[Fill in the Blank] Day

After losing a child, life becomes one long series of memorials or days of awareness. Before Weston died, just about the only cause I knew about was breast cancer awareness, when everything turns pink. Oh, and Administrative Professionals Day and Bosses Day, which I inevitably never remembered until that morning. I was happily oblivious.

Now, unfortunately, I am becoming an expert in sick or dead children. For example, since Weston died just over four months ago, I participated in Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day/Month in October. Our family attended a candle-lighting service at a cemetery on October 15. So many of you lit candles for Weston, which was wonderful.

Then, November 17 is World Prematurity Day, organized by the March of Dimes. I didn't do anything beyond dressing myself and Caroline in purple (the color of prematurity awareness); I don't think there was an organized group event in Phoenix. But I have become an expert on prematurity. For example, did you know that the cause of premature birth is unknown in up to 40% of cases? And that half a million babies are born prematurely every year in the United States? I didn't know that, and I wish I still didn't know it. But I can't unlearn that information, and I can't simply do nothing when MY BABY became a statistic. When he died because he was premature.

December 9 was National Children's Memorial Day. That's another day I wish I never knew existed. Did you know that sometimes parents have to bury their children? (Of course you do, if you're reading this!) Our children are the statistics: the premature babies, the stillbirths from unknown causes, the freak accidents, the one in a million illnesses, the victims of medical malpractice, SIDS, the victims of violence. Well, there is an international day of remembrance for our children. I helped organize the local memorial service, and I spoke at the service as well. I hope my words (that I read from somewhere else) were comforting to the other parents. Another thing I never thought I would do.

I generally don't get too nervous about public speaking. It's part of being a litigator, so I'm used to it. But I was nervous before I spoke at the service because I was afraid I would not be able to get through my reading without crying. I cried during my two test runs. But once I got up on the stage, I kept it together. Clearly, Weston was with me, and he got me through it.

When your child dies, it suddenly seems that children die everywhere. And they do. I have also learned September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. Why don't more people know this? Because children die of cancer too. Now I know that childhood cancer is vastly underfunded; there are almost no drugs to treat pediatric cancer. I wish I didn't know this; I wish no one knew this, because then it would mean that children don't die of cancer. Why did this little boy have to die?

In addition to the plethora of memorial days, we learn, and remember, the birthdays and death day anniversaries of countless other beloved children. Knowing that people remember your child on those important, and incredibly difficult, days is comforting, so we make sure we honor and remember other children.

I wish I knew why Weston died, so I could throw my efforts into erasing that particular medical condition from the earth. In a sense, parents of dead children become imbued with a new energy, a new life. They direct everything they have into solving problems, hopefully erasing problems, so other children and parents don't have to live the hell that bereaved parents experience. (I say "they," not "we," because I have not yet figured out where to direct my efforts, my energy, my rage. When I do, watch out: prematurity, placental problems, mysteries that shut down babies' lungs and hearts, and/or ignorant and insensitive treatment of grieving parents are GOING DOWN.) If nothing else, bereaved parents develop a radar for other suffering people.

When I was an undergraduate student, I studied the poetry of William Blake (I am heavily supplementing my memory of these poems with Wikipedia). He wrote two series of poems called Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience. Instead of trying to paraphrase, I give you the description straight from Wikipedia (English professors, I apologize):

"Innocence" and "Experience" are definitions of consciousness that rethink Milton's existential-mythic states of "Paradise" and the "Fall." Blake's categories are modes of perception that tend to coordinate with a chronology that would become standard in Romanticism: childhood is a time and a state of protected "innocence," but not immune to the fallen world and its institutions. This world sometimes impinges on childhood itself, and in any event becomes known through "experience," a state of being marked by the loss of childhood vitality, by fear and inhibition, by social and political corruption, and by the manifold oppression of Church, State, and the ruling classes.

Here are some poem titles in Songs of Innocence: The Lamb, The Blossom, Laughing Song, A Cradle Song, Spring, Infant Joy...And here is what's in store in Songs of Experience: The Sick Rose, The Fly, Infant Sorrow, A Poison Tree, A Little Boy Lost, A Little Girl Lost. Gee...which series would you prefer?

I remember having a lively class discussion about the benefits and drawbacks of innocence and experience, and our personal preferences. We students were 19-21 years old; we were not thinking about these poems in the context of parenthood. The love of one's child presents a paradox: it is pure and innocent at its core. Indeed, it restores "childhood vitality" and makes the parent lose "inhibition." Parents' eyes are opened to experiencing the world through the innocent eyes of a child. On the other hand, experiencing such an intense and inexplicable love opens up a world of fear unlike any other. And, when those fears are sometimes realized, as by me...complete devastation.

Becoming Caroline's mother made me experience love on a level that I didn't know existed. I graduated simultaneously to the next levels of both innocence and experience when she was born. However, it was not until I lost Weston that I discovered the true depths of love for my children. I gained that knowledge by experience. I love more intensely than I did before, thanks to experience. However, it is a lesson I would give anything to unlearn.

How did we get from [Fill in the Blank] Day to the poetry of William Blake? In any event, although I generally believe that gained knowledge and experience result in deeper love and meaning, I loved my children well enough before Weston died. I wish I could take back my innocence...and my oblivion to everything that hurts and kills children.

The Angel

I dreamt a dream! What can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen
Guarded by an angel mild:
Witless woe was ne'er beguiled!

And I wept both night and day,
And he wiped my tears away;
And I wept both day and night,
And hid from him my heart's delight.

So he took his wings, and fled;
Then the morn blushed rosy red.
I dried my tears, and armed my fears
With ten thousand shields and spears.

Soon my Angel came again;
I was armed, he came in vain;
For the time of youth was fled,
And grey hairs were on my head.

William Blake
~From Songs of Experience