When it comes to the feelings of jealousy, longing, spite and heartache that accompany a bereaved parent on their journey of grief, I am a veteran. I fight the daily battles, all while surrounded by people who not only have no understanding in regards to being childless, but certainly have no understanding in regards to child loss. Of course, my experience being childless for so many years, while it was a struggle, juxtaposed with my experience being a mother to no living children seems to have been just a bit easier on my heart than the latter.
In the early days of my grief, which I have liberally defined as the first year and a half, I thought that I was going to handle things much differently than my current coping style. I thought that since I did finally get pregnant, I did carry a baby full term, and it was not health problems that caused his death, I would absolutely have another child after my baby died. This brought me some comfort, but even those feelings are ever changing and evolving.
About a week or two after we lost Jasper, my husband and I took a trip to San Diego just to be together and get away from all the heaviness. While walking along the mostly empty beach, we conveniently ran into a little family with a blond toddler boy, wearing a sun hat and blue swim trunks. His golden locks snuck out from underneath his hat. I could feel my heart stopping all over again. My husband knew it too. He put his arm around me and we shuffled off to the dog beach in hopes to see less two legged creatures. I asked him why that didn’t bother him as much as it bothered me. He said something along the lines of “Those people aren’t us. That wasn’t Jasper. They didn’t have what we had. It just doesn’t compare.” He was right.
I chose to surround myself with pregnant mothers while I trained to become a midwife. Crazy right? I know. Looking back on it, crazy is the only word to describe it. I attended to women during prenatal appointments, finding their baby’s heartbeats, measuring, feeling, listening to their complaints. All the while, that jealousy bug in the back of my mind screamed inside my head. “Why does she get a baby? Why does she get another baby?” I kept myself in check through a rigorous mental work out every day. I would never want any of these mothers to feel the way that I did. I would never want anyone else to ever understand how I feel. I reminded myself of the words my husband spoke that day on the beach. They aren’t me. They didn’t have what we had.
Fast forward to six months after our son died. I was finished midwifing and shoving pregnant women down my throat. I was just trying to stay afloat. I was at my great nieces’ first birthday party. I thought that I could handle it. I did pretty well at first. I managed to stay away from everyone because I was sick of the “I’m so sorry’s”. I kept to myself. I was forced to go outside because one person did not respect my barrier and caused a scene.
This is when it all fell apart.
My niece and I were pregnant together. My great niece was born on my birthday and I held her in my arms just a couple weeks after we knew Jasper was a boy. We knew they would be best friends. They should have been. So there I am outside, staring at the bounce house which is full of Jasper’s cousins and other kids but all I can see is the hole where he should have been. He should have been there. We ended up needing to leave because it was not the appropriate venue for a breakdown.
Things were never the same after that.
Nearly 3 years later, here we are and my tolerance of children and pregnant women has evolved, but not at all in a linear manner. My nieces have had more children. Boys. Boys. My great niece has been my guideline for all the things my son should be doing. I’m drawn to her. I love her so much!, but sometimes, it’s just difficult to be around. I barely know my great nephews and that makes me so sad. This isn’t how it would have been if Jasper had lived. I wasn’t given the choice. It isn’t that I don’t love them. I just can’t submerge myself in it like I would have absolutely done if Jasper lived.
There is simply no right or wrong when it comes to grief. If one finds oneself capable of conquering the beast that is pregnant women and their children, they should. If they feel that they need to put it off or hide, they should. The important thing is to do whatever it takes to keep afloat. Supportive people will still be there if and when you’re ready and the not so supportive people will find a way to remove themselves for you.
They knew they wanted more children and have since suffered many early miscarriages during the process of multiple IVF and IUI cycles which have left them with broken hearts.Feeling defeated and alone, the bereaved parents moved to Connecticut in search of a much needed new start.
Amber was inspired to work towards becoming a therapist during her process of trying to find support after her loss. She is currently a freelance graphic designer, artist and marriage and family therapy graduate student. She takes comfort in the idea that their son was a driving force for her to help other people through a time that she and her husband felt so alone.
- On Being Too Sad To Support Me In Celebrating My Son. - April 9, 2018
- Therapeutic Endeavors III: The Letter - January 26, 2018
- Therapeutic Endeavors Part II - January 24, 2018