I Lost A Baby, Too
Many of you might not know that I am also on LinkedIn.
What seems like twelve million years ago, when I was part of the Chesed Leadership Training Program run by Cindy Darrison, I met Sarah Rivka Kohnwho regaled me on the value of that platform for nonprofit leaders. She had seen a tremendous response to her work and her posts which talked about “Tales of A Leader” and told me I was missing a HUGE opportunity by not engaging there.
In March, when the world shut down, I decided that I should further my professional network online, as the possibility of an in-person event seemed like it was never going to happen again.
So I dipped my toes in, created a profile and started posting about my work here. I shared with that community how much *this* community was in pain. I shared tips about what they could do to help. I shared thoughts and ideas about treating everyone kindly, because you never know what someone else is going through.
And one day, about a month and a half ago, a connection reached out to me by DM. She told me that she had a story to share, a story that she had never shared with anyone before.
I read it and cried.
This her piece.
In a sense
I am no stranger
To grief.
But in a sense—
It’s completely
New
Different
Territory.
I’ve never
Grieved
A year later
In a different sense,
Though,
I’ve been grieving
My whole life
So—
There is some
Parallel
Grief taking over.
The most immediate pain:
I can’t
Even
Say
The
Word
How can
Someone
Celebrate
An abortion?!?!?!
It’s the cruelest
Cruelty.
I listened
To Abby Johnson
At the RNC
And I dissociated.
It was
The
Only
Way.
This is
A joke
To some?!
IT’S
A
BABY!!!!!!!!
But—
It was
A baby
That
I couldn’t
Carry.
How many
Children
Do I have?
Two.
How many times
Have
I
Been
Pregnant?
Three…
With no miscarriages
I’m not sure
Whether to say
Thank G-d
Or not.
Perhaps
A miscarriage
Is indefinitely
More painful
A baby wanted.
A baby lost.
A pregnancy cherished.
A pregnancy gone.
Intellectually,
I know
The answer.
It’s easy.
I didn’t have to
Convince
Myself.
I felt it.
I was going to die.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
It would have
Been the end
Of my marriage—
Of my motherhood—
Of my life—
For all
Intents
And purposes.
Is that
A worthwhile cost
For a baby
To come
Into this world?
The Rav (Rabbi)
Was unequivocal:
Before
Forty days
It is
Like
Water.
No Neshama. (soul)
My Neshama
Still has
A duty
In this world—
To be a mother
To be a wife
To be a leader
To be a light.
The baby
Was a rodef. (figuratively, something that could kill)
But—
It was still
My baby.
Who
I had
To lose.
I already
Had one child
When
I
Was completely
Not ready.
I went through
Nothing short
Of hell
On earth.
With PPD.
It could
Have killed me
Without
The pregnancy.
Not suicide—
But mental,
Emotional
Death.
For over
A year.
I was forced
To dissociate
When
I underwent
The procedure.
I can’t even
Refer to it
Directly.
Then people wonder
How a friend
Whom they laughed with
Commits suicide.
I know
The answer now.
In the year since
I’ve rebuilt
My life.
We’ve rebuilt
Our lives.
Our children
Are the light
At the center.
But—
The torment
Lies dormant.
I never grieved.
Never
Grieved a positive
Pregnancy test.
That was
A baby.
There was a sac
On the sonogram.
It may not have had
A Neshama (soul)
But it would have
Given two
More weeks.
When
I
Conceived
My second
Child—
Unplanned—
I put
My hand
Protectively
On my stomach.
A day later.
My sister
Laughed.
“Yeah, it’s a reflex—
When you’re pregnant.”
For weeks along,
Four months along,
Or four centimeters dilated—
It’s my baby.
From the moment
I know
I’m pregnant.
And so—
I lost
A baby.
Too.
As I come closer
To a time
When I can imagine—
Maybe—
Trying to conceive again
The grief
Comes unbidden
As it needs to
For me to find
The lost
Parts of myself.
In the greater story
Of picking up
The lost pieces
Of me.
There is one piece
That will always
Be
Missing.
And it is
The piece
That could never
Coexist
With me.