Light a Candle for Rosie

This candle was lit on the morning our baby Rosie died, at 12 weeks in utero. As the candle melted and got closer to the wick, it should have put itself out but it continued to get brighter and start on fire! The flame grew and grew and even made a hissing sound as it consumed the wick and wax. It had to be Rosie's spirit. Eventually we heard a crack, and the heat of the burning wax/candle cracked the crystal candle holder with a very loud sound and the glass flew onto the plate below.

Such a bright flame for such a short life.
We were truly blessed.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

what not to say when someone loses a baby

Even though I have had an overwhelming outpouring of love and support from friends and family, I can't help but latch onto the hurtful things people have said.  I think it's hard for most people to see someone we care about in pain. Therefore, the urge is to ease their pain. But it doesn't work. For one, I, as a mother who has just lost a child and the future I imagined for her, want to grieve. I don't want to stuff anything away and then years later, discover the hidden grief and have to deal with it then. Secondly, these words of "comfort" will almost certainly be misconstrued because a grieving person is one big raw emotion and things like:
"Miscarriage is very common. If your baby had been born, it would have had defects, so this is nature's way of taking care of it.  And you can always have another baby"
come across to the griever as:
"Get over it already. You're grieving over something that was barely alive and would have been a burden to society had it been born.  You'll have another kid. Stop raining in my parade. We don't want to hear about your sadness."
Even if the person who said this had the best of intentions, it will more than likely not come across that way.  It will not help them one bit.


Most importantly, if we take these types of comments and apply them to other types of losses, they comes across as completely insensitive and ridiculous.  If someone lost a spouse, child or sibling to cancer, we would not say:
"Cancer is very common. If your _____ (husband, wife, child, brother, or sister) had lived, they would have been in a lot of pain and wouldn't have had a good life.  You can always get another ______ (husband, wife, child, brother or sister)."  
I would hope that looking at it this way would make someone realize how ridiculous that is. You can't replace a loved one. You can't just go out and "get another husband" or "have another baby" in the way they imply. We loved the person that died. They can never be replaced.  What if a person who loses a spouse doesn't or doesn't want to get married? What if the parent who lost the child cannot have another child due to infertility or their age or a myriad of other reasons? They can't just get over it.

But, I'm guessing some people would argue that I was only 12 weeks pregnant. How could I be so upset? I never even met my baby. How could I love her that much?  I recently read somewhere, that women start dreaming of their children when they are children themselves. They play with their baby dolls, they dream up names for their future babies, decide how many and what sex of children they would like to have. That is how most women/girls are. I see my daughter playing this out day after day. She is practicing to be a mother, dreaming of her own children.  So, the love has started long before cells started dividing in our uterus.

Speaking of dividing cells, I think science is the reason some people think mothers should not be upset over a miscarriage.  "It was just a group of cells, a blighted ovum, an ectopic pregnancy." Science tries to make it rational and logical.  But that does not take away the pain or the dream a mother had for her child. Love has no logic. It is a feeling, not a "rational" thought.  My own children already loved this baby. They made her toys, thought of names, decided where she'd sleep, folded and sorted her diapers, and longed for fall because then she would be here.  They had imagined being a big brother and a big sister. They kissed my belly. They loved  her. I loved her.

The amount of time we loved someone, whether we held them in our arms or not, does not matter.

Love is love.

Think of your first love, especially if you lost them.  Maybe you only dated a short time, but the intensity of emotion was there.  People might have said, "Oh, you're young. You'll find someone else." This implies you are too young to feel so much pain. You'll get over it. But if you've been there, you remember the pain. And, then, maybe you can understand that:

Pain is pain.

Grief is grief.

And death is death.

No one should attempt to quantify or question just how much a person should grieve or how long they should be sad. And, really, who has the right to say which kind of death is better, other than the one who died? Sure, when I die, I would rather go quickly than suffer for months or years. But, for the survivors, none of those things matter. The person they love is gone. If they went quickly, it's hard because nobody got to say goodbye. If they suffered long, then everyone suffered. If a baby died in his/her mother's womb, then the family never got to meet or hold the baby. If the baby was stillborn or died shortly after birth, then yes, they got to see the baby, but their baby is still dead.

It's not easy no matter how the death happened.

The thing to say when someone has lost a loved one is "I'm sorry."

No need to say more...

3 comments:

  1. Amy, I think this is so important to share because it is so hard to know. I keep a program in my glove box from a funeral I went to for a little baby- it has a picture drawn by his brother and letters to him from his mom and dad- each time I see it it just rips right through me imagining the pain anyone feels when they lose a child- I totally agree that you have known Rosie a long time- I shed my tears for your pain for losing her- it really does just seem so unfair. I love you so Amy and wrap you in light tonight. Thank you for your bravery in your blog - it is so raw and honest. hugs-C

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  2. I had very few hurtful comments made to me close to my loss, but was completely taken aback by some that occurred about 3 months afterwards (from my "best friend" no less :( )--that is what prompted my recent blog post about not being "over it." So, be prepared for that possibility too...:(

    When we went to the ER about the placenta, the doctor said, "this happens all the time. It is just natural selection," like I was a moron for being upset. (And, I have to point out, miscarriage at nearly 15 weeks DOESN'T happen all the time!)

    You're so right about the kids too--My little Z (3.5) sat on my lap one evening and went through a whole list of "we will nevers..." (hold his hand, see him smile, etc.) and then said, "but I was going going to be the BIG brother..." :*( It has been over four months now and they mention him several times a week--"Baby Noah was the best baby," "I think I will name this baby [doll] Noah!" that sort of thing.

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  3. I realize I'm a little late to the party, but I just found this off of Team Ewan's blog. I love what you said here. I had 3 miscarriages in 14 months and you would not believe some the comments I some from people in my own family. The one that hurt the most was "well you already have three". Like I didn't need the one I lost. I wanted THAT baby. One doesn't replace the other. I had my last DNC in March and the kids still talk about THAT baby. They miss her. I miss her. Thank you for putting out there something that needed to be said. A mother in TX.

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