Five Years

Today, five years ago. I sat in my living room, trying to eat some lunch my friend kindly made me, waiting for 6 p.m., waiting to return to the hospital I'd only just left, to deliver my first son. Preparing--as if you could ever prepare--to come home without him.

The poem below doesn't relate to stillborn babies, but the last line slides through my mind from time to time, as it has done for the last 15 years or so, since I first heard of (and briefly met), the poet, Seamus Heaney. He's Irish and has a way with words I envy. This poem gripped me the first time I read it, wrapped a hand around my heart and squeezed. I couldn't imagine, then, the loss of which it spoke.

Last night, before sleep, I thought of a friend of mine, E., dead for nearly 18 years now, whose youngest son was killed at the age of 16 in a car accident, in the week between Christmas and New Year. His name was Thomas, which was--is--Ben's middle name. I had a crush on Tommy, harbored secret dreams of marrying him when we grew up. People have pointed out to me that maybe that first angel, Tommy, led me to give my own angel, Ben, his second name. I don't know. But the timing...of their deaths, and those memories. I don't know. But last night, I thought of his mother, who I loved dearly, and pictured me, now, going back through the years to her, hugging her, both of us crying, and telling her, "Now. Now I understand."

I'm rambling, I know, full of thoughts I can't complete. Today, I remember, like every day. And long for what I'll never have.

Watch out for the poem's last line - I think it will grab your heart, too, and clench it with a mighty fist.

Mid-Term Break

I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close,
At two o'clock our neighbours drove me home.

In the porch I met my father crying--
He had always taken funerals in his stride--
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand

And tell me they were "sorry for my trouble,"
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand

In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.

Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,

Wearing a poppy bruise on the left temple,
He lay in the four foot box as in a cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.

A four foot box, a foot for every year.

--Seamus Heaney

Just Because

Because there are 528 things currently not getting done in my house and life - the basement renovation that was supposed to end last week, the 10 hours I spent painting the basement this weekend, the carpet that is not getting installed tomorrow but instead on Thursday when I can't actually be home - and the Christmas cards, the wrapping, the baking, the tidying up of this infernal mess that is my home.... I give you a poem by May Sarton:

Now I Become Myself

Now I become myself. It's taken
Time, many years and places;
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people's faces,
Run madly, as if time were there,
Terribly old and crying a warning,
"Hurry, you will be dead before..."
(What? Before you reach the morning?
Or the end of the poem is clear?
Or love safe in the walled city?)
Now to stand still, to be here,
Feel my own weight and density!
The black shadow on the paper
Is my hand; the shadow of a word
As thought shapes the shaper
Falls heavy on the page, is heard.
All fuses now, falls into place
From wish to action, word to silence,
My work, my love, my time, my face
Gathered into one intense
Gesture of growing like a plant.
As slowly as the ripening fruit
Fertile, detached and always spent,
Falls but does not exhaust the root,
So all the poem is, can give,
Grows in me, to become the song;
Made so and rooted so by love.
Now there is time and Time is young.
O, in this single hour I live
All of myself and do not move.
I, the pursued, who madly ran,
Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun.

Giving Thanks, Giving Back

In the spirit of my last post, and in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I thought I'd direct you to another website you may already have heard of. It's been around for a number of years now, and I've been clicking on it almost daily. It's actually a group of sites: The Hunger Site, The Breast Cancer Site, The Child Health Site, The Literacy Site, The Rainforest Site and The Animal Rescue Site. By going there every day and clicking, site sponsors donate money to save the rainforest, feed hungry people and rescue animals, provide vaccinations and medicine for needy children, provide mammograms for low-income women, and give books to underprivileged children.

All you have to do is click. How radical is that?

All the site also have awesome shops, with many fair trade and hand crafted items, including some absolutely gorgeous jewelry (dangerous for me to look at!), Burt's Bees products, clothing, and much, much more. I love to do holiday shopping on these sites; every purchase funds more help for those in need. If I'm going to spend my money anyway, I'd like to know I'm not simply buying into my nation's rampant consumerism, I'm also doing some good.

One thing in this life I truly believe is that small actions can make big changes. Join me in taking some of those small actions; it only takes a minute to make a difference.

Save the Children

I've mentioned Save the Children on my blog before as one of the charities my husband and I chose to send donations to--and have friends and family send donations to--in memory of Ben. This charitable organization helps mothers and children all over the world. Currently, Save the Children has a campaign called "Survive to 5," and, well, the name says it all.

From their website:
"Every year, more than 9 million children in the developing world die before they reach the age of 5. That means about 25,000 children under 5 are dying every day!

Many of these deaths are from preventable or treatable illnesses like pneumonia, diarrhea, malaria, measles and complications related to childbirth. Nearly four million of these deaths occur to newborns – babies less than one month old.

Most of the deaths could be prevented through low-cost health solutions. But making these effective, affordable solutions available to families living in poor, remote communities is the key challenge."

One large part of Save the Children's mission is to train community health workers to go out to impoverished towns and villages and make sure parents know that their children need vaccinations, give support to breastfeeding mothers, provide antibiotics for infection and bed nets to prevent malaria-carrying mosquito bites. This holiday season, I'm not going to ask you to make a monetary donation, though if you find it in your heart to do so, that's wonderful. You can go to Save the Children's website and, with a few simple clicks, send a letter to President-elect Obama, your senators and congresspeople to show your support for the Global Child Survival Act, which would expand funding for things like immunizations and medicine for those who need them.

If you're a knitter or crocheter, there is also a download available with patterns to knit baby hats, which Save the Children will give to newborns in need around the world.

Even though Ben is not here with me, I have much to be grateful for. I know just how lucky I am to live in the United States in the 21st century. There's a quote, I can't remember from whom, that goes something like, "For those to whom much has been given, much is required." And I agree. This is one of my ways of giving back, small as it may be. I truly believe small actions can change the world; little things add up to great big ones, and I want every child to have a decent shot at living a wonderful life.

Things They Don't Tell You

They don't tell you about the friends you will lose, nor do they tell you that the world will go on when your world has stopped. They don't tell you of the songs that will make you burst into tears five years later, entire CDs you can't listen to ever again. They don't tell you about the permanent ache you can't specify in this land without a map. There is no geographical place called the land of broken hearts, no mile marker to track your progress through grief...mile 2,892, mile 2,893....nearly there, almost done, destination reached. They don't tell you that you will become the grim reaper for expectant parents everywhere, you will be the last one they inform, the one they walk away from, hoping that it doesn't happen to them. They don't tell you that you will measure other's pain by your own, rightly or wrongly. They don't tell you what to do with the overwhelming, boundless love you are aching to give to one little person, spilling out of you with nowhere to go. If they are wise, they might tell you that the hole will never fill, and they will say that you will survive, somehow.

And you do. You survive, whether you want to or not. Whether you know how to survive, or not. You go on.

31 Questions

C., over at My Resurfacing, tagged me for this meme. A little fun is always a good thing, so here goes:

1. Where is your cell phone? In my purse or on the kitchen counter.

2. Where is your significant other? Downtown, at work.

3. Your hair color? Blonde.

4. Your mother? More talented than she knows.

5. Your father? Really smart.

6. Your favorite thing? A cup of coffee, a good book, and a sunny day. (Ok, that's three.)

7. Your dream last night? Don't recall any.

8. Your dream/goal? Publishing my book.

9. The room you are in? The living room.

10. Your hobby? Don't have enough time for hobbies.

11. Your fear? I will lose another child.

12. Where do you want to be in six years? Not living in this town, and successful in my career.

13. Where were you last night? Home.

14. What you're not? Where I want to be in my life.

15. One of your wish list items? More time.

16. Where you grew up? Ephrata, PA.

17. The last thing you did? Vacuumed.

18. What are you wearing? Jeans, an old t-shirt and an old cardigan - my cleaning clothes.

19. Your T.V.? Wonderful for distracting the kids.

20. Your pet? None. But wishing for a cat.

21. Your computer? Indispensable.

22. Your mood? Stressed.

23. Missing someone? Every second of every day.

24. Your car? A Volvo wagon. How yuppie of me.

25. Something you're not wearing? A hat.

26. Favorite store? Décor? Clothing? Shoes? Umm.... wow. Shoes: the red mary-jane-ish pumps I bought in August - I LOVE those shoes. Clothing: My Levi's jeans, which are wearing out. Decor: Hmm. I love several - so let's say kind of eclectic, but don't look at my home and assume that's what I've got! Favorite store: I think the only stores I go to are the grocery store, TJ Maxx, Target, Marshalls and Michaels. Boring. Probably TJ Maxx.

27. Your Summer? Went too quickly.

28. Love someone? Yes.

29. Your favorite color? Blue.

30. When is the last time you laughed? Yesterday.

31. Last time you cried? Last week.

Pregnancy and Infant Loss - Still in the Dark

It's National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day - right in the middle of Breast Cancer Awareness Month and on the same day as Blog Action Day, when bloggers around the country post on a selected topic, which this year is poverty. Stillbirth, again, as always, lost in the shuffle of other issues - the economy, the election, other topics deemed more important, more noteworthy, more acceptable for public consumption.

But dead babies? Are they no big deal? It seems they are only a big deal to pro-lifers who picket outside abortion clinics, holding up their grisly photos for all the world to see.

Why are dead babies, those stillborn and delivered too soon, a big deal only to their grieving mothers and fathers? Today alone, 71 babies will be stillborn in this country. Think about that. That's approximately three 2nd-grade classrooms the size of my daughter's class, vanishing every day. Worldwide, approximately 10,958 babies will be stillborn today. That's about 4,000 more lives than the total population of that town in Alaska we keep hearing about, Wasilla, population 7,028.

How many articles in newspapers, magazines, on TV or online have you seen this year about autism? Dozens, I suspect. How many about stillbirth? One? Two, tops? Unless you are actively searching for news on stillbirth, you'll very rarely find it. While stillbirth takes the life of 1 out of every 115 babies in this country, autism affects 1 out of every 150 children. Why the disparity in the news?

Oh, right, I remember now. It's because stillbirth is about dead babies, and we don't want to talk about that. But if autism is an "epidemic," as I have read in some articles, why is stillbirth, which touches more lives, not?

You - we - can change this. There is currently a bill sitting in the House of Representatives, House Bill 5979, the Stillbirth Awareness and Research Act of 2008. By writing to our representatives, we could ensure that this bill is passed. Passage would require the Secretary of Health and Human Services (HHS) to develop a national, standard definition of stillbirth and a standard protocol for stillbirth data collection and surveillance. This bill would also require the Secretary of the HHS to carry out a national campaign to increase public awareness and knowledge of stillbirth, much as the "Back to Sleep" campaign has done for Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.

We can save babies. We may not ever be able to save them all, but with research, we can certainly save some portion of those 26,000 we lose every year in the United States. No parent should go through the kind of heartbreak I have been through. No parent should spend the rest of her life wondering, 'What if?'

This day is set aside for remembering our little souls, who took a piece of us with them when they left us. Today, and every day, I remember Ben, and I remember Sam and Jack, Sophie, Henry, the twins, Dylan and Riley, and all the other babies who never came home.