On Becoming Evolved

I find myself curious about the idea that suffering some type of trauma or pain makes you stronger, like an evolution. The world evolution brings a positive feeling to an otherwise dark subject matter. We tend to treat a painful past as something to whisper about, or feel ashamed of - to hide. Yet I find myself open to discussing people's worst experiences with interest, empathy, and without repulsion or fear. When someone tells me an awful thing from their past or present my impulse is that we will be closer, or somehow understand each other better. Like a club nobody wants to join, but at least a place to feel you belong and heard.

I am beginning to feel a separation in time between my loss of my daughter and the present. It had remained a current, open wound for so long. I finally received permission, from my own self I suppose, to allow myself to accept it as reality. With that acceptance it becomes part of assimilated memory, finally allowed into the vault of memories past. Can I still feel her warm little body cradled in my lap that night, like a sleeping surreal almost child? If I focus, I can still hold that feeling of her. I can still touch her curls of hair she had in my dreams during her gestation, so vivid like yesterday. But most of the time I can not bring back sensations, smells, warmth, or the sense of having a big pregnant belly anymore. Those memories live in the past now, 95-99%.

Watching the movie Split recently got me thinking about surviving trauma as a form of evolution. It has made me stronger, having survived it. Like strain-hardened steel. My child talks about wanting to evolve, into something new and better. I think he mostly wants humankind to be better, in general. But does growth come from suffering? I believe any change causes stress, even if you look at the math that describes stress, strain, and time. I wonder if pain or suffering is a requirement for growth to happen though. I also wonder if I am better. I believe I am stronger, but does that mean better? It is not what I would choose, obviously. I would rather be a bit more stupid, weaker, and have my daughter.

Regardless, my experience define the ingredients of who I am. Still, I define who I am becoming. I think evolution sounds hopeful, and I embrace the concept. I welcome my daughter to the past, and I am hopeful for my future. My heart has so much love for her, only now with more lightness and less of an exposed nerve or raw wound. I am becoming stronger still.

Stop the World

When my little child person would reach some type of overload, whatever mini-tragedy it was at the moment, he started saying, "Stop the world, mama. Stop the world." He would start having a tantrum, meltdown, or sobbing and when it was too much to bear he asked for me to stop the world. We would immediately stop everything and cuddle up. Sometimes that meant sitting on the floor of the grocery store, other times pulling the car over and him crawling up front. No matter what we were doing, it all stopped without exception.

These started as the worst moment(s) of the day, and became the treasure. The idea that we could take solace in each other even if we had caused each other's upset; truly profound. Learning how to be a person, how to function as a person, is complex. It taught me that no appointment is so critical that it can not be postponed to re-center and heal. It reminds me of the idea of making salaat; the pause to remember who you want to be, to surrender to the idea that some things are beyond your control, to wish the best for every single person around you, and to give thanks. It could seem like a nuisance to interrupt your activities, but then you rejoin them with a calmer energy as a reward.

How could a little person with so few pounds bring such an immense change to my existence? Even though I can feel overwhelmed by little battles, tiny tragedies in the moment, he can change the energy in my universe with the touch of one sweet fingertip. His sensitivity to my emotions reminds me not to take my own problems too heavily.

I think of "I Melt with You" by Modern English as one of our theme songs (though only for the main chorus). It really feels like I stop the world and melt with him. I want to stop time and soak in the moment, this time in my life. It's funny because it usually happens right in a moment I wish I could avoid or barely seem to get through, and then it becomes joy. Sharing so many powerful moments together, good and bad, brings us close like nothing I have experienced before and it is so much more than I could have imagined.

"I'll stop the world and melt with 
You've seen the difference and it's getting better all the time 
There's nothing you and I won't do 
I'll stop the world and melt with you"

Abnormally Sweet

Through most of my life in nearly all situations my intellect or wits have enabled me to overcome obstacles, or issues. I consider myself capable of handling anything, essentially. When I could not afford college I got a job that offered to pay tuition. When that company forgot that promise, I found a better company to work with and completed my degree while working full time; in engineering. Problems are like challenges or puzzles I enjoy solving, much like engineering.

I approached having children along these lines. Fertility issues, simply go right to the best doctor. Follow the schedule, do the acupuncture, eat the recommended food, complete the series of group therapy for support and preparation, and stay healthy. I hate shots. I get over it and take hundreds of shots to get pregnant. Problem? No problem. I got pregnant and I thrived with the pregnancy, apart from avoiding strong smells. Each medical concern that arises, we follow the doctor’s recommendations and move forward.

Then I realize with our loss that I have failed as a parent before it has even begun. My intuition felt like a constant companion, a theme song humming me through my days of my second trimester. Yet it betrayed me. My darling Maria had stopped living in the last couple weeks, and I had not the slightest idea or sense of her death. Since it was already in the past, there was no urgency or attempted resolution. There was no appropriate response or call to action. There was only silence and the intermittent soothing of my darling baby gently moving around, stroking my insides as if to calm me. His comfort immediately was my sole purpose, and yet I could hardly know if he was truly okay.

To this day I wish I could release him from the difficulties of his birth story. What good does all of my training actually provide me, all my abilities, however smart I might be, can not fix this for him. I started off as a Mom being unable to fix his first big problem. His birth being associated with death will always be his story. His sister that never got to be will always be his only sibling. When people ask if he is an only child, he will always look at me unsure which answer is the best. 

In some ways I believe it has brought us closer. They say Elvis and his mother had an abnormally close relationship. His twin did not survive birth either. I see his relationship with his mom as the absolute sweetest thing about him. Then I see how it seemed to destroy him when she died. I embrace the abnormally close relationship with my child, while I realize I will ultimately fail him as a mom once more in the most natural and unavoidable way. Another problem I can not fix.

My Schrödinger Baby

How can you describe finding out that your baby is dead, and your baby is alive?

This complexity will always accompany my son's birth story. His deceased sister shared his womb for roughly the last 6 of 30 weeks gestation period. The first 24 weeks they got to know and grow together, two peas in a pod that looked like they were enjoying a long sleep over in bunk beds in the ultrasound pictures. Funny that he still does not like to sleep alone.

We went in for a normal ultrasound visit at 26-1/2 weeks gestation, expecting to come home with 3-D ultrasound pictures of their faces. In the waiting room I read an article about how losing a loved one at my current stage of pregnancy dramatically increased brain or developmental abnormalities like autism, or something of the sort. What a relief, I thought, that everyone close to me was in great health. Everything was going so great, I absolutely enjoyed my hard earned (IVF) pregnancy. During the ultrasound the tech suddenly got quiet, then said she was going to get the doctor and come right back. It was not like a movie. They did not rush me to an operating room for any extraordinary measures. The doctor quietly informed us there was no heart beat for our daughter, though our son appeared okay - undersized as always, but okay. Then we were sent home, out the back door of the clinic to avoid having to face people.

I knew I needed to comfort my guy, who must be so confused in there without his sister kicking him all day. I knew I needed to focus on all of my love, hope, and joy about my surviving baby. I knew I needed to grieve my deceased baby at the same time, though still hidden. My baby is alive, and my baby is dead at exactly the same time. Both things are true and it is my reality, yet my reality is completely broken by this truth. My box contains all of my joy and all of my pain simultaneously. My poor son will always have this painful entry into the world and birth story, and my daughter will have no birth story. She will have a death certificate and no official birth. My son will have a birth certificate always accompanied by death. My Schrödinger Baby.