Forest, thirty years later

 
Thirty years ago today, my first son, Forest, was born. He was brain damaged at birth and died two and a half months later. I'm not saying this to elicit your sympathy. I don't need or want a new stream of condolences. Been there, done that...a long time ago.

Not that I no longer grieve, but it is a timeworn, world-weary grief, smoothed and muted. Filtered, like sunlight though a thick canopy of trees. The sorrow at the loss of an infant was, for me, not so much the grief of loss anyway, more the grief of never knowing and forever wondering. What if he had lived all these years in that severely brain-damaged body? What if I, or the others involved, had made different choices in my pregnancy or labor? What if he hadn't been brain-damaged at all? Who would he be now? What would my life be like with a 30 year old son? I can only imagine. I doubt I would have become a midwife. I doubt I would have had the wonderful six year old son I now have. And I'm happy in my life now. Would I be as happy if Forest were still here? Happier?

Once the past is past, it becomes the only possible thing that could have happened. I can tell myself it was fate; it was meant to be; see the silver lining. I can say it was a disaster; proof of a nonexistent or uncaring God; lay blame. I've done all these and more. It's all stories. Here's what I tell myself 30 years later: nothing. I don't need conjecture or meaning. It doesn't matter why. Thirty years is a long time. Dust to dust.

Some might find this odd, but I don't wonder where he is now. I don't wonder if he is in heaven, or he's been reincarnated, or his death was simply the end. Because about the only thing I do know is that I don't know, can't know, will probably never know. I don't envy the certainty of those who “know” what happens after death. There is a certain peace in reconciling to the unknown and unknowable too.

And isn't this the grief of life as we grow older as well: never knowing what might have been? The big “What If?” What if ... I had picked a different path, a different partner? ...had been or not been there any given night? ...had said yes one thing, no to another? The road not taken which has made all the difference.

So was Forest the road I didn't take, or the one I did? I traveled so briefly with him but it's clear to me that I ended up on a very different path because of him. I don't know why he came into my life or why he left so soon or if he had a purpose in life or if I do. I don't think these are even the right questions to ask. It's just...well...here I am. A little sad, but at ease. Rooted and wrapped in my life. Standing in the light of this day and feeling grateful for everything.

Happy Birthday, Forest. 

April 27 - July 9, 1982

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A  friend, poet Bob Drake, put together a book of poems for me and Forest's dad, Rocky. Some were his own, some he gathered for us. I read and appreciated these quite a bit in the early years, and I still take it out now and again. Here are the ones Bob wrote. He also built Forest's casket for us, which is referenced in the third poem. :

 

And here is a poem I wrote several years later...

There Was Death

There was death

in his whiteness

in his quiet breathing

that afternoon when he stopped fighting

There was death

and I watched it

settle into him

and I wished I could go there with him

but instead I rocked him and sang him a song

and I told him

It's okay to go now

because I could see that death

could not be wiped away

like tears

And later

when he was gone

I cradled an empty body

just to be certain

stroked cold skin

just to be sure

he was safe

Not fighting for another breath

Safe now

from the weary miracle

of life