm glad that you guys have Brooke in your life, shining her light over the four of you.

[skytimes]

Besides a couple of friends who had their due dates close, my sister and me were pregnant at the same time. It was also the first time we really bonded and became friends. We pictured our kids lives together, growing up like siblings rather than cousins. Well, the day I had my newborn niece on my huge belly was the day that my son died. Their birthdays are also 9 days apart.

Everything has changed ever since. My niece is the best and worst that happened to me. I can't cut off my whole family... though in the beginning it was hard. Even though my family was grieving for my son, they were also in baby-bliss. And I clearly wasn't. It took me 2-3 months to be able to see her again. Baby steps and not much talking about it... just crying together (or trying not to cry).

Having my niece in my life is a constant reminder which doesn't make it easier. I love her to pieces but there's day when I just can't join the happy-family-dinner. I'll always be a different auntie around her birthday... which is sad for her. But that's how it is...

[ss]

when my daughter was stillborn, it took me quite a while to be able to see the babies that were born at the same time as she. we were all first-time parents, and it was killer to know they had a happy house and our house was just miserable. i did run into one of the mom's in the grocery a couple weeks later, and she actually complained to me that our shared CNM had induced her when she got to 42 weeks- this was because my daughter was stillborn at 42 weeks a week prior- and our CNM was gun shy about letting her go past 42, and this woman was mad that she missed her great birth she had envisioned. huh. its been almost 7 years since this happened, and i can't believe my sweet little baby would have turned into this giant little person that all of these 7 year olds are. its still tough to see these babies/children. they do mark that moment in time, very much so.

when my son was stillborn 3 years ago, i was pregnant at the same time as my sister. and her baby was born a month before my son died. i think because losing my son was the 2nd time it happened to us, i just couldn't manage to see her healthy baby boy, when mine had died. its been 3 years and i still haven't seen him. oh well. i am trying to get past this as a goal for this year. its tough though. my family gets irritated that i don't see this sister or her son, but all i can think is 'hey, you guys go ahead and give birth to two babies who are stillborn, and then let me know how you feel in general'. her son marks that moment in time, but in a very painful way for me- a visual reminder of how fucked life can be. not fair for that little boy, but this is what i think of when i think about seeing him. its easier to avoid.

[Ruth Lehmann]

As I was reading this post, I immediately thought of friend Nicki. She was a high school classmate of mine and we connected off and on throughtout the years. She struggled with infertility. She and I grew increasingly close after the birth of my daughter. We are running buddies. She was three months pregnant with her first ivf baby when I had second, a son. He was very sick and two months later he was given a ternimal diagnosis. Nicki was there. She did not shy away from me then or ever. She was the one person who stayed by my side. She took my crap, my anger and my frustration. Her son is not my son. I am so happy for her because she prayed for that child. Now, three years later, we both just had babies. Our babies are three weeks apart. Hers again is such amiracle because she had to do ivf again and had success, 2/2, praise God. Mine was a miracle because it was such a process of grief. My Nicki is still such a blessing and support in my life. I thank God for her daily!!! We joke now that our kids will marry someday. Her girl's name starts with a G and so does my son's, so we pretend we can already visualize the wedding invitations. I can not believe that I am at this place in my life now, I never thought that I would have gone on to have another baby, it was way too hard to lose my son but with the help of one very good friend, God continues to be a steadfast and loving faithful Provider. I can't imagine life without my new baby. . .someimes, I just wish that all three of my children would be filling my home, laughing, etc and but for the time, I am just glad have come this far.

[eva's mama]

My friend Holly has a little boy 6 weeks older than my Eva. I am thankful he is not a girl...and my friend has been nothing short of wonderful for me...she is my Brooke.

[eliza]

In my closest circle, well really two separate groups from each other, there were nine of us due. One in late August, and then one from each group due in October (2), November (2), December (2) and January (1+Gabe/me). One team green (found out two years later it was a girl), one girl, the rest were boys. Baby N was due within a week of Gabriel - we found out we were having boys two days apart.

Gabriel was the first born, and the only death.

One group drew closer together. The friend due in August gave birth in early September. I was still on leave when I offered to take her pizza or Italian, praying she'd decline because I couldn't stand the thought of seeing her baby (he was the first I held, at 8 weeks old). They all understood, they didn't shy away, they let me be as I needed to be and if they were shaken by what happened, they kept it away from me. The woman due near Gabriel was grace itself. Never shying away from discussing her pregnancy, but always in the most tactful and kind way possible (I appreciated that I wasn't a pariah or a grim reaper and that they lived their lives and allowed me the choice of being present or stepping back as I needed to do).

The other group fell apart around me. They clammed up about their pregnancies, they were shaken by what happened and by my grief, they were concerned about my well-being. They decided I didn't want to be around babies, and out of kindness, stopped discussing anything baby related. Since that was the basis of our friendships (we'd met while ttc), there wasn't much left, and there was a lot of resentment created on both sides. I just wanted to piece my life back together and I accepted early on that meant that others would be having babies. They wanted to carry on with their lives and that meant discussing their babies. I didn't appreciate having things decided for me - I wanted to step back if I needed to and be allowed to participate when I could. The friendships fell apart and there was a lot of hurt and guilt for a long time. I have recently come back into contact with one or two of them on a limited basis and it was unpleasant for awhile. Some of them are still friends, others are not. I am friendly with them, but I don't know that we'll ever be close again. Maybe one or two of them. We'll see.

I backed away from babies in real life (most of my friends are scattered around the country, fortunately - email is easier to face than a squirming, shouting child). I quit FB and I stopped making plans to see our local friends (most of whom were really DH's friends) as more and more of his/our circle got pregnant while we were struggling. I didn't fit in. I couldn't pretend we did not have stories to share, I couldn't pretend to sympathize with sleepless nights and teething. If the babies didn't bother me (sometimes they did, sometimes they didn't), the awkwardness and discomfort definitely did.

It's better now. But relationships have cooled and ended while I protected myself, and it's hard to renew some of them. Maybe new ones will arise if baby girl lives. We'll see, I suppose.

[Jill (Fireflyforever)]

I have written about this often - my SIL gave birth to a living baby girl 5 weeks before Emma's birth/death and it is *still* hard, even now. They live quite a way from us, which means we see each other irregularly anyway, which has made it both easier (I did NOT want to be around that little girl) and probably cemented the hardness of it. I've been able to avoid my niece for long enough that avoiding has become normal.

I like my SIL very much and before Emma died I would say that we had developed a friendship - not just a relationship that exists because she's my husband's sister. But now, we have a relationship purely because she is my husband's sister. I don't want more. I think out of everyone in our families, she probably gets it the least simply because she had a very needy newborn and PND when I was nursing the very rawest of my grief. Also, I didn't want to be around her - I was so jealous of her, I couldn't have accepted sympathy or comfort from her. It still rears its head sometime. We visited her in hospital after the birth of her third child last month. As I walked in, she smiled and said in a sad voice (as if it was the worst thing that could happen) "Three hours of labour - that was crazy and it hurt"and I looked at her husband holding her bouncy, healthy boy and thought, "You have no idea really, do you?" But, these days, it's mostly okay that she doesn't get it really. I accept that her not getting it is a result of me excluding her from my grief process and I don't regret doing that. It's what I needed to do for my sanity at the time.

[Anna]

I have so many little babies born around the time my son died, and in the months after, and sometimes it is hard.

But I have a person in my life like your Brooke, and with her I can be - and her son I can hold, love, cry with, laugh with and I truly believe I have a connection with him, in a beautiful way, I think this little boy is twice loved, by his mother and by me.

I sent her this article and told her thank you.