the club

A few weeks ago, I was called to a shoot at the local hospital. I arrived while the mamma was still in surgery recovery, still groggy from the anesthesia of her c-section.

I've had many shoots of babies who were born with hope, and then taken off various forms of life support. I've had several with mammas who, before going to the hospital to deliver, knew they would never feel their baby's breath.
This shoot was different.
This mamma went in with hope, and awoke with none. Her baby did not survive the emergency surgery performed in order to get him out before his heart stopped beating.

I met her with her baby in her arms, a look of shock still on her tear stained face. I introduced myself, and then carried my camera bag to the room where the nurses had prepared for her to stay the night. I checked the light, and prepared the necessary paper-work.
When mamma arrived with her baby,  I gently hugged her and then asked if I could unwrap her son from the blanket. I began the shoot, asking permission each time before I moved him or his hands, or his feet. She spoke almost the entire time; she talked to her baby, she talked to her husband about her baby, she told the nurse she just wanted her baby to wake up.

This couple had one healthy child at home. One. Just One. I  heard her say to her husband, "We have J. We shouldn't expect to be so lucky as to have another."
Pregnant with my seventh, I had really pushed the envelope. I stood there, fighting the tears that wanted to burst out of me, knowing that I had six healthy children at home, and she felt it only fair for her to have one- lose one.
After the birth of each of my six children I have held them and cried and asked G-d, "What have I done to deserve this?" I have always felt abundantly  blessed, and amazed that each one was born perfect.
And now it is my turn.

Accompanying many of the well- wishes and promises of prayers from others is the admission of personal experience:  "I've lost one.... two.... three... of my own," my friends tell me. It seems that I have been inducted into a very large circle of women who have had to say good-bye without a kiss. Most say it to express their understanding of the pain. A few appear to be callous to my feelings; after all, this is  a normal and common occurrence and there is nothing exceptional about my feelings. 
I was never one to think that this could not happen to me. I faced it far too often with others. Eleven years ago, we think I had been pregnant, but that pregnancy failed to implant and ended before a confirmation. Since then, my husband and I accepted that "maybe there was, maybe there wasn't....." and thought of that baby who might have been as our angel. This time, I gave birth. I saw 'him'; we buried him. He was unquestionably real. Still, I know how blessed I am that  I have not experienced the loss of a baby after hearing his heart beat, growing large and feeling him squirm and kick.  No less a life is lost, but somehow the loss for me is somewhat less, I think.

I've been embraced into that group of mothers who mourn- the women who say, "I have ___ children on earth, and ___ in heaven.  Each child as important as the other, and each child counted. I felt guilt that day, standing in the hospital room with the mother who had "one on earth, and one in heaven."  Now that I have joined 'the club', I still know that I am blessed beyond what I ever thought I could have or deserved.

And now I wait to be in the circle of mothers who have healed.