#3: The Song for Baby Birch

In the first few weeks after the loss my sister told me about this song by Joanna Newsom.

I'd like to point out that before this, I was never a fan of her music. I remember arguing with my sister about how I didn't like her voice (she said that I wasn't on a deep enough level to "get it"). However, I did always like the Sprout and the Bean...

And then she introduced me to this song. It is the most incredibly poignant tribute I have found. The first time I heard this was the first time I knew in my heart that I wasn't alone in this experience. 
From what I know, she lost a baby well into her pregnancy due to a car accident. While the circumstances are different from mine, it seems her loss was painfully similar.

Watching her perform this live is unnerving as well as comforting to me. As she sings the words, her facial expressions speak so much that the lyrics almost become unnecessary.

 There is no way any woman could write this song without knowing the pain that I have known. And I love her to death for having the courage and talent to create this, never mind perform it live.

Her way of telling the story is so clear and heartfelt. If anyone has any trouble understanding this kind of loss, Baby Birch will probably help you get an idea:

This is the song for Baby Birch
Oh I will never know you
And at the back of what we've done
There is the knowledge of you

Well I wish we could take every path
I could spend a hundred years adoring you
Yes, I wish we could take every path
Because I hated to close the door on you

Do you remember staring up at the stars
So far away in their bulletproof cars
When we heard the rushing, slow intake
Of the dark, dark water, and the engine breaks

And I said
How about them engine breaks
And, if I should die before I wake
Will you keep an eye on Baby Birch
Because I'd hate to see her make the same mistakes

When it was dark
I called and you came
When it was dark
I saw shapes
When I see stars
I feel, in your hand
And I see stars
And I reel, again

Well mercy me, I'll be goddamned
It's been a long, long time
Since I last saw you

And I have never known the plan
It's been a long, long time
How are you

Your eyes are green
Your hair is gold
Your hair is black
Your eyes are blue

I closed the ranks, and I doubled back
But, you know, I hated to close the dog-gone door on you

We take a walk along the dirty lake
Hear the goose cussing at me over her eggs
You poor little cousin, I don't want your dregs
A little baby fussing all over my legs

There is a blacksmith
And there is a shepherd
And there is a butcher boy
And there is a barber, who's cutting
And cutting away at my only joy
I saw a rabbit
As slick as a knife
And as pale as a candlestick
And I had thought it'd be harder to do
But I caught her, and skinned her quick
Held her there
Kicking and mewling
Upending, unspooling, unsung and blue
Told her "wherever you go
Little runaway bunny
I will find you"
And then she ran
As they're liable to do

Be at peace, baby
And be gone
Be at peace, baby
And be gone  

#2: The Meaning of "Strong"

 Luca's bonnet, urn, memory ring and photo book.

One thing that I've noticed time and time again is how many people are speaking of my strength through the loss of Luca. First of all I want to say that I fully appreciate these words. It makes me think, maybe I am strong...am I doing better than another woman would in this situation? But the problem is, I really don't think I am, not in the least. In fact I have never felt so weak or fragile in my life.

 I am simply working through the motions the best I can. Some days are better than others, but that can quickly be followed up with a day worse than the past few. I can't do any more than that. I feel that any woman in this position can only be dragged with the current in the same way. None of us are any stronger or weaker than the other. There is absolutely no nobility or cowardliness in any of this.

Because I can write about it does not mean that I am any stronger than a woman in the same position that couldn't fathom the thought. Each of us has our own way of working through things. We are at the mercy of time and the fleeting presence or absence of hope. All in the same boat, but with different sets of tools.

I have thought about this for weeks and have come up with one comparison that makes sense to me.

Picture yourself riding a bike. You are suddenly hit by a car. Pinned under that car, you are being dragged for dozens and dozens of meters...and from the sidewalk you hear someone yell, "YOU'RE DOING GREAT! YOU ARE SO STRONG!!!"

 

 Basically, you're at a loss...it's not that you don't appreciate the sentiment. But you just don't get it. At all.

There are so many things I had hoped to be strong enough to do by now. I bought a proper urn for her ashes and yet, have not been strong enough to open up the original box again and transfer them over. I can't even picture throwing out the little green box that the funeral home gave her back to us in. It's nearly unfathomable to me. Because she was so small, it's a tiny amount of ashes. I'm terrified to lose even a single particle, and can not touch it.

Another part of being "strong" is facing the other, more lucky women around you.

I have four friends in my life right now who are pregnant. Some of them with due dates painfully close to what should have been Luca's. I will be completely honest...watching them go through their journey while mine was cut short is very painful. I see the gender reveal parties, the baby showers...I see how my belly would have looked if she were still with me. I feel robbed of all that joy, and moreover I can't help but wonder, "Why only me? Why me..?."

But the merciless bottom line is that being jealous will not change any of this. 

More importantly, the love that I lost was my own daughter...not their children. And I would never wish such a tragedy on my own worst enemy, never mind my own friend. So while it does hurt in the sense that it reminds me of my own loss, I am sincerely happy for those more fortunate than I have been. It is my greatest hope to give their babies playmates someday, to be a fellow Mom. And I know in my heart when I am able to join their ranks, they will be very, very happy for me.