I am trying to figure out attachments...

The following is an essay I wrote for an English class about 4 years ago. We were supposed to write about a person who influenced our life. It's rather long for a blog entry and I wanted to do it as an attachment, but I couldn't figure out how. So here it is:

What I learned From Joseph

Although I never knew him, I learned a lot from Joseph. I thought I was invincible; I learned that I am not. I had taken credit for and pride in some things that were really beyond my control. I learned humility. I had felt far removed from the troubles of others. Other people’s babies might die, but not mine, never mine. I learned to empathize. I learned that search as you may, sometimes there are just no answers. Sometimes faith and acceptance, though difficult, are required. I learned how peaceful a cemetery can be.

I was forty-three years old and pregnant. When I got married at 30, I knew I wanted children. Bill did too, so we didn’t wait. Sarah was born 9 ½ months after our wedding. She was followed by James, Stephen and Emma, all bright healthy children. I was used to having relatively uneventful pregnancies. I always gained a lot of weight and all of my babies had been late. Labor and delivery were always hard but there were never complications. This pregnancy did not seem different. I went to the hospital in labor, six days after my due date, one day after my last visit to the doctor. There was no heartbeat.

The next few hours were a nightmare. It is difficult to describe how I felt. I don’t think I fully understood that my baby was dead. It hardly seemed real. I was still pregnant; I still had to go through labor and delivery. Joseph was born in the morning. I looked into his perfect, still white face with eyes that would never open. I think that is when I realized that my son and all the hopes and dreams we had for him were gone.

That afternoon my mother called from Massachusetts. I really don’t remember what she said. I remember what I said. “Don’t come,” I sobbed. “There’s nothing to come for. There’s no baby. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Of course she came. My father came too. They knew that I needed them more to support me in my grief than I ever had needed them to share in my joy.

Afterwards, I wanted to know why. I wanted to second-guess the past. “What if” and “Why” became my favorite questions. Why was the baby so big? Why didn’t the doctor know I was carrying nearly 12 pounds of baby? What were all of those silly tummy measurements for if he didn’t know? Sonograms were fairly common at the time. Why did I never have one? I was 43 years old. Why was this not treated as a high-risk pregnancy? How on earth can there be knots in the umbilical cord? Would they have shown on a sonogram? When did the knot form? Why did it have to pull tight when it did? What if he had been alive? Would I have survived or would he have survived a natural delivery? He was so big. Would there have been complications? Perhaps an emergency C-section? So many questions.

I found myself haunting bookstores and libraries. Many times I wound up sitting on the floor reading from one book, then another. Pregnancy, Complications of Childbirth, High Birth Weight and Stillbirth, are some of the topics I looked for. I learned that high birth weight is associated with gestational diabetes. Mothers with gestational diabetes have a higher instance of stillbirths. Did I have that? Maybe. I found that I matched on three or four of the risk factors. I also found that the symptoms go away after birth. So I will never know for sure.

Sometimes I thought I would go mad. One day I was standing in line at the grocery store. I had just a few items. I looked around and saw people going about their lives as if everything were normal. Didn’t they know that the whole world was different now? How could they just buy their groceries as if everything was the same? I felt like walls were closing in on me. I was fighting tears. I did not want to break down in public. I abandoned my groceries and fled to my car where I could grieve in private.


“Sometimes people leave you, halfway through the woods… you are not alone. No one is alone.”
Quote from Into the Woods

Knowing that you are not alone is helpful. I went to support groups a few times, but they seemed somewhat structured and artificial. It seemed to me that you were expected to grieve according to formula and express yourself according to an unspoken standard. There were three things that helped me more than support groups. The first was the one on one, volunteered support from women who had also lost children. Several friends and acquaintances came forth with their own stories of loss. I never knew… it is not something that is talked about often. I never even knew that my own mother had had a miscarriage until I lost Joseph. I found a book on neonatal death at the library. It was written by a psychologist and had case histories of many different women from many walks of life who had lost babies both before and after birth. Their stories also helped me to realize that I am not alone. The third thing was and is the cemetery. Joseph is buried in “Babyland 5,” a section of Restland Cemetery where babies and children are buried. There are hundreds of little graves with inscriptions like “Our Little Angel” or “Playing in God’s Garden.” Some have flowers or little teddy bears. You can tell which ones were stillborn; they have only one date. When I visit Joseph’s grave, I think of all the other mothers who have stood in this place and grieved for their children. I know I am not alone.

My whole attitude toward pregnancy and childbirth changed. I think every woman who has ever born a child knows what it is like to be in a group of mothers and mothers-to-be and compare experiences. The chatter is lively and happy. Some seem to exaggerate their hardships and there always seems to be a bit of one-upmanship. But if you have a healthy baby to show for your efforts, the hardship is secondary. Now I am reluctant to join in. I know that things can go terribly wrong. I am afraid I might say something to put a damper on their high spirits.

On the other hand, I am more sensitive to those who have experienced the loss of a child. Before, I might have held back, afraid of saying the wrong thing. Now I know that it is better to say something than nothing at all. It is better to offer support, to reminisce, to listen. I learned that tragedy and death touches everyone. I think I took my first four children for granted. I gave myself all the credit for being a good mother. I realize now how blessed I am.

Joseph was the son I never knew. I have four bright, healthy children who have taught me many things. I learned a lot from Joseph, too.