Post by dadpsyentist on Jan 1, 2012 20:23:13 GMT -5
I am a husband to my wife and father to her 3 children from a previous relationship.
2 months ago our first child together and my first child was found with no heartbeat the day before the scheduled c-section.
The concerned look on the doctors faces, the ultrasound, the Doctor telling us the terrible news. The fruitless surgery and all the gore involved. All this haunts me....
My wife crumbled before my eyes and I wasn't sure if she would make it through. I was gravely concerned for her. We are now, both, doing much better but each day is a battle to keep it together..
The regret and guilt and all the common feelings of course.. you know it doesn't make sense to beat yourself up. you know its not fair to yourself but you do it anyway..
I couldn't hold my son. His skin didn't look normal. Why didn't his skin look like a normal baby? why must I have these memories of my son being deformed? I had a very hard time even laying my eyes on him. He had my lips. He was half of me. Now he should be in my arms, eyes wide open soaking up all the world has to offer. I wanted to carry him around and show him all the mysteries of the world.
I know my wife feels this as well, she bonded with him more deeply than I could have. still I fed her and him, I worked to build an environment that was good for the both of them while he was growing inside of her.. Wondering what he would grow to be. At times I felt as if I was vicariously experiencing her discomforts of the pregnancy.
I grew and positioned myself so that everything would be just right, now I carry this unrequited anticipation.
I felt like having a new born would help me be a better father to the children we already have. I feel like missing out on their birth and infancy makes me less connected to them and if I experienced an infancy it would bring me closer to my family as a whole.
I swallowed my grief during the first week after his stillbirth because I knew my wife and kids needed someone to guide them onward. I succeeded but now I have a well of grief inside of me that is hard to empty.
Some days I feel as if I could never grieve again, like nothing could bring me down and I smile knowing that he is being taken care of wherever he is.
Some days I mourn and grasp at every memory I have of the way he looked to try to be closer to him in some way and I feel incredibly sad that he isn't in my arms. That my wife was not able to empty her breasts full of milk for him. To see her holding him and feeding him, with her smile glowing and my pride bursting from my chest at what we made together. Today is one of those days.
I feel such guilt that I didn't hold him. I didn't touch him....
I made some poetry while we were in the hospital :
" I hold my baby boy in my mind.
I dance with my baby in my imagination though i know he's gone
He never cried and he never felt my kiss.
He never felt my hugs and i never felt his fingers gripping mine
With him went my joy. My soul is left diminished. "
" She wilted like a hail battered frond of some plant. Small and frail and weak and shrinking.
Now from beneath the crumpled mess there rise sweet tender shoots of new growth. Pushing back the dead brown mulch.
But still grey clouds and cold memories threaten. I mourn her falling and watch with heartbreak at each storm. "
" Theres someone wrong. Their looks turn sour. Go downstairs the man will say your dreams are naught.
How rude the words would be to describe the anguish. Our hands fly to the sky in wonder and rage. It's not true, they're wrong. If you let me try I'll prove it.
Put away the things you made and hopes you had. Go down to hear the man say no. Go down to get your beating. Go down to the room of stinking death. How cruel a room. How cruel a machine How cruel the voice.
They waste no time to tear her open and take him from her. There is no sound they took him and I saw his hair. Splattering on the floor a mess, no more true a metaphor could tell the day. On the floor like a dozen eggs holding the hopes of the entire earth now a mess on the floor. "
2 months ago our first child together and my first child was found with no heartbeat the day before the scheduled c-section.
The concerned look on the doctors faces, the ultrasound, the Doctor telling us the terrible news. The fruitless surgery and all the gore involved. All this haunts me....
My wife crumbled before my eyes and I wasn't sure if she would make it through. I was gravely concerned for her. We are now, both, doing much better but each day is a battle to keep it together..
The regret and guilt and all the common feelings of course.. you know it doesn't make sense to beat yourself up. you know its not fair to yourself but you do it anyway..
I couldn't hold my son. His skin didn't look normal. Why didn't his skin look like a normal baby? why must I have these memories of my son being deformed? I had a very hard time even laying my eyes on him. He had my lips. He was half of me. Now he should be in my arms, eyes wide open soaking up all the world has to offer. I wanted to carry him around and show him all the mysteries of the world.
I know my wife feels this as well, she bonded with him more deeply than I could have. still I fed her and him, I worked to build an environment that was good for the both of them while he was growing inside of her.. Wondering what he would grow to be. At times I felt as if I was vicariously experiencing her discomforts of the pregnancy.
I grew and positioned myself so that everything would be just right, now I carry this unrequited anticipation.
I felt like having a new born would help me be a better father to the children we already have. I feel like missing out on their birth and infancy makes me less connected to them and if I experienced an infancy it would bring me closer to my family as a whole.
I swallowed my grief during the first week after his stillbirth because I knew my wife and kids needed someone to guide them onward. I succeeded but now I have a well of grief inside of me that is hard to empty.
Some days I feel as if I could never grieve again, like nothing could bring me down and I smile knowing that he is being taken care of wherever he is.
Some days I mourn and grasp at every memory I have of the way he looked to try to be closer to him in some way and I feel incredibly sad that he isn't in my arms. That my wife was not able to empty her breasts full of milk for him. To see her holding him and feeding him, with her smile glowing and my pride bursting from my chest at what we made together. Today is one of those days.
I feel such guilt that I didn't hold him. I didn't touch him....
I made some poetry while we were in the hospital :
" I hold my baby boy in my mind.
I dance with my baby in my imagination though i know he's gone
He never cried and he never felt my kiss.
He never felt my hugs and i never felt his fingers gripping mine
With him went my joy. My soul is left diminished. "
" She wilted like a hail battered frond of some plant. Small and frail and weak and shrinking.
Now from beneath the crumpled mess there rise sweet tender shoots of new growth. Pushing back the dead brown mulch.
But still grey clouds and cold memories threaten. I mourn her falling and watch with heartbreak at each storm. "
" Theres someone wrong. Their looks turn sour. Go downstairs the man will say your dreams are naught.
How rude the words would be to describe the anguish. Our hands fly to the sky in wonder and rage. It's not true, they're wrong. If you let me try I'll prove it.
Put away the things you made and hopes you had. Go down to hear the man say no. Go down to get your beating. Go down to the room of stinking death. How cruel a room. How cruel a machine How cruel the voice.
They waste no time to tear her open and take him from her. There is no sound they took him and I saw his hair. Splattering on the floor a mess, no more true a metaphor could tell the day. On the floor like a dozen eggs holding the hopes of the entire earth now a mess on the floor. "
Your poetry is beautiful. I hope that it keeps serving as a good outlet for you. There is no wrong way to grieve. Please be gentle with yourself. I think all of us here can attest to some sort of guilt after having a stillborn baby.