A difficult but hopeful month

Since Grace died, no month has been a good month. But April has been especially difficult. Thusfar, four colleagues have each lost a parent (three fathers, one mother), a friend lost her father, and another colleague committed suicide. Death and suffering surrounds me. The thing is, although I am so sorry for all of these losses, I can’t help but think that at least these people who have passed lived. Some better than others. Each with their own trials and tribulations to endure. But they lived, for better or for worse. It makes me very sad that Grace never got that chance. The world lost out on her. And she lost out on the world.

I struggled for a long time (before Grace was conceived even) with the idea of bringing a child into the world only to have them go through the pain of losing the ones they love. I thought I had dealt with this when we threw caution to the wind and Grace was conceived. But then she died and all those negative thoughts came flooding back - the ultimate blame game. If we hadn’t made her, then she couldn’t have died. But if we hadn’t made her, then we would never have loved her. The latter is just so much worse.

And so sweet Gracie Face, as the five-month anniversary of your passing looms on the horizon, I want you to know that we love and miss you so much. There will always be a part of us that continues to wait for you to come home. We will never forget you, and will always wish that you were here. But, with your blessing, we are hoping to become hopeful again. Hopeful that we will bring your sister or brother into the world and that they will live, love and be loved and fully experience all the world has to offer.

Hurt

My friend A’s son was delivered via c-section this morning. The same friend with countless pregnancy problems who, about 8 weeks after Grace died, sat across a dinner table from me, cigarette in one hand, glass of wine in the other and told everyone how she wished her pregnancy were over because ‘it’s just inconvenient’.

Yesterday, I texted her and her husband and wished them well for today. They said thanks and that they would definitely keep us posted. But, as yet, no-one has actually texted or called me to tell me that everything went ok. The only reason I know it did, is because another friend called my husband about something else and he asked after them.

Why are people so scared to talk to me? Since that episode 8 weeks out, I’ll admit that I haven't wanted to see A. She is not one to censor, and I am (understandably I think) sensitive. But I did and still do want to know how her and her son are doing. In the lead up to today I had asked her how she was more than once, but in most cases she didn’t even bother to reply. I spent last night hoping the biggest volumes of hope that everything would go well for them, and that there would be no complications. I think I have made the best effort that I can, given our circumstances. But yet I still don’t get the courtesy of a text, not even from our other friends, letting me know how they are doing.  It hurts.

The best I can do

I had a meltdown at work the other day. It was a really rough Easter weekend – Easter was earlier than last year, but this time last year Grace was already with us, this was the weekend we had told my folks and my husband’s folks that we were expecting and then one week later my MIL died. When it came to work on Tuesday I just wasn’t up to trying to teach 4^th year students (a number of whom had watched Grace and I grow because they took my Labour Economics course last year … a standing joke was that I would say – “I’m going into Labour” just before my lecture to my colleagues and they would look at me slightly panicked before realising that I was talking about a class, not giving birth… but I digress).  

I was going over my notes before the lecture when the injustice of it all suddenly overwhelmed me. I’m teaching other people’s kids, preparing them for their future. Grace’s future was severed before she was even born, right on the cusp of her first breath.

I’ve always had real problem with the ‘future’ because, to quote a famous economist: ‘In the long-run we’re all dead.’ That’s the bottom line really. To want life requires an acceptance, even an embracing, of death. Yet every fiber that is my being wants to revolt, rebel against and resist death. One would think that by now I would have learnt my lesson, and that I wouldn't respond with such disbelief and indignance to death's inevitable assault. One would think.

Anyhow. I ended up in the Dean’s office, bawling my eyes out while he watched and waited patiently for me to catch my breath. When I did, we sat in silence because both of us are better listeners than talkers. Eventually he asked two very brave questions, ones which most people have stopped asking because they can't provide me with the answers I still want so desperately to hear. 

"Is there anything you need? What can I do to help?" 

"I need my daughter back, please, you can help find a way to bring her back!" This is what I screamed in my head. But I kept silent.

He then offered to teach my class, an offer which I gratefully accepted. It was the best that he could do. And continuing to muddle on through this, for  now most times worse than others, is the best that I can do.

Dreams

I dreamed of a baby last night. And it wasn’t Grace. I delivered him at the same hospital where Grace was born and as he was handed to me I felt peace. I lowered my shirt, exposed my left breast, cradled him and then watched in awe as his little mouth took hold and I felt my life and love being passed through my milk to him, nourishing him. Then he slept and I watched his chest rise and fall, rise and fall.

The last time I dreamed of a baby was shortly after Grace died. I pointed to a baby lying on the mattress and screamed ‘look, she’s breathing, she’s not dead.’ I scooped her up and held her tight. But she wasn’t Grace either. Grace’s hair is the same shade of brown as mine, but this baby had blonde hair. Just before I woke up I saw a reflection in the mirror of myself holding this baby, who was now a toddler. I was smiling, but a haunted, glazed look in my eyes betrayed my sadness. The toddler was grinning – a pure and shameless grin of joy and her bright blue eyes twinkled.

Heavy

I’m just not sure how much more bad news I can bare. I am heavy with the weight of death and despair firmly bound to my shoulders.  On Monday, my colleague’s father succumbed to cancer. This morning, my husband’s colleague and good friend died from a heart attack. It is so difficult to try and find peace when around every turn people who we love and care about are dropping like flies. Time heals all wounds? Pah. Just as some sense of normality and peace attempts to set in, the next terrible thing happens. The one thing which I really don’t feel like we have on our side at all is time. Because there are no guarantees. Of pregnancy, of babies, of life.  With each second that passes the more distance there is between us and Grace. With each second that passes the closer we are to our own mortality.  Time won’t heal our wounds because death just won’t let up, won’t let us assimilate. Death keeps on picking the scabs off our weeping wounds and infecting them.

Four months

Dear Grace,

It is four months today since we watched your heart beat it's last beat and since I felt your last kick. Four months since we simultaneously kissed you 'hello' and 'goodbye'. We love you and we miss you so much Gracie Face.

It's hard for us to envisage what you would have been like today, what milestones you would have achieved. We wish we knew what you would look like, sound like, feel like. It's so hard to contemplate what our lives would have been like with you physically present. Would we be grumpy from a lack of sleep and frustrated because we can't console you when you cry? Would we be asking ourselves "what were we thinking? - this is so damn hard!" Would we be getting frustrated with you - innocent you, who never asked to be brought into the world?

Or would we be grateful? Grateful that you were born alive, kicking and screaming and that you were growing and healthy? I like to think that we would be so profoundly grateful. But I don't know, Gracie Face, I just don't know.


What I am certain of is that we are forever grateful and blessed for the short time that you were with us. As much as we are poorer and empty from your absence, we are richer and fuller from having you in our lives. Our hearts and minds swell with love and pride for you, our precious little girl.

This song reminds us of you Gracie. Wherever you are, we hope that you are content and happy (and missing us as much as we miss you!)

When she was just a girl
She expected the world
But it blew away from her reach
So she ran away in her sleep
And dreamed of paradise, paradise, paradise
Every time she closed her eyes

We hope that you have found your Paradise.
Love you always,

Mom and Dad
xoxo

On Friday evening my husband and I went to his sister’s house to get together for her 40^th birthday. How much life has changed in just two years. My sister-in-law lost her husband in 2010 – he died unexpectedly from a heart attack aged 38 and our family was devastated by the loss. Today, though, there is a new normal which excludes his physical presence but which embraces his spirit. Of course, we still miss him dearly, but those dark days have passed. Last year she met a wonderful man and they have been dating ever since. He makes her happy and we have created space for him amongst us.

My father-in-law has also met a lovely woman who we met for the first time on Friday. My husband had been dreading this first meeting. His mom has been gone less than a year (it will be a year in April – another unexpected heart attack), and he has had to negotiate not only his grief over her death but also the anticipation of the life of our daughter and now her death without his mom's support. I am extremely proud of him for holding it together – he has had so much to contend with over the past few months.

My brother and mother in-law’s presence continues to be felt because we keep their spirit alive and hold them close by re-living and re-telling stories which capture their essence. But with Grace, we have so few of those moments, and barely any which include our family and friends. Her birth was supposed to be the starting point for the creation of vibrant memories of her life and growth, not the end of the opportunity for them.

Yet again the gaping hole resulting from Gracie’s absence took my breath away when I saw my sister-in-law showing off family photographs displayed on her dining room wall. No-one has even asked to see the pictures of Grace, let alone requested copies for display. Attempts to engage in conversations about our daughter are met with a saddening of expression, an uncomfortable response and quick change of topic. It makes me so sad because Grace, however short her life, is deserving of way more than that.