Not Just a Memory

On my way home from the hospital after the appointment that will forever be known as the worst day of my life, I remember thinking, “I can’t do this.” A little voice in the back of my mind reminded me that I am strong, but I didn’t believe it. ”I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough.”

I was alone, sent home to wait; as the hospital did not have any bed’s available for me. It had been less than an hour since I had been told that our son no longer had a heartbeat. It had become very real in my mind that I was going to give birth, and in the following days my first son would be born sleeping.  Stillborn is still a term I cannot swallow.

I was alone with my thoughts, in 5 o’clock traffic.

My previously less than flawless faith was being questioned. How could HE do this to me? Why do I deserve this? How would anyone deserve this? These questions soon migrated to something a little deeper. How can I use this? I was given this for a reason. I can use this to help someone. How can I help someone?

“I can’t do this.” However, looking back now, I did. I gave birth to the most beautiful little boy I’ve ever seen, and then made funeral arrangements for him. I was in the hospital, in labor for twenty hours, but went home childless. Here I am, less than three weeks later, writing about our story without snot-smearing ugly-crying.

I did it. Less than three weeks ago, and I can’t shake this feeling that I’m supposed to do something with it. This story isn’t supposed to be just a memory, and I’m not supposed to just remember. I can connect with so many people that are hurting so bad. What a terrible club to be in, those of us that have lost. Loss is also a term I have trouble with.

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