I had another topic entirely in mind for this post but it was not to be - perhaps tomorrow.
When I started to mention Hawthorne, Nevada in a couple of earlier posts, this subject burst into my mind. I pushed it away. Then, this morning at BSF (Bible Study Fellowship), our excellent lecturer asked for volunteers to provide child care for the discussion group leaders when they meet to prepare for the full BSF crowd of 500+ ladies. She said if we had a reason we couldn't volunteer such as an illness or we just don't like kids, that's OK, we don't need to volunteer. Again, this subject burst into my mind.
I NEVER volunteer for child care. I don't have a disease or illness that would keep me from volunteering - or maybe I do. While I tend not to be hugely enthusiastic about kids, I don't dislike them. The reason I don't volunteer EVER is because I am not comfortable being responsible for the welfare of children.
Let me relate a story that far too many parents have experienced. In 1967 I married William Richard Duval in Reno, NV. It was a small wedding attended by several of his brothers and their spouses and some friends. My parents lived in Wappingers Falls, NY and were unable to attend although they were there in their love.
Within our first year of marriage our first child, William Joseph Duval, was born. He was named after his father and his 2 grandfathers whose names were both Joseph. Little William was a dear happy little guy. He was seldom fussy and early on he started sleeping through much of the night (from around 11 p.m. to 5 or 6 a.m. most nights). He was pretty much perfect.
Then, on September 22, 1968, our world exploded. William got up and headed for the Monarch Cafe for his weekly Saturday morning coffee with the "usual suspects." When I woke up, I remember thinking Little William should have been awake by then. Back then it was very common to lay a child on his stomach so he would not choke if he spit up. So, he was laying on his stomach. But, he was easily able to lift his head. Something didn't seem quite right. I reached down to pick him up and he was cold and stiff. At that point, I was unable to lift him up into my arms. So, I simply stared at him as my head exploded. It was like a huge fire works display going on in my head. It hurt. It hurt terribly. I remember calling the Monarch Cafe to tell William to come home. I don't remember a whole lot after that. It was an awful, awful day, week, month, . . .
I remember thinking it was my fault; I did something wrong. How could this happen? What should I have done differently? Maybe we should have bought him a nicer bassinet. Maybe we should have had a nicer house, maybe we should have . . . All was, of course, irrational thinking. Little William had no concept of a nicer bassinet or a nicer house. He just knew he was fed, bathed, changed and loved. In the end, it turned out there was nothing we could have done. At that time, the doctor told us he could have died even if we were simply holding him and didn't realize he had stopped breathing. But, the guilt feelings don't listen to reason; they listen to grief. So, we grieved.
William Joseph Duval - 6 weeks old
June 17, 1968 - September 22, 1968
The funeral was held, life moved on, we went back to work, and I grieved. As many of you know, grief can be horrendously painful and debilitating. I remember many days early on when I went to work, did my job, came home and threw myself sobbing across our bed. The grief diminishes over time but it is always there buried deep and ready to burst forth with the right trigger even 40+ years later. Just ask the members of the now non-existent singles small group at Hill Country Bible Church Pflugerville and mention the Igniter video titled "99 Balloons." Who knew it was there? I sure didn't.
What comes next after something like this? You move on. We did. But, it turns out you can never leave this behind. We decided we wanted another baby. So, on October 6, 1969, I gave birth to our daughter, Mary Louise Duval. I was so fearful that something bad would happen to her that I could not go into her bedroom in the morning unless I could hear her making noise. Looking back from where I am now though, I can see that the Lord knew exactly what I needed. Mary L. (ML) was hyperactive and I don't remember her sleeping much day or night for the first year of her life! Of course, that was enough to drive a parent nuts! Eventually, our pediatrician did some tests and determined it would be beneficial to put her on some medication which simply took her down a couple of notches so she could function. That made a big difference but she was always a very very very active child. Today, at 41, she still has many things going on at one time :-).
That's all well and good. But, I think it important to be aware that ML's entire life until she reached adulthood (and still today if I'm being honest) was a great challenge for me. I'm not sure how much most parents think about walking the line between over protection and over permissive. In many cases, I think it's just a work in progress and they don't necessarily think about that fine line.
My focus seemed to always be on that line. In the beginning, I really wanted to keep her home and not send her to school. Homeschooling was not much of an option back then and I had to work anyway so it probably wouldn't have been much of an option in any event. I really wanted to keep her safe from anything and everything - put her in her room with soft toys and harmless stuff and never let her out. My fear was very high in the early years of her life. But, I did send her to school and let her do stuff but it went against what I wanted to do.
Then, as time passed, and she was safe, I began to be more realistic and my fears mellowed to a point where I could see both sides of the line and I consciously walked that line looking at each thing she wanted to do to make sure we weren't being too restrictive and we weren't being too permissive. It was sometimes stressful and I sometimes second guessed and worried. And, we sometimes erred on the side of permissiveness because I was so afraid I'd let my fears take away from her those things she really wanted to do (horse back riding and gymnastics, for example). Most parents go through many of these feelings and stresses but perhaps not at the level as one who has lost a child.
After a divorce in 1981, ML and I moved from Nevada back to Wappingers Falls, NY to be near my mother who was not as well as we would have liked. We started over again with a new set of wants and stresses and decisions. But, we got through that, too.
All these 40+ years later, I have to admit the events of 1968 still form a core part of me and sometimes greatly affect the way I act or react to certain things. As parents, we expect our children to outlive us. When they don't, for whatever reason, the loss leaves a big imprint on our hearts and minds that, I believe, is with us until we die.
I hope that someone who has gone through this same type of loss may read this post and understand that, while the grief in some form, will be with you forever, we need to accept that as a part of us and readjust ourselves to incorporate that into how we see and live in the world. And, we need to move on with our lives and perhaps console and counsel others who have similar experiences.
Blessings,
Mary
