Suicide is a complicated subject, and one I think best explored by listening to those who have been there. This Suicide Awareness and Prevention month, I hope you will take the time to read, listen, and absorb.
Miranda’s Blog 2021
I think back to the times I heard the common saying, “Babies come when they’re ready.”
I was educated and I felt informed, and somehow this statement slipped through my radar, but it’s not true.
10% of all babies are born prematurely. And worse than that, 0.6% are born dead. MY son was born dead.
I was only 35 and I was sucked in by wanting everything to be natural, and you made me feel like I could trust you. You failed me, though. You allowed my child to die.
Here’s to the ‘tog who understands—She may be a mother, Or “just” a friend. She puts on the camera, and doesn’t ask questions. She knows all the symbols, and she respects them…Thank you to every photographer who understands the value of symbols of our lost children. You are appreciated.
It was important that I have a personal connection with the sperm donor; that I meet him & get to know him; that he knows me. I wasn’t looking for a romantic partner, but I was looking for someone I could trust and respect, someone to meet my children without being “Dad”. I got that & so much more.
There’s an elephant in the room, and it is more than the fact that stillbirth exists. It’s the fact that pregnant patients, even today, aren’t being given the proper prenatal education to understand and make the most informed choices in their care. This needs to change.
These are MY words. These are MY innermost thoughts and feelings. These are things I poured my soul into creating. These are things I create in honor of my deceased son, Adrian. And if you can’t respect me, then please respect him. This all came out of my love for him.
It’s so much more than high blood pressure; What I wish I’d known about Preeclampsia before it killed my child
Risk factors, symptoms, diagnostic criteria, and potential impacts of one of the most common ailments in pregnancy is critical information. It’s information that could have prevented the death of my child. It’s information that prepares a preeclampsia survivor like me for potential impacts yet to come. It’s necessary information we all have a right to know.
I am the mother whose body swelled with pregnancy.
I am the mother who dreamed and wanted and planned.
I am the mother who left my heart in a small and curtained alcove room.
I am the mother who screamed and cried and begged.
This past year has been opening,
The year I “woke” to life and everything;
The year I grew as a writer and a person,
And it still all comes down to him—
Someone looked at this website the other day and commented that, if you didn’t know better, you wouldn’t know I was in the military. I never intended to keep this a “secret.” Mainly separate. But how much can you separate of your core identities?
I remember what I wore to his funeral, primarily because I was only 11 days postpartum. Instead of wearing maternity clothing like I had planned in those early days, I had to go shopping and find something that didn’t make me look pregnant; that didn’t emphasize the curves of my body; the swelling that remained. A genuinely surreal experience.
The death of my child is an event that lives with me; his absence is palpable; his presence is missing. And this is when I truly began to understand this monster called grief. You ask how one gets past losing a baby, and my answer is still—no. You don’t.
I came across this pregnancy test, and I looked at it again. And I realized, despite so many VIVID memories, the line on the test was PINK, and not blue. What else am I misremembering? What else is lost to the imperfection of the human mind?
For the most part, I love Daniel Tiger. It’s a cute show with some deeper elements, and some generally great life lessons. There are two areas, though, in which the show gets it wrong, and unfortunately these are big ones for me.
I think if we believe in fate, it can cause us to look at events in a symbolic light, and maybe take things a little more hard when they go wrong. Or maybe try to find meaning in the random tragedies of life. Was Adrian *meant* to die? I can’t believe this. It makes fate sound quite cruel.