Stillbirth Support Group
This community is dedicated to those who have been impacted by a stillbirth. A stillbirth occurs when a fetus which has died in the uterus, during labor, or during delivery exits a woman's body. For help and support, share your experiences and learn how others coped. Don't forget that you are not alone.
Hello all,
I haven't been here for a while; work, kids, and life in general have been keeping me away. This Saturday marks the second angelversary of my darling baby boy Stephen Holden, born sleeping at 34 weeks. I suppose I just wanted to get some feelings out, and what better place than that which always welcomed and comforted me with open arms?
People always say it gets easier with time, but I don't think it has for me. My grief is simply something I work around, never fully through. It is a constant companion and often, when I least expect it, it simply sweeps me away and I am left feeling as though I'm being suffocated with sadness.
The space of time has gifted me with a rainbow baby, full of life and laughter and joy. A blessing, for certain. So often, I hear and read of mothers desperate for a rainbow, sure that the birth of this child will bring a long awaited happiness. Oh, how I wish I could tell them of the delicious pain that comes with that rainbow...for me, an actual ache of love. With that joy and happiness comes an underlying knowledge of what could have been and what you, as a mother, have survived. The delight of a rainbow baby is not marred by this sadness, instead, it manifests itself as an oppressive love for that child, both beautiful and somewhat frightening in its intensity. I love each of my children, but the love for my rainbow baby is different, more consuming, more spiritual.
No one can understand what we have endured. Partners can never know the depth of feeling of a mother who has lost, as patient and as empathetic as they may try to be. For so long, I felt as though my body betrayed me, and now I often feel as though I betrayed my son. He will never know the feeling of my hug, the joy of a summer swim, the pleasure of cuddles on a Saturday morning...all he knew was me, and I could not save him. What does allow me to get through is the idea that I loved him fully every moment of his life, and I like to believe he knew and continues to know that.
For many months, I would not talk about my son, because holding his memory close kept him with me. Now, I often (not alway) share my story, because I need to acknowledge his being. Sharing him keeps his memory alive, and lets others know that he matters to me.
This morning my mind wandered back two years; I wondered if he was still alive then, or if he was already gone. I hoped his passing was peaceful and not difficult, I hope he did not struggle. Most of all, I missed him and the idea of what might have been. However, without Stephen, there would be no Scarlett, and I cannot imagine a world without her; in my loss I have been gifted with her presence.
My loss does not define me, but has changed me as a mother and a person. I am more accepting, less likely to be concerned with the minutia of day to day life. I left behind the religion I once held dear, and discovered a new spiritual path. I try to be kind, more patient and understanding with others, because of my loss. Having a child who died does not make me less of a mother, it is, in fact, more difficult to parent a child who is no longer here. I believe I owe it to my son to be a good person, to experience all that life has to offer that he will never know, to express my love fully to my children and others, because this is but a fleeting time.
I thank you for getting through this, if indeed you have. Please know I keep each of you and your children in my thoughts...
I haven't been here for a while; work, kids, and life in general have been keeping me away. This Saturday marks the second angelversary of my darling baby boy Stephen Holden, born sleeping at 34 weeks. I suppose I just wanted to get some feelings out, and what better place than that which always welcomed and comforted me with open arms?
People always say it gets easier with time, but I don't think it has for me. My grief is simply something I work around, never fully through. It is a constant companion and often, when I least expect it, it simply sweeps me away and I am left feeling as though I'm being suffocated with sadness.
The space of time has gifted me with a rainbow baby, full of life and laughter and joy. A blessing, for certain. So often, I hear and read of mothers desperate for a rainbow, sure that the birth of this child will bring a long awaited happiness. Oh, how I wish I could tell them of the delicious pain that comes with that rainbow...for me, an actual ache of love. With that joy and happiness comes an underlying knowledge of what could have been and what you, as a mother, have survived. The delight of a rainbow baby is not marred by this sadness, instead, it manifests itself as an oppressive love for that child, both beautiful and somewhat frightening in its intensity. I love each of my children, but the love for my rainbow baby is different, more consuming, more spiritual.
No one can understand what we have endured. Partners can never know the depth of feeling of a mother who has lost, as patient and as empathetic as they may try to be. For so long, I felt as though my body betrayed me, and now I often feel as though I betrayed my son. He will never know the feeling of my hug, the joy of a summer swim, the pleasure of cuddles on a Saturday morning...all he knew was me, and I could not save him. What does allow me to get through is the idea that I loved him fully every moment of his life, and I like to believe he knew and continues to know that.
For many months, I would not talk about my son, because holding his memory close kept him with me. Now, I often (not alway) share my story, because I need to acknowledge his being. Sharing him keeps his memory alive, and lets others know that he matters to me.
This morning my mind wandered back two years; I wondered if he was still alive then, or if he was already gone. I hoped his passing was peaceful and not difficult, I hope he did not struggle. Most of all, I missed him and the idea of what might have been. However, without Stephen, there would be no Scarlett, and I cannot imagine a world without her; in my loss I have been gifted with her presence.
My loss does not define me, but has changed me as a mother and a person. I am more accepting, less likely to be concerned with the minutia of day to day life. I left behind the religion I once held dear, and discovered a new spiritual path. I try to be kind, more patient and understanding with others, because of my loss. Having a child who died does not make me less of a mother, it is, in fact, more difficult to parent a child who is no longer here. I believe I owe it to my son to be a good person, to experience all that life has to offer that he will never know, to express my love fully to my children and others, because this is but a fleeting time.
I thank you for getting through this, if indeed you have. Please know I keep each of you and your children in my thoughts...
Knowone who hasn't been through this old possibly understand all the emotions of wanting your son and praying for your new daughter all at once...
Thank you again for sharing xoxo
Elaine