The shock of losing our own child

I had never felt so helpless before. The feeling of numbness came over me, and I was no longer able to perceive the world around me. It was like stepping into a timeless bubble. I saw only Maria and me, while the world around us became more and more blurred. The shock began to take over, and it was good I did not know that this was only the beginning.

All thoughts and reactions for self-preservation began in me, and survival instinct took over my actions. What could I do for the baby to get back into its proper place? What could I do to help Maria? What if my worst nightmare would come true that I also was losing Maria—what would I do then?

Thoughts rushed chaotically through my head. Stress hormones were pumped intensively into my blood stream, and all of me was on alert.

I've never been so glad that I've worked with meditation for so many years; this made me able to think clearly instead of flipping out.

My task was to help Maria in the best possible ways, both mentally and physically. Although it was impossible for me to understand what she was going through in this situation, I could help by being present and making sure she had everything she needed at any time.

Over the next six days, I shuttled between hospital and home. I prepared organic food for Maria, brought clean clothes, and took care of our dog, Emilia.

On the one hand, it was good that I had something to do all the time, but it was incredibly difficult, since I had no one to take care of me. The nights were the hardest to deal with, since I had to be home to take care of Emilia. Lying awake without knowing how it was going with my beloved wife was very difficult.

On Saturday, January 10th at 8:20 a.m., my cellphone rang. My blood froze and tears ran down my cheeks when Maria told me that the child had come and that she was going to have an emergency operation. It's hard to describe what was happening inside me then, but I remember my intense fear that something bad would happen to Maria.

I had never before dressed so quickly. I arrived at the hospital just in time to accompany Maria down to the surgery department where they normally take in emergencies that come by ambulance or helicopter.

Nobody explained to me what happened and why she needed surgery. The waiting time and uncertainty were like torture. Every minute felt like an hour. After 90 minutes, a nurse came out and was about to pass me without saying a word. I stopped her and asked if she knew how the surgery went. "Everything seems to have gone well, and she is lying in the recovery room now", she said briefly before moving on.

A while later, the surgeon informed me that everything had gone perfectly well and that he hoped he would never see us again. The pressure was relieved and tears flowed when I took Maria’s hand as she was still groggy from the anesthetic.

One of the consequences of the operation was a major infection that the doctors were not able to control even with the strongest intravenous antibiotics. "We have not seen this before," we heard again. "We'll try another type of antibiotic and see if it works better."

The next day, the infection markers increased; this indicated that the infection had become worse. The fear that multiresistant hospital bacteria had gained a foothold in Maria was intense.

Our son, Wotan Dompierre Wanvig, was born at 8:00 am on Saturday, January 10th, 2015. He died in Mary's hands at 8:01 a.m.

To see my own son lying dead in my hands was heartbreaking. He fit into my hand, being only 12 cm. long, a miracle with hands, feet, fingers, toes, and nails that never came to say the words “dad” or “mom.”

On Sunday, we were visited by the hospital's priest. Although we have no relationship with religion, it was incredibly good to talk with someone who was an expert at helping people in our situation. She explained to us all the details about what was going to happen, including that since the child had come so far in its development, it was mandatory according to German law to have a funeral.

The next day, the undertaker came. How to talk about the experience of discussing the funeral of my own child with a priest and the undertaker is something I’m not able to fathom. On one hand you are glad that someone is available to tell you what's going to happen so that uncertainty goes away, but on the other hand, you want to escape everything and hope that it is all a bad dream.

The desire to suppress what had happened was overwhelming. However, both the priest and everyone else we've talked to—both experts and those who had experienced this themselves—said that suppressing our feelings is the worst thing we can do.

We heard many stories about how things had gone for parents who had repressed the grief of losing their child. Disease, relationship problems, and years of suffering were some of the aftereffects.

Everyone said it was important that we gave space in our family to Wotan as our first child and that we gave him a name and a burial.

Maria was allowed to leave the hospital five days later. The shock was overwhelming, and neither of us was able to think clearly about the days to come. The only things our world consisted of were tears, numbness, and deep pain.

The same day she was discharged, we got a visit from our dear friend, teacher, and mentor Walter Lübeck, who helped us understand what had happened, why it happened, and how the road ahead looked.

Walter gave us several essences and homeopathic remedies that would help us process the shock and trauma. Starting with this at an early stage was helpful, in addition to our talks to professionals and others who had experienced the same trauma.

The next thing we had to do was find the right place to bury our son. We wanted to have a shamanic funeral ritual in a natural grave by a tree in the forest. In Germany, we have special “peace forests” (e.g., Friedwald) where we could buy a tree and bury our son there.

We eventually found a suitable location: a great oak tree overlooking a small lake and a small river in a beautiful forest. That was the right place, and Maria and I also will be buried there when the time comes.

On Thursday, January 29th, we buried Wotan at the root of an oak tree with a beautiful shamanistic funeral ritual led by our good friend Walter. As I write these words, tears and sadness overwhelm me; it was only five days ago that I stood there with a shovel and buried my son with my own hands. What I experienced is something I cannot put into words.

I find it all still incomprehensible and surreal, and it will certainly take a few weeks before I come back to myself.

After the worst shock had subsided, deep grief came creeping over us. For me, grief is a process of letting go of what has been and finding a new path for my life.

How we humans mourn is personal, but I'm convinced that we can choose to suffer or go through the process filled with love and forgiveness. I know people who have lost a loved one, and the rest of their lives had been destroyed with suffering. But I also know many people who have actively chosen the other way—the path of love and forgiveness.

No one who dies would wish that his or her family should suffer because of it. The soul passes on to the Kingdom of Light after death, where it plans its next incarnation. In other words, prolonged suffering is only hurting ourselves and our nearest yet has absolutely no influence on the soul that has passed on.

A wise man once said the following to me: "Death is a part of being human that we need to learn to deal with. Everyone has a choice: We can unconsciously go through this guided by our inner desire of suffering and self-destruction, or we can choose to consciously go through a grieving process by letting go of what has been and take with us the good that this human has given us in the time that it was with us."

Grief is something that takes time. It is now a little over three weeks since we lost Wotan as I continue to write about my experience, and I'm not nearly finished with my grief. But what is certain is that both Maria and I know that something good will come out of this eventually, as it has always done after the major disasters earlier in our lives. We just do not know yet quite what that ‘good’ might be.

How should I relate to someone who is experiencing a trauma like this? I do not think there is a definitive answer to this, since we all have different needs. The best option is probably to ask the person directly how you can give support in the best way possible.

Flowers or other gifts are what I personally need least. I would rather not have to tell the story over and over again—it's one of the reasons why I'm writing these words. Then everyone is informed, and those who want to support me know what I need.

The most supportive thing for me is to hear, "I'm thinking of you," or "You are in my thoughts." Simple gestures can let me know that I am not alone. I had no idea of the strength of these words until now.

To me, this is like tiny lights that illuminate the darkness. The more of these small beacons of support, heartfelt wishes, and similar comments that reach my blog or inbox, the more the darkness is dispelled. The effect on me is outstanding, and I am so grateful for all the supportive words and actions that are coming our way—they mean so much!

‘What had we done wrong?’ was one of the first things we discussed. Was this our fault? Could we have done anything differently? Should we have known better?

It’s probably normal that we tried to find the cause in ourselves to be able to find the answer to why this happened. The reality is that all parents who have gone through the same have done their best, including us. Maybe there are some things that could have been done differently if we would have had more knowledge. Maybe there are things we should have done differently. Maybe we should have gone to the hospital earlier, although the doctors said that it would not have changed anything. Maybe we should have informed physicians and specialists we work with here in Germany at an earlier time. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

What has happened has happened, and there is absolutely nothing we can do to reverse this now. Torturing ourselves with reproaches that we should have done differently or somehow have made better decisions helps nobody; it only destroys us.

As shamans, we are trained to listen to nature, which is much more wise and complex than a human can ever comprehend. This is what nature chose at this time. There is nothing we need to understand right now; it is something that we just have to accept. But this does not mean that we should not learn from what has happened. Learning acceptance is probably the most important thing we can take with us from any crisis.

Forgiveness is a very important part of the mourning process if you choose to walk the path of love. Without forgiveness, the suffering may continue indefinitely.

For Maria and me, actively forgiving ourselves was the most important thing for us to do in order to release the enormous burden hanging on our shoulders. This will also set us free.

The problem with forgiveness is that it does not work very well with the use of willpower. We must have a deeper approach in order to reach the hidden programs of the subconscious and the depths of our hearts.

I have written a longer article on the subject of forgiveness and how this can be done to set us free. 

In such a situation, it is easy for conflicts to arise in the relationship if one fails to communicate with the other about what has happened. We know couples who have lost children and who would not talk to each other about it. After twenty years, they still have problems in their relationships because of what they had never put into words.

Thank goodness that Maria and I are talking about what has happened. Neither of us runs away, even though it is difficult. When we manage to ride out a storm like this, I think it would take a lot to ruin our relationship.

Is there a higher meaning behind losing our own child? This is difficult to answer, since we comprehend only a tiny slice of the reality we live in. Also, the answer always depends on the point of view from which the situation is observed. From the Creative Force (God) point of view, a spiritually enlightened and self-realized point of view, or from a human point of view, everyone gives different answers.

A better question to ask is what we will make of what is happening to us. How do we create meaning out of what has happened? This is entirely our own choice. We can choose to be the victim and continue suffering, or we can use what has happened—to learn from it and grow.

How we can turn this tragedy into something good for others and ourselves is, of course, unclear to Maria and me at present. Even if we perceive the contours of our reality, we must allow ourselves to grieve, as humans of flesh and blood, with the feelings that fill our lives right now.

What is certain is that we have chosen to incarnate into this world as human beings with all the joys and sorrows that this existence has to offer. Escaping from what is difficult in our lives is not an option.

In a few weeks, we will see the world and ourselves with other eyes. Until then, we are grateful from the depths of our hearts for all those who care about us.