Infant & Pregnancy Loss Awareness Day, Remembering my Baby Zachary

Today, October 15, is Infant and Pregnancy Loss Awareness Day. It is a time to share stories and find support. An even greater level of awareness is needed I believe around miscarriage, stillbirth, SIDS, early infant loss and all other types of losses. Why? Because these deaths are shockingly common, yet are not discussed openly to the same proportion.

I still remember when Zachary died; I thought, “What has happened to me? I am all alone in this; flawed and outcast from motherhood.” I do not wish anyone else to feel that way – it was devastating and raw, as if my insides had been grated and my soul drowned in blackness.

I attended a conference in September, a congress on baby loss and bereavement, and there met a host of doctors from around the world that are working to decrease the number of these seemingly random deaths in children – and I applaud them. But for now, in the now where these instances persist and catch families off guard, I see the community of support to be the answer; the openness and vulnerability between people to be the hand to reach into the darkness and save those who ache with an unanswered longing.

Today I wish to participate in Infant and Pregnancy Loss Awareness Day, but it was only yesterday that I had my own private celebration. Yesterday was my son Zachary’s fourth birth and death day.

I expected October 14 to progress as it had for the last three celebrations. We set out to have a family day where my husband Aaron and I and our two living children enjoyed quality time together, ate delicious meals, did a fun activity, baked a cake, and wrote Zachary letters. We did some of those things. The morning began rather unexpectedly with a visit to the doctor and a diagnosis that my four-year-old daughter Hannah had pink eye. She was out of it and understandably so. Aaron and I were as well.

The day before, on Thanksgiving Monday, we celebrated the life of Aaron’s grandfather at his funeral in rural Alberta. It was beautiful and full of great memories and reunions, yet I am always jarred at the death of an older individual now… I am hit with the longing for Zachary in tangible ways.

We stayed in for most of Zachary’s birthday. Hannah lived in her pajamas. Aaron and I were lost in our own clouds of fog, impenetrable to each other. I was conflicted about a work deadline the next day. We looked at the photo albums of the few pictures of Zachary’s birth and the many of the events where we have acknowledged his life – yet Eden, our youngest at two-years-old played roughly with Zachary’s bear and jumped onto our laps on top of the album we were flipping through. Truly, everything felt disjoined.

The feeling of being unsettled has lingered from yesterday. The desire for everything to be perfect was thwarted – at no one’s fault. It was just an imperfect day. Yet, that is real life sometimes. Imperfect. Lacking. Annoyingly out of control.

Just like Zachary’s death, all I can do is accept the events outside my control. We still lit Zach’s candle, talked about him and did little acts of remembrance in his honour. It all mattered. We were together. Yet I still feel like weeping. I still feel like beating my fists against the impermeable wall beyond my ability to change the course that brought me here, wishing to go back and make things right (my version of right at least).

I hoped to share an encouraging post about Zachary’s birthday and the baby loss awareness cause today. Instead, you are reading my pain. Sorry! Actually, no I’m not. It is okay to feel down, depressed and furious. I cannot pretend that four years later everything is okay. At that conference I mentioned earlier, the Congress on Stillbirth, SIDS and Baby Survival, all the European doctors and grief workers I spoke with responded peculiarly to me sharing that it has been four years for me since Zach died. I thought four years was a long time.

“Oh, that is so recent!” They said. “Your grief must be so raw,” their words caused me to think – and then to cry. Sometimes I convince myself I am okay, and most days I am not leaking out my eyes, but my lifestyle is so fast. Busy, busy. Rush, rush. Maybe I have grieved quickly as well?

 

Please share your story today. Feel encouraged that you are not alone. Know that there will be good days and then days that are beyond miserable. If you want to talk, please email me: info@alexismariechute.com or comment below.

Please join in the conversation today on Twitter using #babyloss (my handle is @_Alexis_Marie – what’s yours?)

All I have to offer today is a wish of love, grace, comfort and healing. And a big virtual HUG!

Here are some resources on WCP to help.

Check out Today’s Parent Magazine and their features on baby loss! 

Struggling with feelings of helplessness? Here are some words about losing control and finding control.

Want to know how I have talked to my kids about death? Please click here.

Read about how to live with an open hand.

What is the true meaning of motherhood? Learn about International Bereaved Mother’s Day.

Have you lost faith or found faith after your loss? Here is my experience. 

Would you like to share your story on Wanted, Chosen, Planned? I welcome mothers, fathers, grandparents and children to share their experience of loss. 

Want to have more children – but are struggling with the decision? Read here. 

How to remember your baby over the holidays.

And the final suggestion: Compare Zachary’s fourth birthday with his third: “Three Years of Remembering and Unexpected Surprises”