love is blonde

Miller has been gone six months now. Nearly the same amount of time he was here.

I think tonight I’ll light a candle for him and have a quiet evening at home. Maybe I’ll write him a letter in my journal.

I’m not living the life I planned, but I am trying my best to live a full life. I will always love and miss Miller, my first baby and first son.

{photo by flickr user jjpacres}

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Spring in War-Time

Now the sprinkled blackthorn snow
Lies along the lovers’ lane
Where last year we used to go -
Where we shall not go again.

In the hedge the buds are new,
By our wood the violets peer -
Just like last year’s violets, too,
But they have no scent this year.

Every bird has heart to sing
Of its nest, warmed by its breast;
We had heart to sing last spring,
But we never built our nest.

Presently red roses blown
Will make all the garden gay . . .
Not yet have the daisies grown
On your clay.

-Edith Nesbit, 1916.

For anyone who knows me, it is probably no surprise that I would never, ever vote for Rick Santorum. I wouldn’t vote for anyone who draws parallels between homosexuality and “man on child, man on dog” or who doesn’t “believe” global warming is “real.” The nicest way to put it is to say that we have fundamentally different world views.

But I’m finding myself really angry about something I’ve been hearing about him lately and I feel the need to speak up.

I heard first it at a small social gathering.

“So how about the Republican primary, pretty crazy, right? Can you believe Santorum actually has a chance?”

“Have you heard that thing about his stillborn baby, how he brought it home from the hospital?”

And then, in a blast email I got today, citing the Santorums’ “decision to force their children to kiss, hug, fondle, and sing to the dead baby.”

And I’ve seen tweets like this one: “Just a reminder that Rick Santorum kissed and cuddled a dead baby for hours and he is treated as a somewhat-viable presidential candidate.”

I’m sure my experience having a stillborn baby was different than the Santorums’, for probably a million reasons. But I can tell you that the couple of hours I got to spend with my son Miller — when yes, he was dead — were hours that I cherish so very much. In fact, my biggest, and probably only regret, a regret that sometimes feels like it’s eating a hole through my insides, is that we did not hold him for longer when we had the chance. Because I’ll never get to hold him again.

I wish we had spent the night with him. I wish I had held him until my arms were tired, and then for longer. I wish I told him 100 more times that I loved him and that I was so sorry he did not get a chance to grow up.

I console myself by saying that we made the best decisions we could at the time we were making them. I can’t really explain it any other way. But I’d kill to have those hours back, and I’d do it over differently.

To be critical of another family spending time with their (dead) beloved baby — that is just beyond my scope of acceptable right now. As a liberal, and a Democrat, and a fervently pro-choice person, I don’t think it is okay.

The reason I am pro-choice is because I believe that medical & reproductive decisions ought to be left to women and their doctors. I trust that most women, and most doctors, will make moral and ethical choices for themselves, given the circumstances they are in.

And so I think we ought to grant that same liberty and freedom from judgment to the Santorums, and to other parents of stillborn babies. They should choose how to grieve and cope and make decisions that are right for them and their families during a family tragedy.

If I hadn’t experienced this loss, I would have probably said those statements above, too. And the Santorums’ loss doesn’t really forgive the fact that they made it into a political platform issue. And I’m probably having somewhat of a knee-jerk reaction because my regrets over time spent with Miller are so raw and painful. But even with all those caveats, let’s leave the guy alone on this topic. There are plenty of other things to dislike about him.

Thank you for the comments on my last post. I wish I could hug each and every one of you, truly.

There are two photos of Miller at the bottom of this post, but there’s lots of space on the page between here and there, so feel free to click away if you aren’t up for it right now (or ever).

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One of the things I imagined doing as a mama was rocking my baby in the middle of the night when the rest of the house was silent, and singing him a lullaby. This song from the Dixie Chicks (named, appropriately, “Lullaby”) was one of the songs I imagined singing.

Here are the lyrics:

They didn’t have you where I come from
Never knew the best was yet to come
Life began when I saw your face
And I hear your laugh like a serenade

How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough, is forever enough
How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough
Cause I’m never, never giving you up

I slip in bed when you’re asleep
To hold you close and feel your breath on me
Tomorrow there’ll be so much to do
So tonight I’ll drift in a dream with you

How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough, is forever enough
How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough
Cause I’m never, never giving you up

As you wander through this troubled world
In search of all things beautiful
You can close your eyes when you’re miles away
And hear my voice like a serenade

How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough, is forever enough
How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough
Cause I’m never, never giving you up

How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough, is forever enough
How long do you want to be loved
Is forever enough
Cause I’m never, never giving you up
Is forever enough
Cause I’m never, never giving you up

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I came across another photo the other day of the last belly shot I took before he died. It’s surreal to see this. Sometimes I almost wouldn’t believe any of this happened if it weren’t for the photographic proof.

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Okay, I am going to post two photos now, so please click away if you wish.

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Our sweet son, pictured with the teddy bear affectionately known as Miller Bear:

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Man, I miss him so much.

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…I am still figuring this all out. Grief still surprises me, and not in the hooray-you-won-a-prize kind of way. Grief is sneaky, and mean, and sometimes even cruel. Grief will pounce just when I finally have a peaceful moment.

…I am humbled and so deeply grateful because I feel like Miller’s life has been acknowledged and remembered. One of my primal emotions from the very early days after the loss was a fear that Miller would be forgotten, or perhaps thought of as not a “real” baby. I still carry this fear with me, but it’s getting better. (You all have been a big part of this and for that I am so thankful.)

…At least once each day I am pretty sure that no one in the world understands me. But then at least once each day I am reminded that there are people who understand me, and even those who don’t “get it” are trying their very best.

…I am still very much protecting my heart. I am trying my best to be a good friend but my best is not very good right now. I simply cannot hear about pregnancies and babies all day long. I’m sure you won’t be surprised that it seems like 75% of my friends are pregnant or have new babies. This is probably the very hardest part of my day, every day. I haven’t figured out how to deal with it yet so for now I’m mostly hiding.

…I can finally be done counting down the weeks and months that I “should” have been pregnant. I am trying really hard not to let that morph into the weeks and months old that Miller “should” be. He will never be any of those ages. He will always be a tiny baby.

…I am trying to become okay with spreading Miller’s ashes somewhere. Maybe here. I’m not ready yet, but I’m trying.

…I would like to put a picture of Miller up on the blog, but I’m worried about how that makes people feel. He was very cute, but don’t all mamas think that their babies are cute? He was not alive, and I know that is hard to see. I don’t want to upset anyone.

…I am wishing for and working towards acceptance and peace. I want to heal. I don’t want to feel like this forever. I want to not feel broken on the inside.

…I am hopeful about the long term future, but still trying to survive each day until I get there.

Photos taken at Millers Head, Shenandoah National Park, Virginia.