Memento mori

I was talking to a friend who I hadn't talked to in a long time this morning and, as usual at such occasions she had to update me on all the latest gossip about old friends and acquaintances.

"And what about Sari? Has she had her baby yet?"

Such a "normal," "ordinary" question...

a question that I use to ask while preparing to close my ears for the next 20 minutes as soon as I had gotten a "yes" or "no" answer.

A "no" always meant a detailed description of how the mother to be was going crazy cause the baby should have been here days ago and, how many stretch marks she was gonna have because of this, how swollen her ankles and wrists were and, how often she had to run to the bathroom to avoid having an accident, etc, etc. Never for one minute pausing to take in how lucky she was to carry a healthy, live baby inside of her.

A "yes" on the other hand, meant a detailed account of all the different stages of labor and, quite frankly, I was never very interested in that sort of thing, not even after having Alex and, after losing Andreas I just didn't want to even think about labor again.

Don't get me wrong. I understand wanting to share the experience as a whole, the worry because the baby was in distress and his or her heartbeat was irregular, the anxiety cause the baby was posterior, the umbilical cord was around his or her neck, or just plane fear that something would go wrong, for no reason and, of course above all, the overwhelming joy of holding the little one for the first time - all those things that matters. I just never cared for the gory details.

I never felt the need to try to turn my own labor into the entertainment of the girls night out, for the same reason I didn't turn those hours of pain into a tea party with friends and family invited - it's not really that entertaining at all.

It's a perfectly normal state and, something that one has to go through with as much dignity as possible - no unnecessary screaming, no being mean to people just because one's in pain and, no other crazy drama either...

Nobody said it was going to be pleasant, but on the other side of it, if you're lucky, you're gonna have the most wonderful reward ever - a beautiful little bundle of joy, making you the happiest woman in the world.

That's the part I wanna hear about... A happy mother with a wonderful, healthy baby, not how many centimeters the mother tore while pushing out the baby's head...

I haven't changed much when it comes to that part of and, I realise that I seem to be alone when it comes to these views. It may be because I have issues; who knows? But when women tell me that they screamed there way through the whole thing or, that they told everybody around them to go to hell or things like that I'm just amazed and yes, a little disgusted; how could they humiliate themselves like that?

But, like I said... Probably my own issues...

Either way, I stopped taking a happy ending for granted years ago...

For a long time I was always expecting bad news when someone was pregnant. Not only did I myself lose my little Andreas in 2001, but my sisters best friend lost her daughter, little Mikeala, that same summer, just days before she should have been born. Shortly after that my boyfriend got a phone call from his ex in the middle of the night and, she had just lost her son, Matty, the same way.

But years have passed since then without anything going wrong to the people close to me, except for a few miscarriages in the first trimester.

I know that there are those of you who have tried for years and, who have to go through miscarriaged, after miscarriage, after miscarriage...

I don't mean to take away from your pain.

I'm not trying to say that early miscarriages don't count; they do and, I know that that experience will make you unhappy as well. I had one in 1999 and one in 2003, so I know that it is devastating.

But I will still tell you that they are easier to deal with both physically and mentally than a late one.

Just as I'm certain that a late miscarriage is easier to survive than losing a child that has been alive an breathing in your arms.

It is not in any way a comppetition and, there is little consolation in that "it could have been worse" when it happens to you.

It's still a loss. Still a broken dream. Still a little person you'll never get to know. A little baby you'll never get to hold. But it is, in most cases, easier to move on and, try again. Especially for the world around you.


Having my little rainbow baby has brought me so much happiness in spite of all the worrying about cancer and, it may be that which has somehow made me fly so high that I forgot for a moment how deep the abyss was and, how easily I could fall back down again. All happy people are selfish...

I suppose in a way it shows that time has done it's job and, healed the wounds at least on the surface.

Although I constantly read about so much loss and unhappiness, I also read a lot of things that gives me hope and, it seems I don't always automatically expect things to go wrong anymore.

But I should have known... Shouldn't have closed my mind to the whisper: "Memento mori..." "Memento mori..." "Remember your mortality..."

I just wish I didn't have to realise that, when the "normal", "ordinary" question suddenly is hanging there between us like a snake getting ready to sink it's poisonous fangs into my stupid expectations.

It is a poison I know well... A poison made of the darkest sorrow, of broken dreams and, the tears of broken hearted mothers. It takes on various names and shapes such as: Dread, Bitterness, Doubt and, Despair and it will once again spread that numbing pain throughout my body and, devour the courage I need to live. It'll once again make me afraid to love, for fear of losing the loved one...

Suddenly I want to hang up so that I don't have to hear it, so that I can keep denying it and, pretend that there's hope for a little bit longer. But of course I don't and, there it is...

"I thought I told you... she lost
her baby boy at 25 weeks jestation..."