Rainbows Fade

The topic of rainbow babies has been in my head and heart lately. Prior to Eli, I had three, he was to be my fourth. I didn't realize for a long time that Eli too was a rainbow baby, brought to life in the wake of a terrible storm many years prior. Eli's rainbow was not meant to be, it was the kind that appears faintly in the sky and then you blink and it's gone. I realize that I have much to be thankful for in my life, our three girls, and so much more than many have or may ever have. This in no way diminished the pain I have felt or will continue to feel the rest of my life for the loss of our boys.

My rainbows don't blind me to the pain of watching others have their babies. Yes, even though I have three healthy daughters I still feel pain when others have babies of their own. Especially baby boys. Something which my family, myself excluded, seems to excel at. I don't believe that I have ever shared this particular heartbreak. I was twenty-five years old when I got pregnant with Wyatt, my younger sister was just nineteen and unmarried. I was equally surprised and devastated to hear, sometime after Wyatt's Potter's diagnosis, she was pregnant. It was unplanned and she was more than unprepared. She appeared to be lacking in every aspect - financially, emotionally, in maturity and stability. She appeared at my bedside the June morning that Wyatt was born five months pregnant with a healthy boy. The day that baby was born was one of the worst days I could imagine. I was not there. I did not call. I did not even see him until he was a month old when they came to visit for Christmas. My family was less than understanding of my feelings. They in no uncertain terms told me to get over it and see my sister. He was the first and only baby I held after Wyatt was born and before our daughter was born. I could not understand how she was given this wonderful little boy to care for and I was given a grave to tend instead. Less than a year after he was born she was pregnant again. This time was worse, she never revealed her pregnancy but it was nonetheless discovered when she was seven months along. We believe he was carried with no prenatal care prior to that. Yes, I said he. She had another little boy. Still unmarried, unstable and even more unprepared. I harbored a lot of anger for a long time. Witnessing the hand that they had been dealt which is a bum one in the very least is difficult. Loving them is much easier thankfully. They didn't ask to be born and they couldn't choose their parents. I however can choose my emotions and I have to choose what is best for them.

Since then I am aware of at least two extended family members getting pregnant as unmarried, unstable teenagers and giving birth to perfectly healthy little boys. I will never understand why them and why not me. So I've stopped asking the question. I've for the most part stopped comparing. The inequities never make sense and they certainly don't ease the aching in my heart. I don't know why some people have so much more suffering it seems than others. I'm not convinced it isn't random. Rainbows fade, they are not permanent and are not meant to be. In a Biblical sense they are the sign of a promise. So today I reflect on my own faded rainbow and promise.

An Angry Moment

The other night my husband and I were watching a movie. It had a very pregnant woman in it which didn't bother me - until she gave birth. They blessedly did not show the birth. The main characters went to the hospital to visit her and her newborn son. They were all so happy and it was just so easy. After the movie was over I turned to my husband and told him how much it pissed me off. How this woman was just pregnant, went the hospital and then all of a sudden had a perfectly healthy baby. How for most families that is exactly how things go. They just decide one day, let's have a baby, get pregnant and then after about nine months they go to the hospital and leave with a swaddled little bundle. So very simple. For them. That pisses me off. Not that I would ever wish the loss of a child upon the very worst person in the world, but still. I have never known that joy, I have never been that ignorant. Before my first child was born I knew he would die and he did die. Now, my fifth child has died. No one can even tell me why us, why our children, and most importantly, will it happen to another? I know the answers to those questions are not mine right now and may never be but it doesn't stop them from haunting me, it doesn't quench my thirst. I can't just put stock in the good old "God has a plan" phrase that we usually use to explain away the unknown because to say that would be to say that God chose to take my children, that he consciously decided to put my family through this agony - twice - and that is unacceptable. That is not my God. So, I just have to try to put it out of my mind. It's not worth my anger but for one moment the other day it really pissed me off.

Anger & Sadness Creeping In

As the days close in on me, I am experiencing moments of anger. Anger that I'm making last minute funeral preparations instead of making sure the crib is set up and covered with freshly washed sheets. Anger at not getting to fill the closet with sweet smelling tiny little outfits. Anger at not having to buy diapers and wipes. Anger at having given birth to full term infants five times yet only having three beds at home. Anger that, after Friday, for each earthly child we have, we also have one in heaven (I have also experienced a loss via miscarriage). Anger at having had to lose and going to have to lose the pregnancy weight all of those times and possibly (God willing) again. Anger at having had all these c-sections and the limitations that go along with that. Had Wyatt not been a Potter's baby stuck transverse in my stomach without fluid, it is highly likely that I would not have had a c-section with him and might have been able to experience a natural birth. There are so many positive things that have come about from having repeat sections but I also mourn the loss of being able to give birth like nature intended. I am also very anxious and apprehensive to find out the condition of my uterus on the operating table Friday. It means the world to me to be given one more chance.

I am so very thankful to find out that our daughters have normal functioning kidneys but since we don't know why Potter's has struck our family twice I worry that someday in the future one, or more of them, may find themselves in my shoes, carrying a child not destined for this earth. As devastating as carrying these babies has been, I think it would completely destroy me to watch one of my children have to do the same. Five children and I have never had the experience of a "normal" pregnancy. All have been shadowed by the fear of something being or going wrong, all being traced back to our precious Wyatt. I know that I will never have that experience for my children either, each of their pregnancies will be shadowed for me by the fear of lightning striking yet again. This apparently is my burden in life.

Anger is a Three Pronged Fork

Obviously I am moving through an anger stage of my grief.  Though it is entirely possible it is also completely hormonal - no way to really tell I suppose.  One of the paradoxes of being pregnant with a baby destined to die. My temper is quick, my patience is short and  my words are harsh.  The targets are unfortunately my most faithful companions, my three children.  How unlucky they are lately.  Now, I could just say, "Hey, I'm grieving - deal with it."  But that would be supremely unfair to my children, who I'm sure in their own ways are grieving.  Grieving for the impending loss of a sibling and grieving for the loss of their formerly more fun and energetic mom.  Rather than excusing my behavior I am attempting to face it head on in the hopes that I can make a change.  The next week will be rough on me.  We are meeting with hospital staff to make a birth plan for the baby, I have my gestational diabetes glucose test, to register my middle child for kindergarten, an appt with my OB during which I hope to set my c-section date and a special maternity/child blessing with my priest.  I pray for mercy next week and for the strength to climb that hill.