Looking for the Invisible

A dear friend of ours came over Saturday night. He lost his wife unexpectedly in August. She was very young and there was no apparent reason for her sudden death. I looked at him and thought for a while. If I saw this young man at the gym, library or grocery store I would probably just see a tall thin handsome man and think nothing of it. I would not see the depths of his grief which continues day after day, I would not know that he was widowed before the age of thirty and would never see what the combined genetics of himself and his wife would look like. I would not realize that even though he wears a wedding band, he no longer has a wife. I see it in his eyes but I know it's there, I know that depth of grief myself.

I've always wondered but now I'm pretty sure that my grief is invisible too. People in my life who don't know about our sons probably don't know about my grief because it is unseen. Shakespeare describes this for me,

“My grief lies all within, And these external manners of lament Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortured soul.” (William Shakespeare)

Merely shadows to the unseen grief. Well put, old man.

The Aftermath of Eli

Unfair is a word that completely understates the experience of losing a child. There is the empty arms, the quiet house, the milk filled breasts, the complete absence of anything baby, the darkened scar and bruises on my body, the distended stomach, swollen eyes and the sense that life has gone on without you. You just don't know when and if you'll be able to rejoin it. The nights have been the hardest. I spent a little over 48 hours in the hospital after my c-section. It was just too difficult, too quiet, too lonely. With Wyatt it was all new, I had no expectations, no memories. With Eli I was haunted by memories of my delivery and stay with Wyatt and then the enormous relief and joy and happy happy hospital stays with each of our girls. Those hospital stays were some of my happiest memories, just me, my husband and a precious little life that we had created. Life could not be more perfect than it was in those moments. And it was those moments that hurt the most. Waking in the middle of the night to an empty hospital room with only the sounds of my husband's breath to keep me company. When the girls were born I would sleep with them snuggled in the crook of my arm at night. We would cuddle and nurse and watch TV. This time my husband had to fill that void until I had calmed down enough to sleep again. I was really unprepared for that. My one comfort in those moments was that I requested the same hospital room that we spent time with our sweet Wyatt so I knew that those other moments did not happen here. I was in a sacred place that held different memories, memories that blended with those I had created in the previous hours and that they somehow belonged together.

After Wyatt

After Wyatt's birth I was filled with joy, the joy only a new mother can experience.  I was thankful for every breath, touch and snuggle.  I gave thanks for every hour, minute and second of his life, for the absence of the sacs that were supposedly seen on the ultrasound and for the perfect little baby I had been given.

Quickly those feelings evaporated and gave way to anger, even rage.  No one was immune, though most did not know they were a target.  I, first and foremost, was angry at God.  I went from feeling he had answered my prayers by giving me almost 3 hours with my soon to feeling like he stole my baby from my arms.  I felt abandoned and I felt that all of the prayers which had been offered for us and our son, including my own, had been disregarded.  I had heard so much of how God works miracles, yet I had not received mine.  Why others? Why not me?  Those were questions I asked constantly - every time I saw a pregnant woman or a baby.  Why did they get theirs and I didn't get mine?  Being in public was awful.  More than ever I sought to hide my no-longer-pregnant belly.  I took four weeks of maternity leave and devoted it to losing the baby weight as quickly as possible.  This was not for health or vanity purposes, simply to avoid the inevitable questions as to how my baby was doing.  I refused to wear maternity clothes after I had Wyatt and packed most of them away before he was born.  I have never worn maternity clothes after having a child since.  It was just too painful to wear those clothes which were filled with so many memories.

My husband, as a man, wanted to ease the pain in my heart.  My 25th birthday was just weeks after Wyatt's death.  He got me a puppy, a miniature dachshund to be exact.  We named her Beenie, which was a clever play on weiner dog (or at least that's what we believed).  Beenie filled my empty arms, gave me a warm little body to snuggle and love.  However, she quickly turned into the anti-answer, more specifically, a devil dog.  She would literally chase us around the house and nip at our heels, it was not a friendly game.  She angrily escaped her gated confines during the day and proceeded to destroy our house and then punish us for leaving her alone when we got off work.    We had to make the difficult decision to find her a new family which was hopefully a better fit.  It was a lesser pain of losing Wyatt all over again.  However, I knew it was the right choice and have not regretted that one, not often we get to make decisions with no regrets, is it?