Letters to Nora - February 2nd, 2013

February 2nd, 2013

Dear Sweet Nora,

I am going back to work tomorrow.  I'm not sure how I feel about it.  I'm going back early, because I was supposed to stay home for three months taking care of you, but things didn't work out that way.  

I think about you everyday, even if I don't write.  I miss you, but I am starting to accept the idea that you are not here and that is the way it is.  It just is.  I'm trying to take care of myself the best I can by eating healthy, exercising, and being kind to myself.  Your dad is doing the same.  He is doing okay, but he misses you very much.  

Nora, I think about how you used to go to work with me, in my belly.  When I was pregnant with you, I would worry about what you would hear from all my client's crazy stories that I work with.  I was going to tell you when you were older, how you helped mommy in her therapy sessions in her belly.  He.He.

Also, while you were in my belly you traveled where your dad and I traveled.  When you were just forming, we went to Hawaii and I was crazy with morning sickness and had this intense ability to smell everything.  Your dad that I was nuts and we called it pregnancy nose or a really unfortunate super power, right.  

You also traveled with us to your dad's graduation from his master's program in Washington D.C.  I was so proud of him and it was that weekend, right after his ceremony that my belly popped out and decided to let you show to the world.  It was exciting.

Oh Nora, how I miss those times.  How I miss you.  I hope that you are safe wherever you are.  Nora,  I don't believe in God in the religious sense, but some how I know that you are still with me, in some shape or some form.  If it is even only in my memory.  But I still feel you, not like I feel you in my body, but I still feel your presence.  

Good night honey.  I will love you forever.

Love Always & Forever,

Mom

The Brave One

My cousin Nate, who I always loved like the little brother I never had, told us that he and his wife were pregnant when I was five or six months along with Nora.  After her death, they both drove over 250 miles to attend her funeral.  I was in awe of my cousin's wife's courage and strength to attend a baby's funeral while six months pregnant herself. I wrote this piece for her.  For her realizing that pregnancy and child loss is not contagious, where other pregnant women I encounter seem to think it is.

Thank you, Christina, for being the brave one.

The Brave One

She is the brave one.

Sitting there, watching me with her worried eyes.

She is scared, oh how she is scared. For she fears my fate will become hers.

But, She is the brave one.

I greet and thank people for coming to my daughter’s funeral.

My daughter I never knew outside of the womb, lost before her birth, born sleeping.

But, She is the brave one.

She sits there, six months swollen with what was once hope and joy in her loins.

She sits there, in this moment of acknowledging death, with terror in her stomach, realizing now that pregnancy is not a promise.

But, She is the brave one.

I go through the reception, in a haze as I say goodbye to our guests, and I can feel her eyes upon me.

I walk by her, envious of her future, but in awe of her strength.

But, She is the brave one.

My eyes meet hers across the crowed reception hall.

Hers say I can't imagine your loss, and mine say I hope you never have too.

But, She is the brave one.

She walks up to me, approaches me.

She does not ignore me, as I will soon find other pregnant women, who know, do.

But, She is the brave one.

I stare at her as she approaches, fearful of her words, but none are spoken.

She opens her arms, embracing me with her blossoming stomach touching my now deflated one.

But, She is the brave one.

She holds me and cries.  She cries for me, my sorrow, for my daughter.

I cry.  I cry for her, her fear, and her son growing inside her.

But, She is the brave one.

We hold each other a little longer.  I lock eyes with her husband who is standing in my view.

I nod in his direction, sending a prayer his way.

But, She is the brave one.

She releases me from her arms.  I am thankful.

She is courageous, strong, and validates my loss even in her time of joy.

But, She is the brave one.

I admire her courage.  I hope for her that her son will have a safe journey into this world.

And before she walks away, she whispers in my ear, “You are the brave one.”

I reply, “I am the brave one.”

It's Not Contagious...

The day before I went on maternity leave from work I found out a co-worker, who has her office down the hall from me, was pregnant.  She had just started showing and as I walked by her office she politely offered to me a massage chair support cushion her husband had bought her to feel more comfortable at work.  She said, "I don't need it yet," with an energetic and proud smile upon her face.  I replied with, "Thank you, but I don't plan on being pregnant much longer," as my induction date was only four days away.  As we parted ways she wished me luck with the delivery.

Since returning to work, six weeks later and working for over 3 weeks now, this woman has avoided me like the plague.  I walk by her office often.  I have noticed she is larger now, closer to full term and her impending due date.  I know that she notices me, because whenever I walk by she stares straight ahead, dodging my gaze in an effort to avoid me and the possibility I remind her of.  The reality that pregnancy is not a promise and life does giveth and taketh away at its own choosing.

I do not know this woman well, before Nora's death she was always kind to me, smiling when she saw me, nodding in my direction with a sign of recognition that we coexist, but that doesn't even happen anymore.  This bothered me.  I was angered by this.  I did not wish any ill fortune on this woman, I would never wish my tragedy onto another, the pain is too great. I also understand that maybe she felt embarrassed as if she was a reminder to me of what I could no longer have. But, either way, could she not just be decent and come up to me and say, "I am sorry for your loss," or better yet the truth which is, "I am scared to look at you, let alone talk to you, in fear that I will catch whatever killed your baby, be it an illness, disease, or just your bad karma and bad luck."  At least that would be honest.

So, after working and walking by her office for three weeks I made the first move.  Our paths crossed one afternoon as she was heading to her car and I getting ready to leave.  I approached her and said with a smile, "When are you due?"  She was taken aback and startled at what seemed to be my voice or even the tone of excitement and friendliness I used to let her know I wished no harm to her and her baby, as if she thought maybe I am now a powerful, vengeful witch whose voice alone can curse your baby-luck.          

She caught her breath, looked at me, trying to manage a smile and said, "Six weeks."  I smiled back, and said, "Well, you look great.  Good Luck!"  The conversation from a few months ago reversed now, except my face was not filled with innocent hope as hers was during the exchange weeks before.  The words, "Good luck," coming from my mouth take on a different meaning, a different promise, a larger hope.  I meant it when I said, "Good luck." I meant it in its deepest form.

This co-worker still avoids me.  Not sure why.  Hopefully, after her child is successfully brought into this world and she returns to work we can be more at ease with each other again, and she will realize that pregnancy and child loss is not contagious.  It's not a disease. And that even though, as bereaved parents we have lost children of our own, that we do not wish this pain on you and yours.  Actually, it is the exact opposite.  I hope for you only blessings and joy with your child and your future.  Yes, it hurts me to see you in such joy and remember when I had that innocence, when I was in your shoes, but I am glad that not everyone has to lose that joy or innocence, because I hope someday that little pieces of it will find their way back to me. 

If you are pregnant, and hear of, or know of someone in your life who has experiences this, even just a friend of a friend, when you see them, do not shy away from them, please.  Treat them as you did before, acknowledge them, and if they need space from you and the joy you exude from your pregnancy, they will let you know with their actions or words.  Don't take this personally if they choose to avoid you but please be strong enough to acknowledge them and their deceased child, they probably will appreciate it.  And remember, it's not contagious.    

Still Breathing...Lindsey