Take my place

Losing one baby changed my world. I cannot imagine having to go through this pain and heartbreak multiple times and yet so many of my baby-loss friends have lived through just that. Multiple miscarriages, stillbirths and sadly their beautiful babies die shortly after birth due to complications or diseases that were not or could not be diagnosed until after they were born.

Lily Allen wrote this song after she lost her son when she was 6 months pregnant. That was after she had experienced a prior miscarriage. I think her words truly reflect the heartbreak and despair of baby loss. 

Angry yet grateful

Today I am a mixed bag of emotions. I've spent most of today quietly working on a quilt which is to be someone's Christmas present and I am trying to decide what the hell I'm feeling. 

I feel a bit guilty that I've put Pip's quilt aside this time of year to work on other Christmas presents. I've finished making most of the stuff I've wanted to make for the crafty secret santa exchange. But then I was suddenly inspired to start making this (double bed sized) quilt in October and now I'm on a race against time to finish it before Christmas! Am I crazy? Yes I probably am. 

I have been feeling a bit out of sorts, so when I feel a bit out of sorts, I withdraw, find some personal space and see where I end up. Usually I find myself in the company of my other baby loss mama's at their blogs. I read their words and cry with them. It's not fair that a child should die so soon.

Then I get angry when I read about these beautiful mothers struggling through milestones like thanksgivings, christmas' and birthdays. I am really not looking forward to the 23rd of March 2012, the day I should have been anticipating with great delight and anticipation because it was Pip's estimated due date. Would she have been an early baby or would she have been late like her mummy? 

My heart aches when I hear about other pregnant couples we are friends with preparing for the arrival of their little ones. Nurseries being decorated, shopping for baby things, pregnancy cravings, aches and pains and the most difficult of all to cope with - pictures of scans with happy healthy babies. I have happy sad moments when I see those scans. So happy and grateful that this little person is growing healthy and strong, but so very sad that my little person did not reach that milestone.

I get angry when I see these beautiful cakes, works of art that my beautiful grieving mothers have made in the memory of their children. There should be parties, off-key Happy-birthday- to-you's and presents. Instead there is only emptiness, tears and heartbreak. I don't think I'd be strong enough to bake Pip a cake on the 23rd of March. I'd probably end up throwing it at a wall if I didn't ruin it by crying a river into it first during the baking process. 

I love seeing how my angel mummy friends remember their children everyday and especially at Christmas. I love the photos of all the intricate and beautiful ornaments they have chosen so carefully, special colours, special inscriptions, special designs, some especially ordered and handcrafted to hang on the tree. Friends from near and far reaching out to each other offering special words of comfort, letters, cards and extra shoulders to lean on. 

Then I am so angry that I used to love going Christmas shopping. Now I walk into store after store drawn to the ornaments like an obsessed woman and instead of finding one for my baby with excitement, I'm looking for one with great sadness. An angel to sit on my tree. An angel for my baby who should be here with me. 

I have my angry at the world moments, of course. I see beautiful families and adorable children wanting their parents' attention. For God's sake, pick your child up and give them a cuddle, tell them they are precious, beautiful and loved. Instead I see tired parents yell at their equally tired children for wasting their time. One mother I saw swooped down on her son and smacked him like I've never seen a parent smack a child before. 

Ah christmas...a time for joy and cheer.

I sit at my desk and make things for my friends to show them that their children are never forgotten, always in the hearts of those who remember. And there are tears, always more tears. But also great joy at having found another heart out there that understands, other mothers, women and friends who have been where I am and somehow have found the strength to continue on. 

And then I am flooded with gratitude for the amazing friends the child I never met has brought me in touch with. My wish is that no one, no mother, no father, no family should ever, ever have to live with the pain of their baby dying. Whether this be by pregnancy loss, stillbirth, miscarriage, or whatever other heartbreaking option there is available out there. I really wish it didn't exist at all. But while that may happen someday, in my world today there are too many people who have felt this pain. And so there are the baby loss groups, secret groups on facebook and the internet with those who have walked this path before. 

Then the pain becomes a little easier to bear and my heart is filled with gratitude. It would have been wonderful to have been friends with each and every one of these people in another "normal" way. But I am grateful to be going through this journey alongside them.

Today is a happy-sad day. It's an angry at the world, yet grateful for what I have day. A very mixed up day indeed.

Water Child

We lived in Japan for a few years, but sadly I don't know enough about Mizuko kuyō, a Japanese ceremony that commemorates miscarriage, stillbirth and abortion. I remember visiting temples where I had seen rows and rows of tiny statues that looked like baby Buddhas. When I fine-tooth-combed my photo archives I only found three photos I'd taken from one such temple in Kamakura, near Tokyo, but distinctly have a memory of seeing more. 

At the time, my local friend explained the statues as a way for parents to pray for their babies who had died. I remember thinking it was wonderful that grief lived so openly in what some see as a culture that is not always open.

Mizuko (水子), literally translates as Mizu (water) ko (child) - water child. It is a "Buddhist belief that existence flows into being slowly, like liquid. Children solidified gradually over time and weren't considered to be fully in our world until they reached the age of 7". For those who are interested, Peggy Orenstein, a NY Times journalist wrote about experiencing a miscarriage in Japan while on assignment there and explains Mizuko clearly. 

I think I love the thought that regardless of where we are from, who we are as a people, a culture or a nation and no matter where we are in the world, most people would feel the very human pain of loosing a child profoundly. It's not something that you "get over". But I hear that time helps. So do rituals of healing, such as a Mizuko kuyō. Most grieving mothers I know in the Western world have done something at some point as part of their own healing ritual or journey. Some release balloons or butterflies, some light candles, some make cakes on the 1 year birthdays of their children who have died and on other birthdays that follow. Some even have a mizuko statue in their gardens.

My pictures don't really show it, but Mizuko statues in Japanese temples and shrines are usually dressed in red bonnets or red bibs. These are usually handmade, it's hard to see in this picture, but those red beanies are hand knitted. I love the idea of making something for my baby and can only hope that those parents found some healing in making those items in memory of their babies.

The red bonnets and bibs are also left along with gifts of flowers, clothes, toys and pinwheels. The vases depicted in the picture below hold the pinwheels and/or flowers. Sometimes parents also write a message to their Mizuko. I love how all the elements of nature can be represented in this simple ceremony as well. Wind in the pinwheels, earth in the flowers, water which is poured over the statue to symbolise rebirth and the cycle of mizuko and fire when a candle or incense is lit.

In my brief research of the topic it was obvious that there are many views on Mizuko kuyō. Some see it as an exploitation of vulnerable and grieving family members (as some temples ask for a fee when performing the Mizuko kuyō ceremony). Others may have a religious opinion about it. Be that as it may, I can't help but keep coming back to the fact that every statue that is dressed or adorned with gifts, represents another grieving family.