The “birthday” of our little baby came and went without much to-do. The night before was a rough one in the Kay house. I spent a lot of time crying. The irony. It was supposed to be a happy night; an exciting night full of giggles and making sure everything was just so before the big birthday of our little angel. Instead, it was very dark, very quiet, very somber. We didn’t talk much. We just sat and cried. Not much to say.
The next morning I woke up on the day which was supposed to be the BIG DAY! What an epic let down. I rolled out of bed after not wanting to open my eyes to the nightmare that my baby is really dead. Wade left for work. I showered and started to get ready. I had swells of tears in my eyes while I was putting my make-up on. Something happened when I was doing my hair. I know what it was – I had to look at myself in the mirror and face the reality of the day. I just broke down and could not stop sobbing. It was from my gut, awful, could not stop, crying. I was so sad, but then, I started to get mad. Really mad. This was NOT fair. Why me? Why my baby? Why doesn’t the rest of the world understand that my child died! It doesn’t matter how young or old… my CHILD died!! Forgotten loss for most, but not for me.
I continued to get madder and madder. I was furious that I didn’t even have a cemetery to go to even if I wanted to. I am not a big cemetery go-er, but I didn’t even have the option. Where is my baby? In a trash can somewhere in a hospital? In a landfill? My baby. I never held my baby. The last image we saw, the arms and legs had formed. That image of a tiny human is ingrained in my brain.
I talked to a few folks who have walked this walk before who helped me feel better. I was so happy the day was over. I was telling a friend about looking back on what would have been my pregnancy to where I am now and what would be going on now, I see things very differently. One of the things that I realized is as much as I would love to have the nursery decorated in blue or pink, at the end of the day, I don't want to know. I want that moment when my doctor, who has held our hands through this entire journey, to look up at me/Wade and say... 10 fingers, 10 toes, it's a ______!!!". To me, there is something very sacred about that moment between me and Wade and our new family. I want him to be the first to see, to hear and to feel the rush of emotion I can only imagine a new father would feel. I want him to have the moment of walking out to the waiting room and telling all of our friends and family, "it's a ______!". That is something special that I want. After telling my friend this story, they looked at me, paused, and with tears in their eyes made the most simple, yet on point statement... "You're a good Mom". Wow. Someone understood. Someone validated my child's life. For anyone else out there who may read this and nod in relation, you are a good Mom too.
If you know anyone who has experienced a miscarriage, remember them. Tell them you care. Tell them you don’t understand but you are there if they need anything. There is not a better gift you can give to a childless mother.
“I wake up – and tear drops, they fall down like rain… Go to bed, dream of you, that's what I'm doing these days." – Rascal Flatts.
No comments:
Post a Comment