Life Coach Magazine

Born Still, but Still Born

By Malavika

Born still, but still born

My baby was born still,

in a quiet room,

with her big eyes closed.

But she was still born,

just sleeping soft,

held 6 months in my womb.

My baby was so small,

that she fit right in

to her father’s hand

My baby was

still born, but she was still held

My  baby’s heart did not beat,

but mine was broken,

cracked in two

and yet all the while, 

bursting in ecstacy for her 

because my baby was 

still born, but she was still loved.

My baby was born in quiet room,

and she did not cry,

but the roar of her presence 

was so loud 

because my baby was

still born, but she was still heard.

The next day

my baby was taken away,

to another room and another world

that we could not go,

but she lives on within us

because my baby was

still born, and she is still ours

My baby was set free,

in a soft stream

of cool flowing water,

my baby was born still,

but she was still born

and still my daughter.

A messy poem I have written for our girl. It isn’t perfect, and nothing seems to flow, but it is the truest reflection of what is in my heart.

Well, I always said I wanted to make my blog more personal – to write about my experiences and about life as I’m living it, rather than it being a textbook of instructions. And now it can’t be anything but intimate. I can’t write anything other than my truth, and what is at the center of it. And right now, the center of it is a blend of deep grief and gladness.

I like to write. Writing is soothing and healing for me. And so I will write.

Born still, but still born

On the weekend, we found a beautiful creek to scatter our daughter’s ashes. Initially, we wanted to go back to Kitchener, where we first found out that we were expecting a baby. Where it all started. Where my husband and I created our first home together. We were far away from everyone and everything. It was just us.

Born still, but still born

But then we found a place closer to where we live now, with flowing water, and that allowed the scattering of ashes. We decided to go here instead, however I was worried that it would be a meaningless place for Mia. But when we got there, I had a change of heart and I felt it was perfect.

Born still, but still born

It rained all day that day. All around us. And in our hearts.

I wasn’t disappointed. It reflected everything in my heart that day. It felt sacred to me.

Born still, but still born

We found a little opening to the water and we balanced on the rocks, held onto each other, and we let her go. We sprinkled a little milk over her ashes as they flowed away, something the priest from our temple had told us would be good to do.

Born still, but still born

After it was over, my husband hugged me tightly and I said to him “Thank you for being her father.” and he said “Thank you for being her mother.”

Born still, but still born

Born still, but still born

In e-mails exchanged with a friend who knows life and knows grief, he talked to me about the rituals of loss, such as the scattering of ashes. He said to me, “the rituals of loss are special and powerful. If similar magical things happen to you, it might be useful to keep track of these times, when the veils between worlds are thin.”

When the veils between worlds are thin – so profound and so much truth.

There was something magic in those moments. There was a thinness of the life around me. I felt it. There was a togetherness. A knowingness. Magic.

Born still, but still born

Born still, but still born

Born still, but still born

Born still, but still born

Born still, but still born

We are going to come back on June 22nd, her due date.

Born still, but still born

This is the box the hospital gave me after Mia was born, and I clung to it as I made the empty walk from labor and delivery to our car. Born still, but still born

Today I took down her ultrasound photographs from our refrigerator door and put the into her box. I love the one where it looks like she’s waving.

Born still, but still born

Mia’s blanket. And a little angel.

Born still, but still born

Her first, and only little socks and hat. Which were both much too big for her tiny body. But they held her and now I hold them.

Born still, but still born

A momento of my sweet angel baby

Born still, but still born

😦 This is just sad.

Born still, but still born

Footprints on my heart.

Born still, but still born

It still feels surreal to see her name written down in someone else’s handwriting. Or hearing her name spoken to me. Though we did not feel compelled to name her for a few reasons, it’s still a sound I love to hear. Born still, but still born

Photographs taken by our nurse, of my babygirl’s little feet.

Born still, but still born

I love this poem shared on this card.

A butterfly lights beside us

like a sunbeam

And for a brief moment its glory and

beauty

belong to our world.

But then it flies on again,

and though we wish 

it could have stayed, 

we feel so lucky

to have seen it.

-Rich Reld

This poem so perfectly describes how it has felt to be with Mia. I am so lucky.

Born still, but still born

I first felt her kick at exactly 18 weeks. And since then she became more and more active. I felt her grow stronger and stronger each day. I started to pay attention to when she would wake up and when she would rest. I loved to know more about my baby. In the morning I would wake up and feel my bump. Then I would say “Good morning baby!” out loud, and wait a couple of moments to feel her start stirring inside me. She knew my voice.

Now I wake up in the morning and I miss her. I miss us.

Later in morning, I sit to meditate, and she would always start moving during certain parts of kriya. Especially when I chant Om.

Every evening, my husband would come home from work and get into bed with me. He would lift up my top and talk to her, and sing to her. And she knew his voice too. She would wake up.

We could never meet when she was alive. But she knew us and we knew her.

There is a Mia shaped hole in my heart. She was born so little, and yet this emptiness is so vast and endless.

Today, I am really sad.


You are my one and only,

you can wrap your fingers around my thumb, and hold me tight,

and you’ll be alright,

You’re just a small bump unborn just for four months then torn from life,

maybe you were needed up there, but we’re still unaware of why.

Tears stream down your face

when you lose something you cannot replace

Tears stream down your face

I promise you I will learn from my mistakes

Tears stream down your face

and lights will guide you home

and ignite your bones 

and I will try to fix you.

Those who are dead are not dead

they’re just living in my head,

and since I fell for that spell, 

I am living there as well

Time is so short and I’m sure

there must be something more.


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