It's Not Your Fault

And there I was, feeling just like Matt Damon in that scene with Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting.  You know the famous scene (if not, click here), “It’s not your fault…it’s not your fault….it’s not your fault….ad nauseum….  I was still sitting in the ultrasound chair during a recent visit to a high risk OB.  A new doctor I had not seen before, just for a consult, a just because appointment, a just in case visit.  Something to try to ease my mind that my two losses that looked really different, were truly different after all and not related in some strange way.  I just needed to hear someone say it.  And he said it, but something else he said caught me much more off guard.  I thought I was just asking innocent questions, still asking about what happened with either losses, what were the possibilities, what could have caused the outcomes, what was it that took my babies from me?  I don’t feel like I’m necessarily trying to solve a mystery about the past, but really wanting to prevent a repeated fate.  Was it something I ate?  Was it a dental issue neglected too long?  Could it have been…?  And what about….?  And that’s when he said it.  “No matter how many ways you look at this, there was nothing you did that caused this to happen”.  Or something like that.  I truthfully don’t recall the exact words he uttered, but essentially he was saying to me (in his best Robin Williams impersonation), “it’s not your fault…it’s not your fault….it’s not your fault…” 

And the flood gates opened and I was a weeping mess.  Damn it, did I really still feel like this?  Why did I still feel like this?  I mean if an incredible medical team of professionals could not do anything to save my baby’s life, why do I feel like I should have been able to?  Why do I feel so responsible for a situation I felt like I had very little control over?  And the answer is, I don’t know.  I mean, in my rational mind, I can tell myself a million times there is nothing I could have done to prevent his death, there is nothing I should have known to escape this fate, there is nothing I would have been able to do to keep him alive.  I can hold these thoughts in my mind intellectually, but my heart holds a different version of this story.  I vividly remember, even while lying grief-stricken and shock-laden in that hospital bed, the intense amounts of shame that I felt.  Out-of-town friends called and wanted to visit.  I wouldn’t let them.  Extended family drove hours to show their support and I ordered them out.  Please leave.  Even when I was able to return to work, I distinctly remember in those first few days that I couldn’t look anyone in the eye.  And there was only one single solitary reason for these behaviors:  Shame.  I was incredibly and intensely shamefully embarrassed.  Every other mother giving birth in that hospital that day was able to keep their baby alive, but me, somehow, I let mine die.  I didn’t know how I did it, but somehow I had to have been responsible.  Somehow, I, his mother, the only one who could have known, the only one who could have felt, the only one who should have sensed, didn’t do any of these things.  I felt I had failed as a mother before I was really given the chance to mother at all. 

And so there I was, sitting there in that doctor’s office last week, feeling like I was cast in a role for a sappy Lifetime made-for-tv movie, crying to a doctor that I didn’t know, a doctor that was once again telling me that it was not my fault.  And I’ve often felt this particular drama of my life was like a movie, the scenes often surreal and the flashbacks beyond reality.  But, the thing is, I had convinced myself this movie had ended.  I thought it had played itself out, I had worked through my issues, I had dealt with my shame, my pain, and my horror.  My daytime drama had finished with a happy ending, with the birth of my Abigail Rose.  It was finally over, I was done, we were now happily ever after.  Obviously, I have watched one too many of these made-for-tv movies.  Life does not work this way and I am not naïve enough to think that it does.  At least not now.  I’m finding myself in some sort of watered down sequel that has caused the scenes of my past to rise to the surface once more.  And I’m also not naïve enough to think that a doctor telling me it’s not my fault is going to finally heal my broken heart and convince me that I didn’t fail my child in some way, on some level.  I will have to find a way to do that all on my own, if it’s possible to do it at all.    

But I know that I am not alone in this line of thinking.  I am almost certain that most moms that have lost a child in some way, have had this response at one time or another (and if you haven’t, let’s chat, I need some of what you’re having).  Most of the time, I feel like I am actually a pretty well adjusted person.  I mean, I’ve had my crap, we all do in different forms, and I’ve dealt with it and worked through it all to the best of my abilities.  Seriously, we all know I have no problems expressing myself to anyone who is willing to listen (Public blog, sure, why not?). That’s gotta be good for something.  But shame is a hard one for me to deal with.  I don’t think I had told many people about these feelings of shame until I started blogging.  It just kind of came out, rose to the surface and exposed itself right out of the gate, and I’m not sure I even saw it coming.  So I guess the only way I know how to deal with this is to go public once again.  It seems to be working for me so far.  Maybe I need to present myself with a public affirmation of sorts.  I need to find a way to convince myself that it really wasn’t my fault and that I could not have done anything differently.  It’s time I try to let this one go.   

So, here it is Amy, and listen hard:  It is not your fault.  You did not fail your son.  You loved him with all of your heart and soul.  You nourished him and gave him everything he needed to thrive for 40 important weeks.  You ate healthy, you went to every appointment, you followed all doctor’s orders and then some.  You were an amazing mom and he was lucky to have you.  You read him stories every night.  You talked to him each time he kicked and told him you couldn’t wait to meet him.  You started a journal, telling him about his life before he even came to be.  It is not your fault.  You did not fail your son.  You would have done anything in your power to keep him in this world.  This was beyond any powers that you could have possessed.  You are still an amazing mom to him.  You haven’t forgotten.  You choose to remember him.  You choose to celebrate him.  You know he was and will always be your family.  It is not your fault.  You did not fail your son.  You were the best mom he could have had.  There was amazing love.  You are a wonderful mom.  Ask Abigail, she tells you daily.  You did the best you could.  You cared for him with all of your might.  It is not your fault.  It is not your fault.  It is not your fault…

How about you?  Have you had a similar emotional response that you have fought with all of your might and still can’t let go of?  Do you ever feel shameful about something you know you could not have been responsible for?  What brings you peace in these moments?  I’d love to hear about it…..