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Why is it that I am okay with the emotional place I am in following the loss of two children? What allows me to be “okay?” We made a heartbreaking choice about my first daughter after discovering she had a heart defect incompatible with life. That was in 1996, the day before I turned 30. At first, I thought I would die from the emotional pain that consumed my every breathing moment. But I didn’t. One of the biggest supports was the AHC e-mail listserv, and I was one of the first members.

My husband and I attempted instead to meet that goal we all know; being pregnant again by our due date. Luckily, we did. Jessa was born in May of 1997 and is a joy that I love daily. I didn’t enjoy the pregnancy, having had my innocence swept away the year before. I needed to have her out of my body and where I could see her. My early motherhood days could only be described as neurotic. I knew all the things that could go wrong and made sure I was trained in infant CPR. Slowly I relaxed as each day went by and she seemed to be okay.

When Jessa was about three, we decided it was time to start trying again. There are some things in life you just don’t look forward to. Being pregnant and going through that nervousness was definitely one of them. Unfortunately, we won the bad lottery again. This time it was Down syndrome, and was totally unrelated to the first loss. For many reasons, we made another heartbreaking choice. The placenta was so old when I delivered that there was no way the baby would have lived. This time I knew what to expect, and had the baby baptized. We would honor our children in death since we couldn’t in life. Another girl was buried. My cousin, the funeral home owner, began to dread my calls because he was so afraid I had more bad news. The doctors told us how unusual we were statistically. I was tempted to play lotto.

People did not know what to say. I even had difficulty talking to those who were experienced in dealing with perinatal loss. I was the start of a new trend, double AHCs. We planned again on getting pregnant by the due date. This time it didn’t work. The emotional pain was horrible, but not as bad as the first time. I knew things could go wrong, and had no innocence to lose. Of course, I spent plenty of mornings on the way to work crying. I had also had a successful birth following an AHC. However, I was not giving up. The minute some poor stranger mentioned their child was adopted, I was asking them millions of questions.

What kept me going was keeping some sort of control in my life. I decided to have two children, and that was the way it was going to be. Whether it was by birth or adoption, I would get my wish. Luckily, fate dealt us a kind blow and I had Jenna. Now I would never get pregnant again, even if you paid me. I tell people we are on the “every other baby making it” plan, and God knows what disorder we would be hit with next time in baby roulette. I also work and want to provide the best for my children, which sort of limits the number I choose to have.

As I write this, we are approaching the ninth anniversary of the loss of my first daughter. I am okay with that. She will always hold a special place in my heart, and I will put flowers on her grave. I won’t cry or dread the day anymore, and have been okay with the deaths for years. I am okay with my losses, but probably a little more neurotic in life. The girls and I get frozen lemonades and then stop by the graveyard where family members are buried. We have a nice time. Once Jess could read, I told her about her sister since the name was on the headstone. She had a tough time with the second loss, and we let her name the baby. Jessa initially wanted to name her “California,” but I said no. Thank goodness she settled on Michelle.

The emotional pain of losing a child was like breaking a leg. At first the pain was incredible. Then it slowly dulled a bit, but was always there. Finally, some days I felt fine. Now, I get little twinges of the surrealism that was the experience of losing my children. I feel bad for myself because it seems like something awful out of a movie.

As hard as it is to say, my life is better for losing the children. I am more compassionate and understanding. I appreciate Jessa and Jenna more than I ever would have without realizing how hard it can be to have a child that lives. I tear up in movies just sitting with them, as well as when I put Jessa on the bus. I have kept my sense of humor through it all.

How I found the way to get through the horrible loss was to have some sort of plan. Don’t give up. Have a back-up plan, and another back-up plan. When you lose hope, you lose everything. Go to a support group. I still go to dinner with the friends I made through my support group. We don’t really talk about our losses now, but focus on our children and life in general. One of my best friends from the support group is still trying to have a second child. She is an incredible person for going on with trying after having more losses than I can describe. She does it by not giving up hope, and always having a plan for the next step she is taking. Humor does a great job at getting you through.

Lastly, do what you need to in order to survive. If you want to have a picnic at the cemetery on an anniversary, then that is fine. Everybody grieves so differently, and it is all okay. Life can hand you some unexplainable horrors, but you can survive and be okay with it all over time.

I got through this and I hope that sharing my experience will help you see that you can too.

By Lynnae Selberg
Mother of Andrew (6/13/89 - 10/15/89 )

Moving on is always the hardest part of dealing with a death. When our son died, we knew right away that we wanted other children. We just didn't know when we'd be ready. Over the years, we have found this is not always the case. Some parents need time to decide if they want another child, while others can't have more children. Andy was our first and only child at that point, so when he died, we no longer felt we were a family. It was back to just my husband and me. There was never a question of whether or not we'd have more children, it was when.

As I look back on that time, I don't think you are ever "really" ready. You just decide you are going to try to have another child. Everyone around you will have an opinion and most of them will volunteer their insight. But only YOU, the parents, will really know when you are "ready." I use that word "ready" loosely, as we felt we were ready and yet when the doctor confirmed that I was indeed pregnant, I started crying. I was happy, but had never been so scared. In one respect, I was happy that we would soon have another baby that I could love a take care of, but scared that this baby would die. Knowing full well that this new baby would never replace Andy, he or she would still hopefully fill the void Andy's death had left in our lives.

Finding out I was pregnant started the roller coaster ride that ran until I held Devin in my arms. For the next 10 months, I had such a range of emotions; I often wondered if I was going crazy. I thought what I was feeling couldn't e normal, but in talking to other SIDS parents I found out thee really is no such thing as "normal." We all do and feel what we need to get through any given situation.

My pregnancy consisted of considerable weight gain, as I am a stress eater. In order to deal with the fear and anxiety over having another child, I ate and ate and ate. I worried about whether I'd have a boy again or a girl. I desperately wanted everything different. That way in my mind this next child wouldn't die. When I had my ultrasound and found out it was going to be another boy, I was even more afraid. I didn't want to deliver - as long as the baby didn't come into the world, he wouldn't die, or so I thought. I tried to do everything right all through my pregnancy and kept records of everything. I called the doctor with anything I could, as I wanted to be the expert on pregnancy and child rearing. Since we lost our first child, I always thought there was something I missed, didn't know or didn't do right. I felt like I didn't know how to be a proper patient. This time I was going to be even more ready.

I had left Andy's room intact from the time of his death until about a month or so prior to by subsequent son's birth. When I found out I was having another boy, I thought I better go in the room and see what I would be able to use with the next child. I kept the same furniture, but rearranged the room. Some clothes I kept out for the next baby, and some clothes that were Andy's I packed away. This was very hard and I went through many boxes of Kleenex during this process. I went in the room for short periods of time to go through the things and to just think about having another child. I still missed Andy and was worried I wouldn't be able to attach to the next baby. I worried if I should, because if he died it would hurt more. I constantly reviewed everything I had and hadn't done during my pregnancy and 4 months with Andy and tried to convince myself it was going to be totally different this time, so everything would be okay.

There is no right or wrong time to have a subsequent child. Some families never do. The one thing I have learned is that there is no right and wrong. You just have to do what works for you and your family. No matter what anyone else tells you, you are the only ones who can make those decisions.

When it's your first:
When you lose your first child, you are faced with additional situations that often only add to the grief. I still remember my first Mother's Day after Andy's Death. I didn't know if I still qualified as a mother or not. I no longer had my child. I constantly thought about what I had done wrong. What I did or didn't do right during my pregnancy. What I did or didn't do during my 4 months with Andy. I second guessed every decision I had ever made as a mother. What's worse was I didn't know if I could be a mother. My only attempt at it had ended in total failure. What if I wasn't meant to be a mom? These questions plagued me for a long time.

When I became pregnant with my subsequent child, I faced a whole new arena I wasn't expecting. I can't tell you how many times I was asked if it was my first. Each time was like a lead ball being thrust into my gut and brought tears to my eyes. Then I had to decide how to reply. Do I say "no," and then have to explain myself? Do I say "yes" and feel like I am denying Andy's existence? I used to look at each situation on an individual basis and try to decide how I'd respond. It made public situations a nightmare for my entire pregnancy. I found myself shying away from social occasions where everyone didn't know about my condition. I didn't want to have to deal with it, it was hard enough just being pregnant and trying to be perfect so nothing would go wrong this time.

Once Devin was born, we decided that as a family we'd be open and up front with any and all subsequent children. We have pictures of Andy around the house, we visit the cemetery on his birthday with a cake and at Christmas with a little tree, we talk about him and remember him with love. We have built our own family traditions, and work to include Andy in as many of them as possible as he will always be a part of our lives.

*Please make sure to take a multivitamin containing 400 micrograms of folic acid every day for your general good health, but also to help reduce the risk of birth defects in a subsequent pregnancy.*

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