Have you ever been afraid that by loving someone so much you will lose them, simply because the universe hates a happy ending? It’s a disturbing, paranoid and not really rational thought but there’s a reason that the axiom, “It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all” exists. Loving someone can be scary. Because losing that someone is even scarier.
Of all the Big Things I have been through in my life, there is one I almost never talk about. At least not in a public setting. While I have no problem writing all about my sexual assault, the court case and the aftermath or going on TV to discuss my reincarnating eating disorder or ‘fessing up to my myriad mental health issues (it’s not a bug, it’s a feature!), I don’t often talk about the birth and death of my first child, my daughter Faith. The silence isn’t because I don’t remember her or because it’s too uncomfortable or even because it feels unresolved. Rather, it’s simply because it still hurts. And that hurt feels sacred because it’s all I have left of her.
She would have been eight in September. It’s been enough years that the pain is no longer that sharp, breath stealing, nauseating pain of immediate grief that makes you wonder if you can even get out of bed in the morning much less return to normal life. And yet, she would have been eight in September. The ache is there every time I see a child her would-be age. It’s there when I stop to admire a beautiful girl’s dress in a store and realize that instinctively I’ve picked up her would-be size. And now it is there when I see her baby sister, perfect in every way that she wasn’t. Alive in every way that she isn’t.
That long ago day the hospital put a rainbow on our door. None of the other rooms in the labor and delivery unit had door decorations. We were special. The rainbow was there to let the staff know that the room they were entering contained a dead or dying baby. Even still the anesthesiologist slipped and asked me if the baby had any health concerns he should know about. (“Um, all of them?”) The silence after she was born was deafening. She died of Turner’s Syndrome, a genetic condition that while not always fatal proved to be so in her case. There is no feeling to compare to going into a hospital pregnant and walking out empty handed, save for a tiny memory box tied up with a green ribbon.
I refused to let her death make me bitter. Still, it left a legacy. I had decided – not through any direct consultation mind you – that God did not mean me to be a mother to a girl. I was sure I would be bad at it. As three boys filled our home and our hearts, that idea grew stronger. I even told people that I couldn’t have girls, almost willing it to be true so that I wouldn’t have to deal with the inevitable fear and anxiety that would come with growing another baby girl.
And then God decided to show me that I should not put words in his mouth. We conceived a girl. At the midpoint ultrasound, the same point when we learned Faith was so sick, we cried with relief when the technician assured us that everything was fine with our baby. But even then I was afraid to think about it. I didn’t shop for her (a situation remedied by our very generous friends) . I didn’t paint the nursery (it is indeed still blue). But the most telling indicator of my fear was that I didn’t write about her. I didn’t chronicle her pregnancy like I did my boys’. I didn’t write her love letters as I had to my other children. In fact, my journal is completely empty from the day I found out I was pregnant until the day she was born. I was afraid to hope.
Any mother will tell you that one child cannot replace another, even if we can’t keep all their names straight when yelling at them to take their breakfast dishes to the sink. Yet as I held our newest daughter that first night I was surprised to discover that she filled a hole I didn’t even realize that I had. Or at least wouldn’t admit that I had. It wasn’t her job to heal me and yet somehow she did.
“I’m so happy,” I said to my husband tonight as I rocked our beautiful girl, my heart cracking with the enormity of it. Something in my eyes must have betrayed my fear of that happiness because he answered, “There is nothing wrong with taking joy in your child.” Slowly I’m coming to realize that it doesn’t mean I love Faith less because I love her sister so completely. And hopefully I’m learning to love her in spite of my fear of losing her. As Khalil Gibran says, “Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. They came through you but not from you and though they are with you yet they belong not to you. ” Loving and losing are two sides of the same coin – we can’t appreciate the immensity of love without experiencing the grief of loss.
I am so happy.
Charlotte, this was a beautiful post.
Your writing always amazes me. Beautiful post.
Thanks. I'm crying.
beautiful and heartwrenching and I've never wished so hard I could hug someone through the internet.
(maybe if you close your eyes and concentrate, you'll be able to feel my arms squeezing you to death! 😉
I've often wondered about the story your first daughter and how such a huge life event seemingly went undetected in your writing. So thanks for giving us a peek, gotta go get a tissue…
Lovely, lovely post – such beautiful writing. Best wishes for you to thoroughly enjoy your new daughter secure in the knowledge that it doesn't diminish the love for any of your other children.
You write so beautifully, Charlotte. Thank you for sharing this post with us. I am so happy for you, and only wish I was there to hug you and your new daughter and share in this joy with you!! 🙂 God bless your tender heart.
Beautiful, Charlotte.
No words beyond that.
Love,
Carla
Like everyone else, I am at a loss for words. Nothing but tears and being in awe of you and your beautiful writing (and beautiful soul too).
I am so happy that you're happy! xoxo
What a wonderful, poignant post, Charlotte! I am so happy for you!
*shivers* that was lovely. And heartbreaking. I am so glad that you have found some measure of peace.
This was beautiful. *hugs* and prayers to you, Charlotte.
Charlotte,
I'm a very quiet but avid reader so you don't typically see comments from me but after reading this post… my heart paused from its beauty. Thanks you for sharing.
Crying at work is so unprofessional. I love you sis. I can't wait to meet your newest daughter.
Thank you.
Wow. Very few things I read make me cry, but this did.
Fantastic post.
So moved by this post–so eloquent and painful and uplifting and beautiful.
Love to you and your daughter and your whole wonderful family.
Thank you everyone for your sweet comments and hugs. This post was really hard for me to write but it felt really good to finally say it. Thanks for putting up with yet another non-fitness anything post:) I love you guys!
I was going to say, almost exactly, what bjbella5 posted. Thank you.
cammi99
Beautiful…it too made me cry.
She is adorable!
Love…Smile…Laugh..Enjoy…all that she is and all that she will be.
What an amazing, touching and beautiful post. Thank you so much for sharing that with us all.
TO answer your question "Have you ever been afraid that by loving someone so much you will lose them, simply because the universe hates a happy ending?" I would have to say "yes" because every time I think about how much I love my husband, a wave of nervous paranoia sweeps over me and my head is bombarded with thoughts that in one fragile instant we could lose each other. He works nights and sometimes drives home at 12a – 2am from work and I sometimes have trouble sleeping, hoping he'll be okay on his way home.
I think somewhere in my mind, there's a paranoia that if I'm ever too happy, something bad will have to happen to counteract that happiness and "put me in my place." Like… waiting for the other shoe to drop, sort of. There's no rationality behind it whatsoever — many people have perfectly happy, tragedy-free lives and being happy doesn't mean tragedy is sure to follow — but I still think that if I expect everything to stay good, I'm setting myself up for something bad so I should expect something bad to happen. How messed up is that!?
Char –
One word: BEAUTIFUL!
Thank you for sharing this. I have tears in my eyes, as many others have said.
Every day I am thankful to have a healthy child. I feel like having a second is a roll of the dice and it stresses me out. I don't know if I would be willing to put my heart on the line for more children beyond these two, which makes you amazing to me, to be so strong to give so much of yourself to being a mother, with all the potential heartache from the moment you conceive and for the rest of your life.
Enjoy your baby girl and your boys 🙂
Wow Charlotte, this post gave me chills. Thank you for sharing your love for Faith with us.
Ah Charlotte… you're loved! As is Faith – because she helped refine you into the beautiful, compassionate, tender-hearted person that you are and who knows, maybe she had a hand in sending down her baby sister? Ultimately though, I do have to say, God really does know what He's about, doesn't He?
Excuse me while I go off in search of some Kleenex around here…
I have the chills – what a beautiful, moving, honest post, Charlotte. My heart aches for you that you went through such a horrific event, but it soars knowing how happy and fulfilled you feel today.
That was BEAUTIFUL.
And as a first-time prego, I am petrified of this happening to me. I am afraid of blogging about my pregnancy (Even though I blog about everything else) because I may jinx it. But I take much comfort in knowing that its something that can be overcome, even if it still hurts.
You know I know how you feel, and this was timely as a friend just lost her two month old daughter. Thanks Char.
And I'm so happy for you, Charlotte. 🙂
I am like the others, no words. None but thanks, and I am so happy that you are so happy.
That made me cry!
You are an amazing writer, and person.
Blessings to you and your family. What a beautiful post!
at the risk of redundancy …
wow, your post really hit me
… sending you a hug that says, "i am awed by your experience" and "i'm happy you're happy."
Wow – you made me so misty with your beautiful writing. I lost twins before my eldest was born. I still think of them often and even though we never found out the sexes, I felt it was one boy and one girl – we never reused the names we had selected so they will have those names forever in my heart. My eldest skipped a grade so she is in the grade that they would be in and heading off to college next year just like they would have. I wonder how my life would have been different with them in it but am very thankful for the 2 that I do have now.
Beautiful post. I don't even have the words to describe how much this touched me. Thank you for sharing.
Wow. Just wow.
Beautiful post.
What a beautiful post. And a beautiful tribute to Faith!
Shakespeare said "My bounty" (love) "is as boundless as the sea; the more I give thee, the more I have, for both are endless."
You prove that there is no limit on the love we have for our kids.
Sending hugs!!!!
I've been in your shoes… in 2003, during our midway-point ultrasound with our first child, we were shocked to learn there were multiple problems with our little girl. A month later I started having contractions and our baby passed away in utero before I could deliver her. We just picked up, went home and life went on. But the pain of losing her (and never really dealing with it) only increased as the years passed. Shortly after having our 2nd child (a healthy boy), I had a friend that said one thing that took away so much of the pain. She said, "If you never had her (baby 1), you never would've had him (baby 2)."
This year is the first year I didn't get choked up on her birthday, even though this year I was 8 mos preggers with baby 3 – a little girl. However, I will always think of "A" – especially when people ask me how many children I have, or in April, or when I hear the year 2003, or another child by that same name.
But I am grateful for all the blessings that followed… and how strong this has made me.
I've only been reading your blog for a few weeks. I very much appreciate what you had to say here. So often we forget just how much our mental health plays into our fitness. Something like this…well that's just so wonderful that you are maybe a little more at peace with what happened to Faith.
back.
reading this again.
in awe of your strength and the amazing amazing way you can put things Im sure others have felt into the most beautiful of words.
"It wasn't her job to heal me and yet somehow she did."
This was the line that got me blubbering. I'm so happy for you Charlotte. As sad as I am that Faith couldn't stay in your life physically, I'm happy that your new girl can. A big hug to you.
What can any of us say… beautiful. Thank you for sharing.
I feel like crying.
I'm out of words.
This post brought tears to my eyes! Thank you for sharing your feelings so beautifully…
Wow. I'm in tears and am so happy for your happiness. Embrace that joy everyday.
And now I'm crying uncontrolably in my cube at work. Thanks.
No, seriously, thank you.
While I haven't lost a child of my own, this says perfectly all the fears I have with my kids. My biggest fear used to be my death; dying without making an impact; without being remembered for something.
Now my greatest fear, suprassing that one like an African distance runner, is outliving my children.
-Joshua
utterly, heart warmingly completely beautiful. I am so happy you're happy xxx
I am pretty much numb to emotion, as it's my defense mechanism, but my heart both physically hurt and hoped simultaneously as I read this beautiful post.
Thank you, for helping me feel, and for sharing your story–her story–with us.
(Now remember how grateful you feel right now when she's 15 with PMS and screaming that she hates you…)
This is just beautiful. And anything else I type her just mucks that up so just – *hugs*
Thank you for posting this. We have been on a long road to my current pregnancy (due any day now…) with several losses along the way, though none as devastating as what you've been through. It is so rare that people talk about pregnancy loss and stillbirth and as a consequence people are SO clueless about how scary pregnancy can be and what to do or say around people who have had a devastating outcome. You are brave to talk about it. Thank you!
Just wanted to tell you all again how much your comments on this post have meant to me! I have read and treasured every one, especially those of you who have shared the stories of your little ones with me. I am so blessed to count you all as friends! Thank you!!
This is a beautifully written, tender post that reaches out to so many of us. Thank you for sharing your fears/our fears so clearly with us. Kiss that little girl.
Charlotte, what a wonderfully emotional post. We do appreciate you sharing this with us. My best friend lost her first baby, and often expressed how writing was so healing and cathartic. Another friend who lost a baby chose to be public with her writing via a Yahoo group just for her right after his death, and knowing we were all reading her aches was comforting for her. I cannot imagine what this feels like; I am glad I cannot imagine it. Congratulations on your new baby girl, and here's praying she continues to heal you. It never goes away, but the sting can lessen.
I love the photo you chose, and soon I would like to volunteer for the NILMDTS photography project to document those little lives for those who know their children won't survive. Thank you for the reminder that there's something I can do.
I LOST A BABYGIRL IN 94 AND I HAVE THE SAME STORY, I STILL NEVER TALK ABOUT HER. I HAVE 2 SONS, THANKS FOR SHARING YOURS jULIEHOWARD@WOWWAY.COM
Beautiful.
I cannot think of a single phrase or word to add.
Beautiful.
Omg I am so sorry. There are no words. All the years later and 5 kids later, there are no words. I am so sorry, Charlotte. xoxo
I have been pregnant 7 times. The first 5 are alive and well. Number 6 (ben) was miscarried at 15 weeks. Number 7, Kelli, was stillborn at 40weeks plus 6 days. I understand the grief of losing a much loved little one. I don’t know what it feels like to birth another little one after that loss since she was our last baby. It has been 11.5 years since her birth and this year has been a doozy in the missing her department. I have sought counselling, so I don’t believe that I am stuck..just that this is a season. I am sorry that you have had to deal with this loss. I am VERY glad that your youngest is doing so well and in your joy with her!
Oh Lisa, my heart breaks for you! I am so sorry that you had to lose Ben and then Kelli. And I totally understand about it still hurting. Some years are, for whatever reason, harder than others. And while we do move on, we don’t ever forget. I think that part of loving them so much means that their loss will always hurt so much. Thanks for sharing your angels with me. ((hugs))
You may also find this post helpful: https://www.thegreatfitnessexperiment.com/2010/12/what-i-mean-when-i-say-i-have-5.html
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Carol Christianson told me about your blog and this story after hearing about mine.
Yesterday marked the 15th anniversary of our daughter Daphne being delivered stillborn.
I remember the moment when I really found out it was true, I heard a baby being born in the next room. They promptly moved me to another wing and I had a picture of a pond on my door. You never imagine that a good pregnancy would end like this. I had a long cord and it wrapped around her neck. We were at 38 weeks (and my other 2 girls were born at 38 weeks). She was a beautiful baby. It turned my world upside down, especially when they wheeled me out of the hospital empty handed. I was so lucky to get pregnant right away and deliver another baby within a year. Still, the pain exists, just not has gut wrenching as it was at the time.
I hate it when this time of year comes though because it just brings back the flood of memories.
May Faith’s Memory be Eternal.
Hi Stella! Thank you so much for your kind words and for sharing your sweet Daphne with me! I know the dull pain that anniversaries bring and my heart goes out to you. Your love for her shines through everything you wrote:)