My pain is mutating. It has been just over three months since Silas was born and passed away, and my new life is slowly coming into focus. Day-to-day existence has become more bearable, but an unshakable melancholy has settled into my soul.
I feel an ache I cannot shake, but I do not try too hard. That empty, painful place where Silas should be is all I have of him. I suppose the goal is to fill that emptiness with love and goodness somehow, someday, but that time is far off. For now I have to have that void tucked away into core of my being.
It just occurred to me that what I am feeling is essentially the complete and total opposite of being pregnant. First off, I’m a man so pregnancy isn’t an option. Second, there is no baby growing, no new being about to appear that I am waiting for. I’m dismantling expectations and hopes instead of building them.
The event has occurred. Silas was denied to us. He cannot receive our kisses and cuddles and love, not here, not in that physical, satisfying way. We love him, of course, but expressing it is extremely difficult and confusing. To have our love for him completely wrapped and suffused by pain is terrible.
But now we do Terrible every day as a matter of course. I need Terrible. Terrible is where he is, what our love must go through in order to reach his sweet little face. Terrible, terrible, terrible. It’s like edible horror. It’s terror you can feel inside you, a new layer that quivers and oozes between organs and skin.
But don’t worry! I’m getting accustomed to it now and someday I intend to turn that Terrible into something useful. I’m not sure what or how, but just knowing that this sensation exists, that other people can feel this way inside their own bodies and minds, that has to help me eventually. For now I just try to bear it and I’m getting damn fucking good at it.
Some things are easy to do now. I have no trouble demolishing a pint of ice cream. If I could find a way to keep the container steady I would have a spoon in either hand. It is also very simple to lay in bed wide awake with my eyes closed and my mind whirling as the gray winter light fills the room. This past weekend up in New Hampshire I found pleasure and serenity in the necessary task of cooking a meal. It was steak and lobsters for New Year’s Eve and it tasted just as good as it sounds.
I’m glad the New Year is here. I know it is essentially just an arbitrary date that has no real bearing on our healing and our grief but it still feels good. And I’ll take any good I can find anywhere, anyhow.
Lu’s arms around me is good. Our tattoos are good in a terrible sorta way that fits perfectly. Family is good. Friends that call and write and stop by to bother us with love are good. Somehow, some way we are still going to make our lives good.
And years from now, when we look back on this time in our life I have a feeling something else will appear that is good. 2008 will be good for us because for nine of those months, Silas was in our lives. It was the only time we had with him and so we must hold those moments close in our hearts and let our love flow out to him and feel the Terrible melt away,
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January 2, 2009 at 9:23 pm
tash
Someone once told me that during pregnancy, a husband tends to run about three months behind the woman. Her point was, that if there was a miscarriage, the husband would suddenly get it three months later. I kinda found the same to be true for losing a baby, but I think for slightly different reasons: I think as Lu gains her feet, you’ll feel more comfortable letting your feet slide for a bit and allowing your grief to surface. I think for this reason, sadly, a lot of outsiders thought my husband was “ok” and suddenly 3-6 months out, he got “worse.” I felt “better,” and thus I think it gave him some space to finally feel what he needed to.
I also found turning Terrible into Good was a tall order (at least for me). I like to think about integrating the Terrible, learning to live with the terrible, and stopping Terrible from bleeding into other parts of my life — parts that should be good.
January 2, 2009 at 10:56 pm
Bon
i’m not sure that i’ve ever yet managed to turn Terrible into Good…though i’d sometimes i think i have and that the problem is that we tend to define the Good as that which transcends the personal. and even closing in on four years out, the death of my child and all his many lessons and ramifications in my life…they’re personal. so sometimes i think i’ve failed in not starting some fine charity or whatnot. right now, though, i realize that all those little changes – some of them scars, many of them, with the distance of time, enhancements of my humanity, my empathy – are the legacy i end up with, they’re what i have left of him.
because you’re right, the void will go, eventually. the love probably won’t, but the immediacy of it, for me at least, faded with the pain and caused a whole new pain, a guilty ache where i desperately wanted to keep what shreds i had of him. and then, i just let go. and the love is still there, i found, eventually. but i had to be patient, quiet, just to recognize it without its bright glittering coat of agony.
but when i think back to 2005, now, early 2005, i don’t feel the emptiness of after but the time i had with him, the days when he kicked and the moments i held him. and that is all, in the long run, that matters.
January 2, 2009 at 11:27 pm
Lacy
Chris:
I have been lurking on your blog for many months now and it always brings me to tears. Mostly because of your loss- for which I am so, so sorry-and the exquisite beauty of your writing; but also because of the eery inverse of my own experience. Almost a year to the day before Silas was born, I gave birth to a boy at Yale-New Haven. I too resisted and resented the medical interference; but because of my risk category, eventually succumbed to induction and subsequent c-section (after my doctors threatened to suspend my care in the hospital). My son also refused to come out and was therefore surgically removed barely breathing.
I don’t regret all that now since he is healthy; but what kills me when I read your blog is the dearth of emotion, love, and gratitude his father has (and has always had) for him- particularly compared to you. I won’t usurp your blog with the details- Antigone’s story is a fair comparison- and we are no longer together because of this. But not a day passes that I just don’t understand WHY or HOW he can exist every day ignoring this vibrant
and beautiful child.
I know I can’t compare my sadness to yours. I have now relocated to the New London area to live with my parents and often drive your tearful commute on I-95 as you have vividly described it. I have even looked for you at weekend farmer’s markets to give you a hug. It boggles my mind that you would kill for what this callous monster could care less about. And one day I will have to answer to my son about this and have no idea what I will say. I love him beyond words, but feel I have failed him from the start.
I know I should have a blog to deal with these emotions, but we are in court and it could be subpeoned. You and Lu are without a doubt the best parents Silas and your future children could ever have. As strange as it sounds, I truly envy what you have and wish my child had a father with a fraction of the love you have for Silas.
I wish you both all the best and know it will come to be,
Lacy
January 3, 2009 at 12:30 am
mom
terrible is with us all ….but so is wonderful and possible and hopeful and joyful…..they are waiting in the wings to surround terrible and make it not so bad….
we welcome the new year as one of possibilities…..michael and i went to a party where many of our friends joined us in pushing 2008 out of existence…..at 12oclock we hugged and kissed the many people who were there celebrating with us…..each and every one held us just a little tighter in their arms and whispered to us their hope for an especially happy new year…..we now send that out to you and lani…..the love of friends and family who only want the best for you each and every day in your lives…..terrible will always be there ….as a shadow….as a reminder ….but terrible will someday have to find a place to stay that is not right before our eyes……i am hoping that day comes soon…..and with that comes the knowledge that silas….our beautiful little baby will ALWAYS be with us …..and we will hold him in our hearts through every new year that comes….
terrible….be gone!
January 3, 2009 at 1:29 am
Sally
That whole “learning a new normal” is really making a lot of sense to me these days. It is not essentially getting easier, but the edges aren’t quite as sharp anymore. And I think I’ll be able to look back on 2008 and smile. The year she was here. The year she lived and grew and felt our love. What a bittersweet year.
Holding you guys close as we march on in to 2009.
January 3, 2009 at 12:00 pm
Ezra's Mommy
Integrating the Terrible (I call it the Miserable) into our new lives is something that came a couple months in for me…initially the urge to fight it was so strong, to somehow take away the pain that now blanketed our every moment. When I realized that it wasn’t conquerable, that the pain was here to stay, I began to be able to exist and function a bit better in the world (that is if functioning at minimum capacity can be considered functioning, but it was definitely a step forward). So some days the Miserable still takes over and I call in sick and cry all day, other days its more balanced and still other days somewhat in the background. Always there though.
I have been so ambivalent about passing into the new year, but in the end, I agree with you…as much as 2008 brought great joy, the depths of sadness are so intense, so great, that having some new space to move around in helps bring me just a little hope…
January 5, 2009 at 2:43 pm
Ezra's Daddy
So true, so painfully true… You’re not alone in your journey with Terrible, or melancholy, or what I call the “bad humours.”. I think it is better to embrace it and deal with it rather than to deny it exists and feel more, well, Terrible. It has been four months for us since Ezra died, the most dreadful four months in my entire 40 years, and the most dreadful I likely will ever have. But there are spaces where I seek respite from Terrible, or at least keep it beneath the surface for awhile. Terrible’s spirit dutifully returns, everyday, but Ezra’s spirit is still here too, and I bet he’s been having great conversations with Silus.
January 6, 2009 at 4:15 pm
acorn
Sorrow in our eyes
Familiar soles from far lands
Greet you with wide arms