A Letter to Jasmine: My Reflection on Infant Loss
I contemplated doing this post for a full year. It’s not the typical type of blog that I would do, but I thought it was important, and would be quite frankly therapeutic. I could have waited for Infant Loss Month in October, but January 24 is special to me. If you follow me on social media or my blog, you may know that I’m the mother of an 18 year old son and a 16 year-old daughter. If you’re super close to me, then you may know that on this day, about 13 years ago, I experienced a stillbirth. My third child, Jasmine was born stillborn at 38 weeks. If you’re unaware, the definition of stillborn is a baby born without signs of life after 20 to 24 weeks of gestation. Anything prior to this would be considered a miscarriage. It was understandably the most devastating thing that had happened to me. It became a dark time for me, and in true Aquarius form, I chose to use solitude and try to handle it by myself. Thank goodness that also, in true Aquarius form, I researched and analyzed the hell out of what happened to me, and decided to start therapy. It was the best decision ever.
I chose to write this post for two reasons.
One, my blog is a document of my life experiences and lessons learned. I realized a few years ago that I’m usually having a rough time in January. I find myself in a bit of a funk in the period in between Christmas and my birthday in February. I couldn’t figure it out. The thing about loosing a loved one, especially a child, is that you never forget. You’re changed forever. Even past the acceptance stage, grief can come back from time to time and smack you around again. I’m no longer dark or depressed, but I’m still changed. I have a habit of compartmentalizing my feelings sometimes. It’s avoidance. (I mean, it took a whole year to write this post..) It’s a defense mechanism, and it leaves room for emotions to surface at a later time, and not in a good way. One of my new self-love habits is to allow myself to acknowledge and feel my emotions, no matter how tough, go through it and then live. For me, writing this post is acknowledging without caring how it looks to anyone else. I’m more intentional about planning and tending to my needs when I know I need to. Simple things like not over scheduling myself, not making big decisions when I’m feeling under, and giving myself a little TLC helps.
Two, stillbirth is not considered common. I remember my doctor telling me that it’s about the same probability of me getting struck by lightening. It may be uncommon, but the truth is, black women experience huge disparities when it comes to maternal death and infant loss. We are over three times as likely to experience late pregnancy loss than white women. I figured that there’s a chance that there’s someone out there that looks like me, that can relate to this post. Even if you don’t look like me, honest posts about this are hard to find. I wish I could hand you a hand written note, and tell you all of things that I wish someone had said to me..
To the mom’s that recently experienced infant loss, I want you to know this:
This definitely is a heartbreaking experience. Life is hard, but it will eventually get better. You’re entitled to feel your grief for a child you never met. Having other healthy children doesn’t make your pain insignificant. Please let go of any guilt that you may feel about the stillbirth. It’s highly unlikely that you could have prevented it.
To the mom’s that experienced a loss a while ago, whether it’s one, five or even ten years ago, I want you to know this:
It’s perfectly normal to reflect and still have memories. It’s normal to think about how old that child would have been, and how your family may have been different. It may seem that you’re the only one that remembers. Try not to be angry about that.
It’s normal to feel down or even shed a tear once in a while. Your loss doesn’t define who you are. It’s just a circumstance that will cause you to feel things a little more intensely. Do what feels right and treat yourself with kindness.
Last, but not least, a note to Jasmine:
Thank you for allowing me to be your mom. I have an angel instead of an additional teenager, but the experience molded me into a compassionate, yet often overprotective person that feels everything deeply. Your life had purpose.