Editor’s Note: This guest post is by a member of our Grieving Your Youngest group for loss mothers with living children, but no baby born after loss. Although Still Mothers’ focus is on families with no living children, we do see the need for resources for families with living children, but no baby born after loss. This post is for those families.
PLEASE NOTE: This post contains information about a living child. Please be advised, there may be triggering language for those who have no living children. Please consider your feelings before reading, if this is a hard topic for you.
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By Marni Notarnicola
My eyes open and for a minute and I think it’s a dream. I have a quick thought that my life is not the horrible one in which I live. How could this be my life?! This happens to other people, not me! Those who live in these shoes know exactly what I am talking about. Then there is an “uhhhhh” in my head with the realization what my life is really like. I get up, put two feet in front of the other and start my day. Do I have a choice?! I would love to bury myself under the covers and sleep away the pain, but I have a little boy I need to take care of. He begs for my attention.
Even though I feel like I won the unlucky lottery, I know how lucky I am to have my son. The first weeks and months after you loss a child are so incredibly painful. They’re no words to describe the pain and despair you feel. However, the joy of my son who was 2 ½ at the time kept me moving forward whether I wanted to or not. I walked around like a zombie in a cloud of depression for months, but he kept me moving forward. My son kept me going and so did the idea of HOPE. The hope that one day I would have another child and that some day my husband and I would have a baby to hold, a baby to take care for. My empty arms and heart craved the embrace of a child. A child I had longed and waited for. A living sibling I wanted so badly for my son. In my deepest and saddest moments hope was always there for me. I thought that possibly all of this would be rectified in someway if I had another child one day. Hope, was one of the only things that gave me comfort in my time of need and sorrow.
Unfortunately, all my HOPE is now completely gone. I had secondary infertility difficulty. We tried for a little over a year and even went to a fertility doctor. I even got pregnant naturally once at the end, but I had a miscarriage. Sometimes I wish I never got pregnant again. Having a taste of hope only for it to be ripped away. It felt like my daughter had died all over again. What a complete slap in the face. My last hope for a second chance completely disappeared. I felt like an utter and complete failure. Going through my daughter’s death was awful and painful, but this ache was similar yet completely different. I now feel hopeless. My daughter’s death and this loss were not in my hands and there is nothing I can do to fix it.
The unfairness of life is something that I regrettably focus on. I don’t understand why some people have five children and some have none. Why do people who abuse their children get to have more, while others can not?! When my daughter died I continued to believe in g-d. However, these last few months I have questioned the existence of g-d. That is really hard for me to say. If there is a g-d why would he/she let this happen?! It is completely bewildering to me. This feeling has really changed me and it makes me really sad that I feel this way. I hope in time this will change. There is that word hope again.
I have met so many wonderful supportive people in this community who have helped me in this awful journey. Each woman has a unique story, but we all have loss in common. I had formed friendships with these incredible women whom most I have never met. One by one each woman had her subsequent baby, except me. I am so happy for them, but so miserable for me. I felt so connected to them at one point, but now I don’t feel like I have much in common with them anymore. Their support was helpful for me, but now I can’t relate to them. They seem happier and more content. I don’t hear the pain they once felt. It’s as if their new babies have brought them comfort. I want to desperately feel that too. I want the pain to go away. It hurts so much! This world can be so cruel and agonizing.
Although Facebook is wonderful for helping me connect with others in my situation, I also see the life I want to be living, but can’t. You see pictures what seem to be perfect families with their 2.2 children, but they make me feel inadequate and depressed. It is a constant trigger for me. I see the constant birth announcements of babies I will never have. People in the baby loss community post their new baby pictures and their comments. Ohhhhh, their comments can be so extremely painful! They discuss how their new babies were looked over by their loss babies. So, that means that my daughter didn’t look over mine?! Their remarks are a way for them to understand their loss, but it makes my loss more raw and deep.
Everywhere I go I see children with their siblings. You want to give your child everything in the world and this is one thing I can’t deliver. It breaks my heart that I can’t give my son a sibling on earth. I have such an incredible sister and I wanted to give my son the same experience. It seems like everywhere we go everyone has a sibling. Why couldn’t he have one too?! I want my son to have wonderful childhood memories of laughter and tears with a sibling. Give him someone to talk to, argue with and share life and their frustrations with over their annoying parents. As many siblings do. I want him to remember all the wonderful and painful experiences of having a sibling. He will not have any of those. It breaks my heart into pieces.
Even though my life isn’t what I expected I try hard to keep going. People say how strong I am, but it’s more than that. I don’t have much of a choice. I know it’s supposed to be a compliment, but I hate when people say that to me. I guess it’s just a reminder of what I don’t have. Whether I like it or not the world is still moving and everywhere I go there are constant reminders what I don’t have. Simple day-to-day tasks can be unbelievably painful. I have dropped my son off at school and gone to work in tears many times. Sometimes it’s because a mother of three dropped her kids off at school, a little girl got out of the car in her tutu shirt, a mother brushing her daughter’s hair or I siblings laughing and going into school together. Having a child means you see more children and babies. Babies you can’t have and want so dearly. These small, but quick moments remind me the simple joys of life that were taken from my family and I deeply hurt me. People who haven’t experience this loss; don’t realize these quick moments (that they don’t’ even notice or realize) put a huge scar in us. Someone saying something simple such as, “Oh, what a wonderful brother” can put me into a very dark place very quickly.
First had to learn to live with the death of my daughter, but now I need to incorporate the loss of not having another baby. It’s not one loss, but two. Some days are too much for me to handle. My mantra is to take one day at a time. When I go to bed and try to sleep, the quiet in my mind can be a very difficult place. Sometimes I can’t catch my breath from crying. I tell myself that tomorrow is a new day. Maybe tomorrow will be better. I try hard to find the beauty of life, the beauty of my son that I still have on earth. Some days it works and some days it doesn’t. Sometimes I have to take it hour by hour. I find comfort that one day I will see my daughter and that she is with loved ones now. My heart is broken and I’m not gong to have the new baby I had hoped for. I will have to deal with it just like I deal with not having my daughter here. I have no other choice.
Marni is a teacher and lives in Los Angeles, California with her husband, son and English Bulldog. She waited her whole life to be a mom. As a little girl Marni remembers wanting four children. At the age of 37 she had her son. There were complications when he was born. He was stuck inside her and they had to give her a bigger c-section cut unbeknown to her. 2 ½ years later she was about to have a girl. Marni was so ecstatic that she was having a girl, as she always wanted a daughter. While at home during her 37th week of pregnancy, her uterus ruptured on her past c-section scar. She was only 10 days away from a planned c-section. Marni’s life was thankfully saved, but her daughters’ precious life was not.
Marni and her husband tried to have more children, but were unable to. Her son doesn’t have a sibling on earth, but they speak about his angel sister often. Although Marni pictured a life with a lot of children, she is learning to accept what she has.
Marni finds writing to be cathartic. Butterflies make her think of her daughter and how precious life is. She enjoys having butterfly things nearby to remind her that her daughter is always with her. Marni knows dying babies is a taboo subject that people don’t like to speak of. She knows it might make some people uncomfortable, but wants to show people it doesn’t have to. Marni continues to speak of her daughter Lia Addison often to keep her memory alive and hopes others will too. Even though her daughter had a brief life, that doesn’t mean she didn’t’ exist. Marni believes that by speaking freely about her daughter, it will help teach others that it’s ok to do the same.
- Infertility vs Cancer - April 19, 2021
- Loss is Not a Dirty Word - December 7, 2020
- What I Wish I Could Tell the Non-Loss Community - November 17, 2020
Wow. I am in tears. It’s almost like I could have written this (besides the fact I’m no writer) I’ve had 4 losses after my sunshine. 2 early miscarriages, and 2 I’ve buried (boy and girl). And although technically I could try again, my husband doesn’t want to. So now I’m dealing (trying to) with the idea my son will never have an earth sibling. Thank you so much for writing this, and helping me to feel I’m not alone with my thoughts.
Thank you for sharing your story. It took me a year to get pregnant with my daughter, who then died at 41 weeks. Life is so unfair and cruel. We were cheated in a very big way.
Thank you Cici! I am sorry you have to go through infertility too! It’s puts an awful toll on your mind, body and soul.
<3 My heart goes out to you, Marni <3 Infertility is a cruel, nasty beast, whether it's primary or secondary infertility. I am a fellow still mama and have been struggling with infertility for almost four years. I feel your pain, and have asked many of the same questions.