An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination

Here are some quotes from a book I found a few months after we lost Kaelen. I've been meaning to share them with you all but never seemed to find the time.

An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination by Elizabeth McCracken

He was a person. I missed him like a person. Seeing babies on the street did not stab me with pain the way I know they stab some grieving women, those who have lost children or simply desperately want to have them. For me, other babies were other babies. They weren't who I was missing... Babies born to mothers pregnant at the same time as me hurt a little. I didn't mind hearing about them, but I didn't want to meet them... I didn't want to be a good and decent and functioning human being and ask after her baby. Even now I have a hard time with the babies born to friends around Pudding's birth. It's not logical, and yet there it is... (pg. 41-42)

This totally speaks to how I feel, I don't mind seeing random babies here and there, those that I don't know how old they are or when they were born. But the one's that I know, the one's that were born around the same time as my baby boy are hard to deal with. My one friend, Cheri, has let me hold her little boy who was born 2 days after Kaelen and that has helped and it feels good to hold him because I know he's Kaelen's one forever friend here on earth even if he doesn't know it. But other babies born around the same time, I avoid and could care less about cooing over them or holding them. It's not that they aren't cute and sweet, I just don't want to.

Still I wouldn't have minded a pause in the whole business. A sudden harmless moratorium on babies being born. Doctors would have to tell the unfortunate pregnant women, "I'm sorry. It happens sometimes. Tidal, we think. For everyone else, nine months, but for you, eleven months, maybe a year, maybe more. Don't go outside. Don't leave your house. Stroke your stomach, fine, but only in your own living room. Keep your lullabies to yourself. We'll let you know when it's time." (pg. 43)

Totally... if I could have stopped babies being born for awhile after we lost Kaelen - even now... it would have been so much easier to go on living and not be so tortured inside... I would never wish losing their baby on any mother but I just wish that I didn't have to see everyone else's happy (and unhappy) new baby lives sometimes.

After most deaths, I imagine, the awfulness lies in how everything's changed: you no longer recognize the form of your days. There's a hole. It's person-shaped and it follows you everywhere, to bed, to the dinner table, in the car.

For us what was killing was how nothing had changed. We'd been waiting to be transformed, and now here we were, back in our old life. (pg. 97)

I think any babylost mama can agree with these few paragraphs. Whether it's your first, your 2nd or your 12th baby you lost, you mourn because of the unchanged life you have and the what if's that will never be.

All I can say is, it's a sort of kinship, as though there is a family tree of grief... When something terrible happens, you discover all of a sudden that you have a new set of relatives, people with whom you can speak in the shorthand of cousins.

Twice now I have heard the story of someone who knows someone who's had a stillborn child since Pudding has died, and it's all I can do not to book a flight immediately, to show up somewhere I'm not wanted, just so that I can say, It happened to me, too, because it meant so much to me to hear it. It happened to me, too, meant: It's not your fault. And You are not a freak of nature. And This does not have to be a secret.

That's how it works. When a baby dies, other dead children become suddenly visible... (p. 136)

It's amazing this new family I've found. This new family of people that have been where I am. People that never would have shared their story with me if I had not lost my own beloved son. I'm very blessed that these people are here to share with me and don't know where I would be without you all. I also realize that the second paragraph really speaks to why I wanted to be a part of Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep... I want to be there when someone is newly grieving for their lost child. I want to provide them with pictures but I also want to be there to say that "It happened to me, too." and give them some peace if I can like you all have given me.

Here's my question: was I pregnant then?

I was in the shape of a pregnant woman. I'm sure I walked like one, though my arms floated away from the fact of my stomach (no rubbing, no resting, no thoughtless, fond tapping). Really, what was I? Was I pregnant? There should be a different word for it, for someone who hasn't yet delivered a dead child. Maybe there is and I don't it, but I'm not about to ask.

My child has died. The next day I would see him for the first time. But until then, what was I? A figure common in old paintings and poetry. The bereaved carrying the remains of my beloved dead. Not out of bravery. Not out of devotion. Not out of hope that God had gotten it wrong and would change His mind.

Because I had to. (pg. 165-166)

If you've ever carried your stillborn baby inside of you and then had to deliver them into this world, waiting for that cry that you knew would never come, even though your prayed for it to all be a horrible, horrible mistake, you know what these words are about...

And now I'm thinking of that Florida lady again, the one who wanted a book about the lighter side of a child's death, and I know: all she wanted was permission to remember her child with pleasure instead of grief. To remember that he was dead but to remember him without pain: he's dead but of course she still loves him, and that love isn't morbid or bloodstained or unsightly, it doesn't need to be shoved away. (pg. 182)

Yup, I get it... now more than ever. I want to talk about my son and not have everyone get nervous or scared that I'm going to break down. He was mine for 9 short months but I still want to hear his name and know that other people think of him and still love him too. He was, is and always wil be one of the most beautiful parts of what is Me.

I'll leave you with this one... totally the way I feel about human reproduction.

"Oh," I always said, "if human reproduction has to carry on, I want it to to work out for people I like." (pg. 43)

For people I like and feel are worthy of their babies, go right ahead and procreate - but all the "other" mothers that don't appreciate their babies and don't take care of them like they should, you're out!! hehehe
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And now to my sweet Kaelen on Mommy's first birthday without you... it's been a good day and a hard day all in one. Last year at this time, I was waiting for you to arrive, waiting to find out if you were a little boy or a little girl, waiting to see if you would be late just like your big sister and if you'd be as big as her or bigger, waiting for you to have a name...

Everything seemed so simple and clear back then. Everything seemed to make sense. Not like now. Now there isn't much that does... the world keeps turning and you aren't here on it with me and it sucks.

We were together with Mommy's friends today and Marrah was looking at M's little brother and J's little brother and she asked me "Where's my little brother?" and it hurt so much to say that you're "in heaven," and she told me back "with God," just like we always do. I wish she had you here so she could get into trouble for getting too close and not giving you your space, so you could poke each other incessantly in the back seat when you are older and she could yell "Mom, Kaelen's bugging me." I wish you were here so she could get mad at you for trying to play with her toys and for following her and her friends around at school because you thought one of them was cute.

But I also wish you were here to cuddle with us in bed on mornings when we didn't have anywhere to be. I wish you were here to sit in Marrah's lap so Mommy could take a picture. I wish you were here to wear all the cute clothes I bought you last summer that are sitting in your closet getting dusty. I wish she could teach you to make funny faces just like her Daddy taught her and I could get a cute picture of BOTH of you to send to Daddy on his phone. I wish you were here so you could play ball in the backyard together and giggle and laugh like brothers and sisters do. But not for now and not for a long time will that be possible...

I wish you were here every moment of every day... especially on my special day, my birthday... without you here in my arms, it will never be as good as it could've been.

I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living,
My baby you'll be.

Sending you kisses and hugs on angel wings, baby...

Love,