Birthday Eve
Friday, August 22, 2003 --  10:51pm
Posted by Bar


It's 10PM Friday the 22nd of August - exactly 5 years since I went in to
labor to deliver Forrest.

5 years ago we knew our child was a he; we knew that he was Forrest; we
loved him already and we could hardly wait for his arrival. Peter had the
good idea to interview me (on camera) as I labored that day. He asked me all
kinds of questions about how I was doing and what my dreams were for my self
and for Forrest. I interviewed him too - turning off the camera every few
minutes or so to deal with those pesky contractions. A young man arrived at
5pm, early in my labor, to potentially buy a guitar that I had had on sale
for months and which he needed to see that day. He bought it at around 6pm.
Handed me the cash and was on his way not fully grasping what I was in the
middle of. I often wonder what happened to him and if he's had his own kids
since then. I'll probably never know.

I confess that delivering a child was not the most fun I have ever had. It
was hard, incredible, intense and miraculous and I am not sure I can easily
say I would ever want to do it again. Yet having said that, I would do it
again in a heartbeat if I knew Forrest or some other child was the outcome -
and of course they would be. I guess what I'm trying to say is that there
are women who love childbirth. I am not one of them. But I love the child,
that's for sure.

Anyway, this time 5 years ago I was pacing back and forth between our deck
and our living room as I managed each contraction. From our deck, we see the
Rhinecliff Bridge off in the distance crossing the Hudson River to the east.
I knew as I breathed into my belly that I would need to cross that bridge at
any moment to get to the birthing center 45 minutes away from us in the town
of Rhinecliff. It was hard to imagine being able to make it, but it had to
be done and it was.

Forrest was born at 6:38am on the 23rd of August after a pretty uneventful
(HA!) labor. (You mothers out there know what I mean when I say
`uneventful'. WHOA! How could anyone describe labor as `uneventful'?) What I
mean is that there were no major hurdles. No medical problems to speak of.
No hint of the journey before us. We had a dula with us who coached me
through the rougher moments and kept an eye on Peter (I love you, Mary.
Thank you!!). And our mid-wife joined us at around 2am to oversee Forrest's
birth 4 and a half hours later. It was a Sunday morning by then, and by
Monday midday we were ready to go home, so off we went happier than we could
have ever imagined.

Looking back, it's hard to grasp how much has happened since then. We are
different people now. Better people, I think, and two people who are still
stunned and confused and awed by the whole experience of Forrest's life and
death.

Today I spent the entire day talking with Hannah who was Forrest's
baby-sitter and dearly loved friend. It was a great day. We talked about
everything from love and marriage, to life and death, to how to live a
meaningful life in this world. It was a day much needed and very well spent.
One of the reasons that I love being with Hannah is that she loves Forrest
as much as I do and she still misses him in the same way that I do. She
gives me plenty of room to talk about him whenever he comes up in
conversation. She laughs with me, she cries with me, she's not afraid to
upset me and she says whatever's on her mind. One of the things we talked
about was the fact that she feels as though sometimes other people see Peter
and me as that couple whose child died of cancer. She wondered if I felt
that too and if so, how I felt about it. I told her that I did feel it and
that sometimes it's a good thing and sometimes it's a drag.

Mostly it's good, to be totally honest, because people are still kind to
us. They treat us very carefully and they bend over backwards to tip the
balance for us back to a place of loving life and being glad to be alive. I
am very grateful for that kindness and wish that everyone everywhere could
experience it without having to have their kid die. But I also told her that
it hurts sometimes too because Peter and I are more than just grieving
parents - just as Forrest was and is more than just a kid who died of
cancer. His cancer was an aspect of his life just as his death is now an
aspect of ours.

I was trying to explain to Hannah why writing these e-mails is harder for me
now.  Mostly it's because I feel sort of empty and like I have very little
to say.  Nothing profound is happening to me.  I've kept my self over-busy
just as Peter has, and for me, I feel as though my mind is either fried, on
overdrive or simply empty.  The two of us are in pretty different places
with our grief, which is understandable, and good I suppose.  His body is
suffering from trying to keep his head above water emotionally; my mind is
shorted-out from the tons of input I have forced in to it.  We both need a
vacation and we've scheduled one in September.  We've rented a little place
on the coast of Maine and are both looking forward to it very, very much.
It will be nice for us to be alone together without telephones and computers
to keep us distracted from one another and from our selves.

I have missed writing.  I think of all of you so often and wish I had the
energy to share more of what it looks like from here.  Perhaps my not having
much to report is a good sign - a sign that we are settling in to a new and
less demanding emotional period.

I hope that your summer has been less soggy than ours.

Enjoy these last few weeks.

Much love,
Bar