Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Dreams Invaded

        Last night I experienced a dream where I had just delivered a teeny, healthy baby girl. She nursed with ease and I felt joy in nourishing her. This of course contrasts my last nursing reality, where my baby daughter preferred a bottle to my warmth because the stress I was under stole my milk away. In my bright dream my body was strong and healthy. I was up moving; going places the first day after delivery which, while in the dream gave me happy satisfaction, upon waking left me utterly empty. Because I wake up to a body with three c-sections, all products of the tragedy of my conceptions. Even if I had the miracle of carrying a baby girl healthily to term, I would never again give birth naturally: certainly wouldn't be springing about hours afterward.
        All dreams string along some bit of the bizarre and this dream's oddity was that I nursed my sweet baby for twelve perfect minutes, then laid her to sleep while I left the hospital and visited my sister and brother in law. I shared my triumphant delivery news only after chit-chatting for some length. How had I forgotten such a monumental life event? They looked from my flat stomach to my empty arms and their eyes asked the question their decency did not allow voice; why had I abandoned my baby?
        After that scene the dream’s warm, joyful feelings were drowned out by several sudden fits of panic as I dashed from place to place, ecstatic for the physical ease of vaginal delivery then suddenly seized with fear that I had forgotten to go back and nurse my baby! I was a busy mother of four kids already and I couldn't remember to feed my new girl baby every three hours. What kind of mother was I? How could I take my miracle so lightly? Why didn't the joy I felt lead me to hold and cherish my baby? Was she okay, left alone with nurses and sterile rooms, possibly crying for food? What was wrong with me?!
         I awoke with the wanting of a baby coursing through my body, and the shame of failure bubbling up from my gut. I did love my first two children and their natural deliveries. How could I have known how special those seasons were and what grief I would later carry when I could no longer experience such birthing joys?  Dreaming for a child is simple, pure, filled with love. It is both noble to pursue and magical to experience. I have been given so many gifts in my children, more than many, both in the children living and the dead. As the door for healthy, natural delivery of a Haught child closed, my heart began slowly, ever so quietly to grieve.
        Now, almost two years after my last girl was miraculously born via a reckless C-section – the stubborn fighter I was told was miscarrying – this grief has spilled over. I wade daily through the loss. Last night it poured over into my dreams, though babies were not on my mind the day before. I feel gratitude for what I have been given and sadness that I can not control my family and reproduction like many other Americans. My sadness surprises me! It shocks me. Sometimes it shames me. So here is my confession - a voiced fear. Here's to living with peace, contentment, gratitude, even while dreams are stripped away.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

I know you will never get this but I write it for me. Sometimes writing is all I have. I am no where near as eloquent with words as you but as long as I have known you writing has been such a gift for you. I wanted to tell you that I am so so sorry for your loss. Having lost two children myself my heart breaks for you and your family. As a husband who wants to fix everything I struggle daily not being able to. My poor sweet wife is broken in spirit and the life she once had. It hurts me to the core to see her pain. We are very blessed and have four wonderful kids and we are very grateful for them, but how do you heal a mothers heart for losing something that was literally a part of them in body and spirit. Anyway, we have had so many things in common in life that when I first heard I wanted to reach out but didn't have a way. Then I come across this blog years later and felt compelled to write. We used to pray together all the time and I pray for you now. I hope you can lean on him who knows your every care. It is the only way I have made it. Please take care!!!

Kelly said...

Anonymous,
I did get your comment and I listened to every word your heart shared. Thank you for your story. I am so sorry for your family's grief and also so touched by your love for your wife. Time does not necessarily heal, but truth does. I am comforted by the spirits of the children my body had to let go of. I know life and death are not all about me or my wishes. I know I was left behind for a purpose as important as theirs was in being taken. God bless. I hope our paths cross again.
Kelly