still born boy

I found a poem I wrote for my son. He was born and died August 29, 1976. I called him my bicentenial baby while I was carrying him. He died a week before he was born. I think what the doctor did was inhumane. I was very young and in shock , he was a doctor so I didn't question his choices. Back then the technology was not anything like it is today. The doctor would use a particular kind of stethescope to listen. Part of it was worn on his head and he would press the bell of the stethescope against a pregnant stomach. This is the only way that was available at the time to hear my babys' heartbeat. He had stopped moving earlier in the day and I was concerned so I called my doctor. He wanted me to come in to be examined so I did . The doctor listened, didn't hear anything and sent me to the hospital for an x-ray. Yes, an x-ray. I don't know if it was usual or not in 1976 , I never asked. I remember being in a wheelchair and hearing someone say "her baby is dead". After the x-ray I returned to the Dr, and he told me to go home and let nature take its course. I carried a dead baby around for a week before I started labor. I was asleep when he was born , so didn't get the news until I woke up. My son weighed 10 lbs and 2 oz, and he was dead at birth. Noone came to show me my baby. Noone made footprints so i would have a memory. Noone counseled my husband and I about an autopsy or any kind of genetic tests. I was moved to another floor and everyone pretended that I didn't just have a baby. My mother in law even gave him his name. I was in the hospital when he had his funeral. My brother in law held his casket on his lap for the drive to the cemetary. His casket was blue for a boy.

After he was born I wrote this.

For nine months I carried my son,
prepared him for a life of his own.
As best as I could.
And that life was snatched away,
before it really started.
It all seems so useless.

Step parenting for dummies. RUN.

I was doing something that is pointless and depressing. I was rethinking decisions I made eight years ago. I seperated from my husband, moved out of the house with my son and started a new life. The mind plays tricks with me and has me doubting my decision at times. Times when things are hard and I am sad and depressed. I was going over parts of the years I was married and a single word came into my mind..... Seige..... That is what I had come to feel I was living. A seige. I was married to a man with a daughter and I had a son. That is the worst combination for a "blended" family to succeed. The jealosy factor is high. The mom (me) can't defend her son for fear of having him called a mommies boy. And any criticism of the daughter is dealt with harshly. Or it was in my case. I also had alcohol thrown in the mix for extra entertainment. In the beginning when the kids were small it was easy to have them stay in their rooms and watch TV. They didn't realize their dad was drinking/drunk. And if it was bad, I would leave with them. I eventually got in the habit of keeping an extra key outside and my purse by the door. If I tried to stay home and he was drinking I would wait till he fell asleep , then unscrew the lightbulbs, unplug the phone , lock the kids door from the inside and pray. I couldn't lock my door . I tried once and he kicked it down and walked over the top.

As the years passed my step daughter realized what power she held over me and weilded it well. When she was young she didn't question my authority. When she got older she realized that her dad would make excuses for her and she began stonewalling me. Now I realize that he was afraid of loosing her love. He never liked to be the parent. He almost always wanted me to be the one to make decisions. So I was the proverbial bad guy. The wicked step-mother to boot. Because he never backed up my decisions, I started refusing to parent his child. I insisted that he do his parenting. It didn't work. Somehow she always found out . He learned to in the course of a conversation with his daughter, to let slip that I had complained to him that perhaps she was not doing a chore that she was supposed to do. Between the two of them and trying to be what basically amounted to a single mother bringing up a son I felt like I was in a kind of hell. Under Seige.

Daughters

I remember holding my daughter when she was a very tiny baby. I envisioned her as a grown woman and the two of us becoming not only friends but best friends. I don't know when I realized that was never going to happen , or if it did it would take years to become a reality. The line "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results" is a good way to sum up my years with my daughter.
She was much anticipated. I had a stillborn baby, another girl three years before my daughter was born. When they told me that I had a girl ,and she was alive and healthy, I was so happy. I could never imagine how much hurt a child could place on a parent once they became teenagers and on to adulthood. Having children to me is like days and days of endless pain , hurt and worry with moments of extreme joy occuring just often enough to keep hope alive.

I have had to see my daughter in the back of a Police car and know that not intervening was the very best thing I could do for her at the time. That is a pain that doesn't go away quickly.

I keep hitting my thumb with the hammer saying ouch. I don't know how to stop.

Babies and memories

I was walking in downtown Orlando after a movie, and on my way back to my car ,I happened across a church with a memorial garden and went in to investigate. There was a statue, a fountain and a bench. Behind the fountain I found several walls lined on one side with square plaques, some with names , many were blank. When I looked closer at the names and dates ,I noticed that more than a few that were babies. Babies that were stillborn, and also some that lived one day or maybe a week. One set of twins. It struck a cord in me, as I had two stillborn babies, and will always morn them. During the years I had the two babies, there was no "breavement group" that came to council you in the hospital. The hospital generally ignored you. You were on your own to deal with the aftermath of such a sucker punch.

I wondered about these families. All of these children have one or two parents that remember the birthdays . There may be no one else that remembers the day of their births , but I am sure the parents still do. No balloons, cake, or gifts mark the birthdays of these babies. There are no photo albums showcasing the first haircut, first steps , first birthday or first Christmas, but they are no less loved. Every year I mark the day of my childrens birth and how old they would be. I try to find ways to make sure they are remembered. I always will.