Through Tears

I found myself in the shower last week completely exhausted... and I just cried and cried. 

And in these moments when I have too much time to think, I am always brought back to that day. Like a movie, I watch it unfold in my head scene by scene in snippets and moments. It always starts during our vacation to Florida (where I think it actually happened), onto a conversation I had with my sister at work (where I mentioned I thought I looked deflated), to the car ride headed to the hospital (my husband so excited, smiling, holding my hand), the ultrasound room, the blur of leaving the office, the car ride home, and that night... That long emotionally draining night. Oddly these images always appear black and white until the day it actually "happened." But they are clear as day. I can hear those words and remember her face. "I'm sorry, I can't find a heartbeat." I can see my head against the window on the way home, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to breathe. Suddenly, the images have color. I see our walk to the park where I saw a golden doodle, I see the moment during our walk that the cramps started, I can see that night and morning. The hours of grueling physical pain, unlike anything I had ever felt. I see my husband in complete horror unable to comfort me as I beg him to leave and go to work. I see all the blood, so much blood. And finally, I see myself in the hospital and those final moments that I had that little baby in my belly. I can still feel the nurse grab my hand and hear her ask me if I want to see it. And I remember thinking, see it!?! Like there is a baby? And the sheer horror on my face. I declined. I sometimes wonder if I should have looked. A part of me regrets not seeing my little tiny baby I held onto in my body for as long as it would let me, about 3 months. 

There is something to be said about those women. Those who loose something so precious and put themselves back in the position for it to occur again. A pain so immense both emotionally and physically, that one would be crazy to fathom the thought of doing it all over again. Yet we do. 

I can still see myself curled in a ball on my bed sobbing uncontrollably. Living in a fog for months. The guilt I felt when I could smile again. How dare I be happy. The "monthly" reminder that I was no longer going to be a mommy. The strain it caused in my marriage. If you would have asked me then, I would have never imagined life could be happy again. After all, I wanted it for so long and then it was ripped away faster than I could wrap my head around. There would be no gender reveal, no nursery, no baby shower, no picking a name. I would be left broken and alone. I can still see myself driving to work every day sobbing. Leaving early in the morning so that I could sit in my car and put makeup on when I was ready to attempt normal function. 

This isn't my first rodeo. I was lucky enough to be blessed with a beautiful baby girl. I spent the entire pregnancy a nervous wreck. Every day I wondered if I would ever really hold this baby. It never seemed real. 

Even now, pregnant with number 2, I try my best to block out those "something is going to happen" feelings and thoughts. I must be honest, I don't see the finish line al the time. My feelings aren't nearly as intense and overbearing as they were during my pregnancy with Brynne, but they are there... And I find myself haunted by my previous loss in a sense that I won't feel "in the clear" until I am holding her. 

Sure, it's easier this time... But you never really forget. I am reminded constantly by memories that creep up when I am given too much time to drift off into what was the loneliest and darkest of times. 

I often think about these women, the women who have miscarried, the women who have had stillbirths, the women who have lost to SIDS, and the women who have lost a child... any age. I think about the women struggling with fertility. These women are incredible, forced to continue life with a piece of their heart physically missing. I pray they find peace.