Olivia Catherine Smith
November 5, 2001- February 8, 2002
It should be said that I love my daughter very much, even though I had an abortion with her. I am learning that it is okay to let her go; that it doesn't mean that I love her any less than I did six years ago. For many years now I thought that if I felt anything but pain and grief, I would be failing her again. I now understand that I can remember her without feeling utter grief and torment. I can honor her memory by being a better person; I can (and will) tell my future children about their big sister Olivia. I will never stop loving her, but I am giving myself permission to let go of the negative energy that I have been hording all of these years. I did what was best at that time in my life. I did it BECAUSE I loved her, and wanted better for her than I could do with that situation--with that unstable life. She will never come back to me, and for the first time since 2002, I am at peace with that.
I am not religious by any stretch of the imagination, but her life means something, as brief as it was. I don't know exactly what it means- I think that it is capable of changing yearly, monthly, daily, hourly. But trust me, her life means more than anyone will ever know.
At any rate, I am marked- forever changed, because she is my daughter. Because of what I did to her, and to myself.
No matter what anyone thinks, I love her still, and always.
I am Olivia's mommy.
The tears I feel today
I'll wait to shed tomorrow.
Though I'll not sleep this night,
Nor find surcease from sorrow.
My eyes must keep their sight:
I dare not be tear-blinded.
I must be free to talk,
Not choked with grief, clear-minded.
My mouth cannot betray,
The anguish that I know.
Yes I'll keep my tears for later,
But my grief will never go.
Anne McCaffery, Menolly's "Song for Petiron"
Nathan and I lost our baby early Friday morning.
I know you are all wondering what happened, how, why...some of those I am wondering too.
My feelings right now? I feel unbearably empty. Where there was life inside me, there is no more. I can't feel her kicks, rolls and pokes anymore...I can't look forward to her waking me up when I'm sleeping or remembering she is there when I'm feeling lonely. I can no longer lay in bed with Nathan and watch him talk to my belly, rub it and give it kisses. I can't hear him say "I love you" to her anymore, I can't feel him poke at my belly and then feel her reaction to his touch. I can't dream with Nathan about what she will do anymore, we can't talk about where we will take her, what her temperment will be like, what her favorite activities might be. We can't talk about what we will teach her. I feel drained of all my energy, my life force and my spirit. A huge part of me has died with her. The whole time I was in the hospital recovering...I had an intense urge to have her in my arms, on my chest, to feed her, to be with her.
Now, when I am alone, I am COMPLETELY alone.
The picture above is us in the hospital after I delivered November 2nd. Hell is holding your tiny deceased child in your arms that you have just given birth to, knowing they were alive just moments before. She passed away during the spontaneous and extremely unexpected pre-term delivery. It happened in about an hour and was over, she was gone. It was like the ER in movies..there were doctors and nurses everywhere..surrounding me, bright spot-lights in my eyes, doctors were calling other units on the phones, confused and trying to assess the situation. I was lying there on that bed in what is to this day, the worst pain I have ever experienced. Writhing and screaming because it hurt and I wanted to push but was being told not to so the doctor could find the fetal heartbeat on the ultrasound machine. He looked at me and said "I can't find the heartbeat"..."What!?, oh GOD!" I said yelling in agony, my heart might as well have stopped right there at moment as well. It feels like it did anyway...
I have never felt sorrow like this, THIS IS my worst nightmare.
I remember seeing the infant warmer they rolled into the room when they thought that my child might live, I kept staring at it the whole time...wishing they could have used it. I wished to see her lying there...my tiny bean living. I wished to hear her cry, to see her little bean eyes open. Were they blue, brown ? I will never know.
All I wanted to do was hold my living child and take her home after being in the hospital, she was 13 inches long and weighed 1 pound, she mostly resembled Nathan, their ears were identical as were their bone structures, Nathan thinks she had my lips. I see her every time I look at Nathan, which makes my heart smile for a split second because I can "see" her again in a way. She was formed so perfect. We MISS our daughter. We opted to keep the clothes that the hospital put her in, a tiny flower printed dress, matching bonnet and cute pink blanket. Everywhere I go, I take the bonnet along.
Now, I think I can say....that I will never be whole again.
Goodbye my baby, goodbye my sweet bean...ANNILIESE WARTKEConcieved 5/07 - 11/2/07
- Feeling:Severely depressed
Ok, good. You can look in the mirror without bursting into tears. Now all you have to do is put your fat pants on and try not to think about what is about to happen to you. Maybe you can do this. You lied to your husband, and now he’s on his way to work, which is good because if you had to look at him you might just lose your mind completely. Its far easier to lie to yourself, and your mother has insisted to come and be supportive. You don’t want anybody to be supportive. You want to crawl into a hole and die. You want to do anything other than check into a hospital and have a doctor smile at you. How can they smile on the worst day of your life? You wonder this as you pull a dirty sweater over your head. You should be wearing a bra, but what’s the point? So you straighten your sweater, then you hug your stomach. Stop crying. Stop crying, Goddamn you.
Look at yourself in the mirror. He’s never coming back.
That was me. Three years, seven months, eighteen days, and twelve hours ago.
Last night, I threw his toys away. No, I didn't. I actually gave them to a little boy who lives in my building. He hugged them intensely, and said, "Oh my goodness!" I walked away, and I didn't cry. Just like that.
The world did not end.
I feel like I abandonded him. I know I shouldn't, but I do. I wanted to tell this neighbor to take care of what was left. I wanted to make sure that he didn't take them into the bath, wipe his nose on it, or any of the other things that normal children do. I didn't, because he is two. These shrines are just toys to him.
Nothing I ever do in my life will matter half as much as his did to me. Now I cut him out in memory and turn him into starlight, hoping to one day see hope the way I used to.
Tomorrow, I see the doctor, and there is a very real chance I have cancer. I hope I do, and I hope that they give me a hysterectomy. The fact that this is how I really, actually feel makes me ashamed.
I never want to feel the way I have felt about Dante ever again. I am willing to trade every good chance about motherhood for the security of that.
I haven't told anyone yet, but I so very scared about tomorrow. It makes me feel like I have wasted my life making nothing but mistakes, and I feel very alone.
I wanted to take a minute to tell you about a fund raiser that is very dear to my heart. My sister and I have neighbors who have lost just about everything following their son’s serious battle with meningitis. In an effort to keep him healthy, they sacrificed their money, and as a result lost power and water to their home. The whole family is in essence camping – hoping to get back on top of the tremendous debt. Worse still, their three boys will be preparing to start school this month. We have decided to make an anonymous gift to this family through a fund raiser. You can help by purchasing the very same Avon products you trust and love. All my commission will be donated totally 50% of the sale will go to restoring electricity and water, paying one months rent, supplying groceries, and getting some much needed school supplies for this family. If ever there was a time you could do something wonderful, this was it. All you need to do is order any products on the included fund raiser mini sheet, and drop them with payment with either me or my sister. All orders will receive a tax exempt receipt for tax filing purposes, and I will ship anywhere! Donations are also welcomed. In addition, as personal thanks, I will be adding everyone’s name to a drawing for a specially made Basket of Beauty worth over $150! Any orders can be made 24 hours a day by phone 706.987.5723 or by e-mail firstname.lastname@example.org.
With your help, we can change the lives of five wonderful people. Thanks so much for your time!
The four full color Order form are available for download here:http://www.sendspace.com/file/tf45p3http://www.sendspace.com/file/u85byqhttp://www.sendspace.com/file/018ueyhttp://www.sendspace.com/file/6hwz32
Anyone who might like to make a donation can via paypal to 'email@example.com'
"Why I provide abortions"
One Doctor's story...
"Oh God, doctor," she said quietly, "I was hoping it was cancer."
That mother's anguished whisper eventually became a shriek of despair and hopelessness that has reverberated in my heart and mind and soul for over thirty years. Before that moment, forever seared like a brand on my memory, I would have described myself as "Pro-Life" had I then known this political term .
Over the next few years, I was exposed to real life as it is lived by millions of people who don't have the sanctification granted in America to those who are white, male, well educated, well gene-ed, well nurtured, well advantaged. I learned that what this woman knew was a personal tragedy for herself and her family, was only one face in a multifaceted problem confronting thousands of girls and women every day.
Why do I provide abortions?
Here is the short answer.
Like multitudes before me and, I trust, multitudes to come, I eventually heard (Try as I might to avoid hearing it!) in that mother's grief-filled declaration, "Oh God, Doctor, I was hoping it was cancer", a still, small voice asking, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?" to which I was at last compelled to reply, "here am I, send me."
Her name is Olivia Catherine Smith.
She was conceived on November 5, 2001.
I aborted her on February 8, 2002.
I was 19 when I got pregnant, and living in a nasty little two bedroom apartment in the seedier side of town. Finances were tight, I was not with her father at all, and I already loved her more than anything else in my life. I knew that she deserved more than I could give her at that point- a messed up, tired and broke version of a mother, and I did the only thing that I could think of. I drove to Atlanta and had an abortion.
I have had people ask me why I did not put her up for adoption; I really don't know. Perhaps my grief would not be as strong, perhaps it would be stronger.
I have never forgotten her, and I have never gotten over it. I don't deserve to. She would have turned 4 in late July of 2006, and the absolute pain and devestation I feel is just as fresh and raw as it was way back in 2002. There has never been a day, an hour, that I don't feel a pronounced sense of loss.. yet I don't talk about it, because very few people understand why *I* feel anything like that. They don't know that I did it not because I hated her, but because I loved her so much that I refused to bring her into a world that I KNEW would be bad for her.
I've tried to have children after Olivia. I have been pregnant, and lost the babies. The irony is not lost on me, however. Maybe I am being punished for Olivia. If so, I have no one to blame but myself.
My name is Andrea. I'm living in Berlin. I'm German, 40 years old.
When I was a teenager I was a drug addict, always high on whatever was available.
When I was 17 I got pregnant. I was still together with the possible father, but I didn't love him, we were comrades in drugs, but not much more. But we decided (if you can call that a decision) to get the child - no, the truth is, we decided to do nothing, probably in hope that if we ignore it, reality will ignore us...( I was already in the 18th weekCollapse )
So here is some literature that helped me. If it moves you, join.
Since we have been abroad we have missed you all so much. Certain events have compelled us to extend our travels. One day, where you're older, you will learn all about the people we've befriended, and the dangers we have faced. At times the world can seem an unfriendly and sinister place, but believe us when we say there is much more good in it than bad. All you have to do is look hard enough. And what might seem to be a series of unfortunate events, may, in-fact be the first steps of a journey. We hope to have you back in our arms soon darlings, but in case this letter arrives before our return, know that we love you. It fills us with pride to know that no matter what happens in this life, that you three will take care of each other with kindness, and bravery, and selflessness as you always have. And remember one thing my darlings and never forget it - that no matter where we are, know that as long as you have each other, you have your family, and you are home.
Your loving parents.
Dear reader, there are people in the world who know no misery and woe. And they take comfort in cheerful films about twittering birds and giggling elves. There are people who know that there's always a mystery to be solved. And they take comfort in researching and writing down any important evidence. But this story is not about such people. This story is about the Baudelaires. And they are the sort of people who know that there's always something. Something to invent, something to read, something to bite, and something to do, to make a sanctuary, no matter how small. And for this reason, I am happy to say, the Baudelaires were very fortunate indeed.
-from: Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events
Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. there are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You'll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.
Except when they don't.
Because, sometimes, they won't.
I'm afraid that some times
you'll play lonely games too.
Games you can't win
'cause you'll play against you.
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you'll be quite a lot.
And when you're alone, there's a very good chance
you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won't want to go on.
But on you will go
though the weather be foul
On you will go
though your enemies prowl
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.
On and on you will hike
and I know you'll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.
from: Oh, the Places You'll Go! by Dr. Seuss
Part of what sets this community apart from others is the list of resources we provide for the members in the sidebar at left. Any resources that you would like to contribute to the list of links inthe sidebar at left are welcome. You submit a link by posting the link addess (URL) in a comment to this post.
Welcome to motherswithout
. I would like to begin this by explaining how this community came to be and what it is meant to represent.The Community
This is a place for anyone struggling with grief concerning the loss of a child, be that as a result of miscarriage, abortion, stillbirth, SIDS, &/or the death of a preteen/adolescent/adult child. This is a place to tell your stories and share your stories/thoughts/feelings/opinions and to seek or lend support. It all began when I posted a comment in another community that for those of us mothers who have lost a child, we may be mothers without - but we are mothers just the same. I received a great deal of feedback from this, most of which came in the form of gratitude for validating what so many feel and have never had a voice for. It occurred to me that there were scores of us, and getting unified might make us feel less alone and isolated in our collective grief.Community Guidelines
The truth is that we only grieve for ourselves - for our individual losses - and that grief is our own. It isolates us and makes us feel as though no one else 'gets it'. This community is not meant to be a place where a member's grief is appropriated by someone else, or where someone tries to take our grief away. The purpose is so that you can have a safe place to tell your story and get it out without someone else presuming they understand or know how you feel. There is a fine line between empathy and presumption.
This community was created on January 17, 2006 by myself, lolasenvy. It is maintained and moderated by myself and jesus_h_biscuit.
- Posting by members is not limited to things that are listed in the interests on the profile page - post whatever you feel. We ask that you make the your posts relevant to the spirit of this community, and tread lightly when dealing with other members' feelings - not everyone mourns the same way.
- Exercise care and respect among your fellow community members, as inflammatory treatment WILL result in you being banned. This not negotiable.
- The point is to write about it and get it out - if you feel like writing 10 pages worth, write 20. Do not feel bad if you don't feel better automatically, it is a process that takes time. This is simply a vehicle for that catharsis.
- ONLY constructive &/or positive comments are allowed to a member's post. Any negative or damaging comments will be deleted and the offending member banned.
- Please give a subject title for all posts, and tag your entries appropriately so that they may be indexed by other members at a later time. This is so that other members can more easily find a post that truly resonates with them, rather than having such a precious thing swallowed by the internet. For information on tagging your posts, click here. To see this community's list of tags, click here. Tags for all community posts are always located in the last section of the sidebar on the left of this page as well.
- Feel free to write as much as you like, however anything longer than a paragraph should be placed underneath a cut. This prevents the page from becoming clogged with text. To do this properly, you will need to place the following code on a line just below your first paragraph of text:
<lj-cut>Here's what will appear in your post as a link to the remainder of your entry:
( Read more...Collapse )To replace "Read more" with your own text, use the following code:
<lj-cut text="YOUR TEXT HERE">
- Any resources that you would like to contribute to the list of links in the sidebar at left are welcome. You submit a link by posting the link addess (URL) here.
Because grief has no time table.
Because you need to get it out.
Because you are not alone.
- a community for anyone struggling with grief concerning the loss of a child -
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