August 2012, I had entered my eighth month of pregnancy. I had many friends, several of whom had children of their own, who were eagerly awaiting the arrival of my little one and even went so far as to claim "dibs" on baby snuggles. However, the anxiety of possibly becoming a single mother was mounting and I craved community, even beyond the backbone of support that was my existing friends and family. I wanted to feel a sense of kinship and belonging to a community of likeminded young families; families who believed in the methods of attachment parenting, natural home births, cloth diapering, breastfeeding, and the like. After asking for guidance on the subject, my midwife's apprentice lead me to a support group with an online forum and an active real life presence full of potlucks, craft swaps, nights out, play dates, the works. The parents, mostly mothers, were diverse in background, but all were drawn to the attachment parenting lifestyle. The moment I joined I felt fully held by the members of this group. An abundance of empathy, compassion, help, hope, laughter, and love exists there.
I immediately felt comfortable posting queries with concerns and felt like a valuable member when I was able to weigh in on someone else's. I even was able to put my social anxieties aside and I allowed myself to be present at Mom's Night Out gatherings. I attended mother blessings for women, who like me, were soon to birth a life into the world. A support group mother, pregnant as well, even shared her own mother blessing with me so I too cold have the experience of receiving gifts, rituals, poems, stories, and blessings of strength and hope from heartfelt mothers. In a short time, these women, many of whom I had not and may never meet in real life, became my sisters in a way I had never imagined. Therefore, when on October 2 at 4:30 AM I was kneeling on pillow posting my "ok, I'm in labor!" thread in the midst of a long strong contraction, I thought it to be a completely normal action. Though I was in no position to read the posts at that time, I knew that messages of support, excitement and easy labor vibes were pouring in. I imagined myself as a conduit to receive such blessings and let them flow through me to my child and thus into the world.
Somehow, all my preparations, all my imagery, all the support I had received could not protect me from the trauma of this labor. Somewhere near the border that morning and afternoon share, the peace of birth died and took with it my beautiful child, my heart, and my hope. My lack of activity on my support group labor thread was understood to mean that I was still working to birth my child. Many eager mamas continued to post sending encouragement and good vibes. At 4:55 PM my "ok, I'm in labor" thread changed names to read "ok, I'm in labor! UPDATE: Baby's here." This is what was written by my midwife's apprentice, my friend: "I will let Lisa update more later. Her baby is here but please send Lisa all of your prayers and good vibes." Vague as it was it sent the message that something was wrong. Still, many had hope that perhaps I or the baby were suffering a minor complication. Support poured in as fast as my tears could flow and on October 3 at 5:45 AM, I informed my online community of sisters that my baby, my beloved Celia Jane, had died.
I thought perhaps the death of my child might also mean that my affiliation with the parenting group would die as well. However, the support from this group continued to flow both virtually and physically. Threads containing prayers and thoughts for myself and my Celia checkered the online board. A thread containing information on how to send money to help me cope with my financial burdens was started. A still separate thread began where mothers could organize the preparation and delivery of meals to my home. The outpouring of heartfelt and tearful support from this community of parents has left me touched and eternally grateful.
The truth of all that has been said about this online parenting support group makes it so much more shameful to say what I am about to say. But, as does everything since the death of my daughter, this parenting group looks different to me. Where once I saw a community with which I shared a kinship, I now see a group that has a bond I cannot share. The members of this group are parents, mothers. I do not know what that is like, not as they do. These mothers have children they get to hold in their arms, snuggle with at night, children with which they can laugh, and create new experiences. They have children who will draw them a picture, sing them a song, tell them they love them. Yet, I am mother without a child. It is this fact, this truth, the pain of mothering a dead child and having no others, that leaves me with the sting of envy. I find myself jealous of these women. I would never place any of them or anyone for that matter in the shoes that I now stand. But still the jealousy of their lives, difficult and stressful though they may be, presents itself every time I see the pictures of their babies who were granted life. I now struggle with my membership of this community. Childless though I may be, I am still a mother of sorts and that longing for community has not left me. Nevertheless, I fear the loss of my child and my true emotions, may prevent me from truly belonging.
No comments:
Post a Comment