Thanksgiving used to be really special to me. Not because of the history or the food, but because the fact that it was a true display of who held us most dear. Whether we were invited out somewhere or hosted dinner at our own place (this only happened once), we knew that the people we were surrounded by were the most supportive people in our lives.
The grief cycle for me starts with Thanksgiving. We had our IUI that ultimately allowed us to conceive our late son the Friday that followed Thanksgiving. That Saturday, we attended a wedding at which my husband photographed. The bride was in the midst of losing her twin pregnancy. This was a secret and I never would have known if my sister had not given me the insider information. I remember how I felt excitement and nervous for myself but so incredibly sad for this mother. She had to put this happy face on for everyone even though she was going through possibly one of the worst experiences of her life.
At that time, I had already lost at least one very early pregnancy a few years prior but I had never given it very much thought. I don’t think that my mind was prepared to face what it really meant. So when I was standing infant of this grieving mother, I am ashamed to say, I had that “this would never happen to me” perspective. I knew that this mother had to be hurting but it was completely unrelatable to me. That happens to other people.
A few weeks after that, when we already knew that our IUI worked, a friend approached me and asked if I would like to buy gift cards for a maternity store from her friend. She had lost her baby at 17 weeks and did not need them anymore. Again, my stomach dropped. What a horrible thing that this mother had to go through. Certainly this would not happen to me though. I was doing everything right. I was a good person… or whatever the oblivious people think.
Obviously, I was so wrong. I did lose our son at 40 weeks. Perfectly healthy, this “freak accident” with his umbilical cord cut his life short. I was now the grieving mother that I had thought was so far away from me. What did I do wrong? What is wrong with me? Will I get pregnant again?… or whatever the newly grieving parents think.
The Thanksgiving that followed the death of our son was not special to me at all. I was so bitter and angry. I was fighting this battle in my head between wanting to be including in the family gatherings and being completely annoyed to even be invited. I had no idea how I could “do” this for the rest of my life.
Over time, I learned that I had no choice but to “do” it. One. Day. At. A. Time. Sometimes, one second at a time.
Thanksgiving is much different now. We put an empty plate out for Jasper and my husband and I have a quiet dinner alone. It is still special to me but for far different reasons now. We have had to be the most supportive people to one another. We are the only ones in this world that know exactly what we are going through. We will “do” this together. One. Day. At. A. Time.
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