Excerpts  from Parenthood Lost
(Click here to read the entire poetry of Hygeia)

A Brief Story of Hope

 

Through all the pain I have experienced, there is always been hope. I never really gave up hoping that there would be more joy in my life, though at times I struggled to believe I would ever feel the joy again of holding
another child of my own in my arms. The grief process is ongoing and there will never be an end to the pain I feel from losing my children. I still ache and cry regularly for my daughter and have found it very difficult to
accept her death, even after 13 years. 

How precious and fragile life is. Something I’ve come to appreciate much more since my son arrived into the world. I hold him close and shed a tear sometimes for what might have been with my daughter and my baby I miscarried.   If not for them, I wouldn’t have this lively, energetic, happy, bouncing baby boy. What greater gift could I wish for. I am grateful that I had the chance to try again and that feeling I had when my son was lifted aloft by my pyhsician, in the first seconds of his life outside of the womb, cannot be compared to any other feeling I have had before or will have again.   Through my contact with the bereavement services, I am healing better than in the past. I was never offered any form of counselling back in 1985 and so a lot of what I felt back then, came back in my recent pregnancy.   I have made several new contacts and am touched by the way others want to share their experiences with me and the way they let me share my babies with them. I’ve cried many a tear for others in their sorrow and now I want to give something back to them.

Windows  

Gather  
every  morsel  
of  hope,  
precious gift,  
and open your eyes  
to its wonder;  
common images  
earthly sights  
hourly routines  
that maintain  
the equilibrium  
of why and how  
you live  
and lived.  
Delight  
in what are your joys  
and then  
for just a brief moment  
let them close  
to the darkness  
and paint  
upon the canvass  
of your soul  
portraits  
of  secret longings  
that come alive  
in  these minutes  
of solitude  
called dreaming,  
art forms to dance  
from the palette  
as you revel in  
this secret world  
of unspoiled vision  
and immortal promise  

1993  
                For  a special friend who was a special person.   When   
                told me she had terminal cancer,  I wrote this poem for   
                her and gave it to her before her death.  

Birth 

I have seen the caul 
like honey glazed 
contain and bathe 
in sweet succor, 
kept watch as 
mother's wombs 
tear in pain to 
bear their child 
and then 
as if my first, 
stood aside and 
cried with awe at 
the birth, 
that quiescent harbor 
where life sings 
psalmic verses 
of calms and storms 
rains and draughts 
sun lights and dark nights, 
agendas to live on  forever. 

1993 
This states best as I can the overwhelming emotion I feel,  day by day as  I attend births. 

Cameron

I no longer see the stars; I am the stars.
I no longer breathe the wind; I am the wind.

I am the sweet smell of honeysuckle after an Evening rain.
I am the dew on the rose petals in early Morning.
I am harmony and I am peace.

I am love.

In sorrow, my mother and father cry,
But they need not fear. For I am strong.
My heart is whole and in union with my soul.
I understand my fate and I smile.
For nature's will is my destiny             
And my guide through eternity.
                            

1990

                After years of infertility, Cameron  was born           
                only to die soon after birth of congenital heart
                disease.   Unlike most forms of congenital heart
                disease, Cameron's was inoperable and fatal.  His
                courageous parents were with him every moment of
                his short but love- filled life.

Obstare

 

I have stood here before

When birth deceived and

Surrendered to my hands

The very spirit and soul of humanity;

The essence of life, save life itself .

And I have touched before

The angle hair and silken skin;

A child lay bare, still and silent

In these outstretched hands

As my will cried out

To scream a breath of life

Into his pale lips

Now frozen in the mist

Of endless dreams.

Yet today I smile

As I have smiled before,

For from such drear

Comes a voice ;

A voice, so serene

That it transforms

The searing pain felt in

Our hearts into song;

Melting stones of sorrow

Into liquors of love,

Forever a memory

of our dear Child.

 

 

February 26, 1998

For Lamar

Startled and fascinated

by the beauty and fragility 

of your wings,

I watch as you move 

so gently

so quietly 

almost unexpectedly 

through my world 

And then I watch as you move on, 

fluttering softly into the distance. 

Pleading silently, I beg you, 

please ... don't go. 

I haven't yet had the time 

to memorize 

to remember 

to understand 

the uniqueness of the beauty that is yours. 

I know I cannot hold you for long, 

capturing you for my world. 

But, rest gently with me 

if only for a moment. 

That I may treasure the memory

and the beauty of the gift that you are. 

Julia Halo

Secret Wonders

For Elizabeth

Elizabeth was born still on Ocotber 28, 1999.  The cause was a constriction of her umbilical cord.  Following is a poem I wrote for Elizabeth and her parents and read at her funeral service.

 

Born silent, born still,

With the beauty of an angel,

Elizabeth passed from my waiting hands,

Into the hearts of her parents.

First breath, last breath,

Breathed within

A body full of love;

Youthful, hopeful, anticipating.

Now a body full of sorrow.

Elizabeth…a mother’s child,

Embraced by three mothers,

Gave tiny footprints, inked mementos of

What might have been.

Yet as with life itself, we are

Guided by fleeting moments of

Sweetness remembered

And promises dreamed.

The veil of death’s darkness

Will disappear like melting snows

In springtime.

Mercifully, prayers will turn

Cries into song,

Loneliness will fade.

Life will move on.

Elizabeth has touched us all.

But her death will not harm us,

For she has summoned the secret wonders

Of what means love.

And we have now become her children.

My Pretty Little Girl

Since your birth twelve years ago
There has never been a day when I haven’t thought of you
I have hurt every day for the loss of you
And still I cannot let you go
I want to have you back in my arms
There are so many things I have wanted to share with you
teach you, laugh or cry about with you
Sadly I have lived through these years still grieving
I ache so much to have lost you
I was so happy and proud to have brought you into the world
Then I had to let you go
I thought I would die the pain was so raw and deep
It always seems like yesterday to me
Even now I can feel you in my arms
That small, beautiful girl I longed to bring home to love
My love is always yours, Today, Tomorrow, Forever

Sheryl McMahon

 

---

A Brief Story of Hope

 

Through all the pain I have experienced, there is always been hope. I never really gave up hoping that there would be more joy in my life, though at times I struggled to believe I would ever feel the joy again of holding
another child of my own in my arms. The grief process is ongoing and there will never be an end to the pain I feel from losing my children. I still ache and cry regularly for my daughter and have found it very difficult to
accept her death, even after 13 years. 

How precious and fragile life is. Something I’ve come to appreciate much more since my son arrived into the world. I hold him close and shed a tear sometimes for what might have been with my daughter and my baby I miscarried.   If not for them, I wouldn’t have this lively, energetic, happy, bouncing baby boy. What greater gift could I wish for. I am grateful that I had the chance to try again and that feeling I had when my son was lifted aloft
by my pyhsician, in the first seconds of his life outside of the womb, cannot be compared to any other feeling I have had before or will have again.   Through my contact with the bereavement services, I am healing better than in the past. I was never offered any form of counselling back in 1985 and so a lot of what I felt back then, came back
in my recent pregnancy.   I have made several new contacts and am touched by the way others want to share their experiences with me and the way they let me share my babies with them. I’ve cried many a tear for
others in their sorrow and now I want to give something back to them.

Amaurot

"All we know
  Of what they do above,
  Is that they happy are,
  and that they love."
           Edmund Waller

If I could wish myself a dream,
It would be to retreat for a lifetime and hide
From a  world of unjust suffering
Where mankind's afflictions and pains reside.
I'd labor to quarry limestone and granite
To fashion for my very own
A sanctuary to spend infinite years;
Eternity would now be my home.
I'd cultivate gardens of forsythia and violets,
Plant olive trees and harvest grains;
Grow apple orchards and  grape vineyards,
From their full bounty would I be sustained.
Of lyres and harps there'd come splendid music,
Beautiful children would dance and be gay.
Sadness and crying would never bear witness,
Illness and sorrow would remain far away.
You'd be the first to visit my home,
Sweet child whose  earthly life has been taken.
For here you would live and love and be blessed,
With God at your side, your eternal beacon.

1993

                Amaurot is the fictional capital of Utopia.  I wrote this
                poem in memory of a child  born with a most             
                devastating birth defect and died shortly after birth.  I
                dedicate this poem to all children who have died.

 

---

 

Divus  

I loved  
the quiet time I spent  
when every heart beat  
you had sent  
to my flesh  
and to my skin  
flowed forth to bring  
me peace within  
your silent womb,  
...I loved the silent time.  

And even as  
my tiny heart  
labored at death's call  
before my start  
at birth and life,  
and as I ailed,  
soon no longer  
to inhale  
or feel your pulse to mine,  
...I loved the quiet time.  

My body now  
apart from yours,  
still lives, yet not  
upon your shores,  
and suffers not  
nor is in pain  
for within  
its new domain  
I  can love the quiet time.  
...I loved the quiet time.  

1994  

Divus  is the Latin expression for a Godlike, blessed memory.  This poem was written for and given to a patient whom I had not met- until she came into labor and was found to have fetal demise.   

 

---

Concluding Story

It has been twenty-four years now and I've grown strong as a person and a women.  I have found out where my son is buried.  With the love and support of a lot of wonderful generous people I have had a memorial stone put in place of his burial and the burial of all the babies that never had a chance at life, maybe even those twins the nurse told me about.  This memorial can serve for all children, not just there, but the abused, forgotten children all over the world that need to be validated as worthwhile human beings. I have come full circle and I feel joy, not sorrow, at the site of this beautiful place where he rests.  It is a place to come and celebrate his coming into the world and leaving so quickly.   It reminds me daily that I will see him again when my time comes and I can tell him then, what I know he feels from my heart today, face to face that I loved him then and I love him now.

The grief I felt at the moment was beyond words.  I sobbed until my heart could cry no more.  For years I carried this saddness deep inside

CONCLUSION

Parenthood Lost
Healing the Pain after Miscarriage, Stillbirth, and Infant Death
Written and Edited by Michael R. Berman, M.D.
Foreword by Sherwin B. Nuland
Bergin & Garvey Trade. Westport, Conn. 2000. 272 pages
LC 00-029257. ISBN 0-89789-614-9. H614 $24.95