In the last six years, 19 states have enacted laws allowing parents who have had stillbirths to get such certificates. Similar legislation is under consideration in several more. More than 25,000 pregnancies a year end in stillbirth, generally defined as a naturally occurring, unintentional intrauterine death after more than 20 weeks of gestation. A cause for the death is usually not determined.
To thousands of parents who have experienced stillbirth, getting a birth certificate is passionately important, albeit symbolic. — NY Times
This one strikes me as so whack, so insane, so just-totally-wrong, that I figure I better call feminist psychologist Libby Rae Shone, Ph.D., to see if she’s as fucking nuts as these people are.
“I suspect you don’t grasp the essence here because it’s never happened to you or anybody you know,” she begins, in her irritating, prototypical “you’re-on-the-outside- looking-in” style.
I guess that’s accurate, Libby Rae. I’ve had wisdom teeth and a cyst or two excised, and Guido had cancer removed, but, no. We never asked for a birth certificate.
“Hardly the same. The thought behind the “Missing Angel” movement is validation, dignity, commemoration, and closure. A Fetal Death Certificate doesn’t achieve the same end.”
Libby, I understand the need for emotional crutches. It’s why babies suck their thumbs and infants carry blankets. But these are adult would-be parents. They should find a more mature and responsible way to handle grief, don’t you think?
“Spoken like a member of the dicked tribe. What’s wrong with treating a stillborn like a member of the family, at least for a short while? Some parents name them, hold funerals, and bury them in family plots.”
Christ on a tricycle. What do you name a stillborn baby? Doug? Matt? Tiler? I can see the book titles now.
“You need to appreciate how traumatic an experience this is. There are other considerations besides the coldly rational that eradicates and denies human beings’ emotional connections. That’s such a male thing, you know, and demonstrates how unevolved masculine perspectives really are.”
Sure thing, Libby. Pardon my evolution. Don’t you see the religious and political agenda working here? It shrinks distinctions between a stillborn and an aborted fetus. Let’s name them, too. Hell, let’s do it all your way. Name that tumor! Hold a memorial service for toenails, shed blisters, and my ruptured appendix. To paraphrase James Thurber, It’s just as bad to tip over backwards as it to fall flat on your face.
“You lost me, Steve, but you see my point. Get in touch with what makes you human, and get over what keeps you male.” She rings off.
Well, I got my answer. She’s as fucking nuts as these people are.
Read about former Senator Rick Santorum (R-Pennsyltucky), who took his deceased 20-week premie home from the hospital to “meet” his other children, ages 6, 4 and 1½ where they spent hours kissing and cuddling him, took photos, sang lullabies in his ear, and held a private Mass. The child had survived just 2 hours. He calls it dignity and respect for life. I call it show and tell.