I never know what will trigger a reflective thought regarding our losing Nathanael, nor what will trigger what I’ll write on, but I’m thankful for the ideas that keep flowing that remind me of him, our time with him in 2014, and really anything that helps keep his memory alive. So, thanks for bearing with me in this if you care to read along.
This latest revelation comes after watching a video of a couple who lost their daughter, Mary Grace, many years ago, having only 30-hours of life to be with her. They said that they had received all the love that she could give them; they were grateful for that.
As Nathanael’s birth approached, we never anticipated he would die due to cord prolapse. It wasn’t mentioned to us as a risk in his palliative care plan. We wanted a caesarean section birth, which would be less traumatic for him and Sarah, which would have assured us of having him born alive so we could meet him. This was denied to us, because it was suggested that caesarean section birth was ‘riskier’ than normal, induced delivery. They were wrong.
Sarah’s life was on the line because a ‘normal’ delivery was mismanaged from the start. Nathanael wasn’t monitored, which, only afterwards, we can tell was the first thing we unknowingly went along with, which wasn’t right. We should never have agreed to that, but did we know better? And if we hadn’t agreed, would they have listened to us? We will never know. If we knew he was stressed (and he was!) they could have opted for an emergency caesarean section birth… as it was, we ended up having the caesarean section birth, an emergency delivery, because Sarah was life-threateningly ill, but our baby was already deceased. They knew he had hypotonia and so the risk of an induced natural birth going wrong was, to us, obvious in hindsight.
But that wasn’t the first institutional betrayal we suffered at the time. There was another that cut us to the heart, so the experience above, horrendous as it was, actually wasn’t the worst of it. Doesn’t that put it in a stark context and contrast? How much worse a betrayal—as it felt to us—when you put it alongside a plan to manage the birth of our child that we’re sure they knew would not work?! (“These things happen,” our professor specialist told us, which Sarah predicted she’d say, minutes before she visited us after the birth and said those exact words—angry? Umm, yes.) How much worse than this was the first betrayal, though? I cannot begin to tell you! I have written on this but won’t share that at this time.
The betrayals mentioned above were actually extrinsic to losing our son. But now I want to show how betrayal is intrinsic to loss itself. When we experience loss, we experience a form of betrayal.
Here are some general truths:
Anyone who experiences loss will find there is a dark thread of betrayal that comes with the grief that must be reconciled.
Indeed, the grief cannot be reconciled until the betrayal deeper down is identified, ‘processed’ and resolved. Furthermore, within the thread there may well be several strands, as we found, that add further insult, and a lattice of complication, to the existing injury.
I think on an important level, we need to believe that the nature of the betrayal—how and why it happened, who it involved, etc—is immaterial, for healing to truly occur.
But there is the equal and opposite reality that, in many losses, it did happen, people were involved, and the sting of such betrayal does not go away—particularly when the other party does not own their wrong.
I am thankful for this, however; in rallying with my biblical bitterness (yes, there is such a thing for survivors; good news that God does allow for and even approve of a time for irreconcilable anger) I have learned so much more than I previously knew about forgiveness, and how, even in teaching forgiveness, we can too easily engage in spiritual abuse.
Let’s think about processing. We must start with the fact that the betrayal happened.
It really did. It was felt. It left impact in its wake. It wasn’t just real; it is real. And it’s a big deal, even if others deny it. Now, that breeds an increased sense of indignation initially. Processing is like ripping the Band-Aid off. It hurts, it tears hairs from the skin, and it may very well rip the scab off. The bleeding that once ago clotted over may again begin to flow out of the wound.
But it’s not all bad. Feeling all that we have to feel, in a safe, non-judgmental environment, can be and so often is spiritually invigorating. If you’re wary, be guided by the safe hands of a trauma-informed therapist. Of course, processing takes time, and it isn’t a race.
Rather than attempt to depict how to get to resolution, because to be prescriptive would not be helpful, let’s look at what resolving betrayal in grief looks like, to cast a vision for hope.
After many failed attempts at resolving grief—and I believe we learn a great deal if we don’t give up—we may learn we need to settle the underlying betrayal (or sense of being betrayed if there was no overt betrayal by a person or circumstance) before we can move forward into that trinity for life—peace, hope and joy.
It needs to be urgently emphasised that, according to Brené Brown, “We cannot selectively numb emotions, when we numb the painful ones, we also numb the positive ones.” The journey into resolving grief outbound of loss is in venturing inward to transact with the betrayal.
For me, and this won’t be the case for everyone, I found telling the story again and again, with trusted helpers, helped. I found that validation helped. Strangely, it made me less angry when someone said, “That was wrong, and it shouldn’t have happened!”
I do hope this is an encouragement to you to explore the painful nuances of the betrayal you suffered in experiencing grief from loss. That is my prayer.
Now, there is no question that there is a great deal of loss in betrayal. I’ll save that for another article.
Photo by Frédéric Perez on Unsplash
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