Frozen

Yesterday, as I stood outside on an early fall afternoon, I watched my dogs run around under the enormous maple trees in our front yard. The trees have been turning colors and I’m not nearly as excited about it as I usually am. Fall has always been my favorite season, but I feel as though my life has frozen since my son has been gone. I often have to remind myself that it is actually September, because I feel as though it should still be mid June.The last two months have been a complete blur. I feel as though I live in a haze, I go to work every day, and do chores at home. We pay our bills on time, and have dinner every night, but it feels like a dream, a fog, or more realistically, a nightmare.

Last night, as I watched my crazy girls run at full speed around my front yard, I gazed up at the trees I’ve always loved so much. They’re beginning to turn into the gorgeous fall tones I’ve always loved. The seasons changing is hard for me. I feel like I am leaving my sweet boy in the past. 

As I watched the leaves fall, I admired the cool breeze. I had opened all the windows in the house so we could enjoy the cool weather. For a brief second, I thought I heard a baby cry from Skylar’s room. I glanced at the green curtains blowing in the breeze and felt excitement, as I knew my baby needed me, and I was going to go pick him up and love on him. I used to be so excited to hold him. 

I then remembered this couldn’t be true. My boy was gone, and has been for months. Hearing him cry sometimes is usually something that wakes me up at night. I think it’s my hormones or something. Its as if my body knows there should be a baby in my life. 

I came back inside, and sat on the couch as I opened up my phone and scrolled through the pictures I have of my sweet boy. I stared at his perfect features, my emotions were yet again, so intense that I literally felt nauseated. As I looked at his pictures, and remembered how it felt to hold him, I felt very real, physical pain. Because my arms are so very empty, they literally hurt sometimes. My chest hurts as my heart breaks all over again. My throat burns as I choke back tears, and sometimes it’s even heard to breathe.

The world I’m in has been very dark lately, as I suppose I am entering the depression phase of the grief process. I don’t write as often as I did, because in the past I have tried very hard to share only positivity. I think quite a bit of my deep sadness branches from the seasons changing. Saturday will be my birthday. Last year for my birthday, I was so very sad that I was not yet a mommy.. yet here I am, back at square one, feeling the same way. 

Last October, I got pregnant. Last November, at thanksgiving, we announced to our family that we were finally having a baby. And last Christmas, we shared it with the world. These next few months will be very hard for me. In the changing seasons, I will be leaving my only baby behind.

I went to see one of my doctors recently because of deep depression and memory lapses. Both or which, are normal for what I’m going through. But, at my visit, she asked me if I had talked to anyone about how bad I’ve been feeling. My family doctor that has known me for as long as I can remember. I was honest with her when I said no. I have been shielding everyone in my life, including my best friends, my parents, and my husband, from how very bad I have been feeling. I have been pulling myself together for the sake of everyone else. I have been putting on a fake smile, and hiding all my pain. My doctor stressed that this will not help me. If I can handle being told my son was gone while still thinking I felt movement, if I can handle being in labor for 20 hours, if I can handle giving my son away to be cremated, everyone else should be able to handle my very raw emotion. I’ve since decided to share my darkest parts. My physical and emotional pain that comes with missing my baby boy with literally every fiber of my soul is something I will no longer hide.

Two and a half months ago I lost my son. People often tell me that one day, I will be a mommy, one day, I will have my happy ending. Though I do often wish I could fast forward to the next chapter in my life, I often also worry that it will never happen. Even if I do get to have another, who is to say something bad won’t happen in the third trimester again, or at birth, or while they’re an infant, or when they’re a teenager? I live in fear that I will never have a happy ending. I sometimes feel very lost, isolated, and alone. My world is filled with pain and fear, and it seems even antidepressants may not help me. 

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Dreams

Two months ago today, my son was born.

His due date has come and gone, as has the date I was to be induced. The one month anniversary came and went, and though it wasn’t easy, I made it through all of those days without too much trouble. Today, however, that is quite different. Today, I should have a two month old.

In the weeks that followed losing my sweet boy, I was given sleeping pills. Every time I fell asleep, my mind would play the hardest moments over, and over, until I startled myself awake. The recurrent scenes of being told my son no longer had a heartbeat, or having my beautiful, lifeless son given to me once he was born would upset me so greatly, that I would wake up crying breathlessly. I often woke either just before 2:17am, the moment he was born, or 04:21am, the moment we were called to the hospital. The sleeping pills would keep me from dreaming at all, or waking at times that would remind me of what I had been through.

Lately, I haven’t been taking any medication to help me sleep. I don’t need them anymore, now that my pregnancy hormones have gone. My dreaming habits have returned to normal, and most nights I don’t dream at all. Now, I often try to dream. I wish to dream of my Skylar. As I try to fall asleep, I’ll do my best to remember his face, or stare at his pictures. I want so deeply to know he is okay. I want so desperately to have him visit me in my dreams.

Dreaming of my boy in a future tense, rather than the moments when he was taken from my grasp is something I have hoped for. To see his eyes open to look at me was something I had longed for so deeply. I had always wondered what color his eyes would have been. I often try to dream of him just so I can see him open his eyes. The night we got home from the hospital. Michael and I laid in bed as I told him how sad I was that I would never know what color our baby’s eyes were. The next morning, Michael mentioned he had dreamed of our boy. He got to see the color of his eyes.

From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I couldn’t wait to see our baby’s face. I was so excited to see who he would look like. From the ultrasounds, it was pretty obvious he had his daddy’s nose. I picked on Michael so much for sharing that wide nose of his. We were so excited to see who our little guy looked like. The moment they told me he was gone; all I wanted was to see his little face. However, as he was born, I was scared I couldn’t handle it. It was until Michael told me how beautiful he was, and that he did indeed have that wide nose, that I couldn’t bear another moment not knowing what my sweet boy looked like.

I spent nine months imagining my sons face. I knew I was going to love him more than anything, as I already did. I love his daddy so much, that I would often hope he would look just like him. I often hoped he looked just like his daddy, but had the blue eyes just like so many people in my family have. Michael’s eyes are green, and I love them, but I hoped I would have a dark headed blue eyed little boy. It was hard to accept that I would now never know.

On the day after our son was born, Michael took me to breakfast. We were killing time until the pharmacy opened so I could get my pain medication. I sat in a booth awaiting our food as Michael looked at me and told me he had dreamt of our boy that night. I had kept my eyes lowered to avoid strangers and their concerned looks, as I was a complete mess. My eyes locked onto his as he told me about this dream, I hung on every word. He said the dream he had was brief, but he saw our sweet Skylar. His eyes were mostly blue, with green toward the middle. We already knew his eyelashes were long and dark like his daddy’s. How perfect it would have been to look into those eyes for the rest of my life? I try so hard every night to dream of him.

I often wonder if he is okay, and if he knows me. It’s so very hard to just accept that he is gone, and his existence is over. It’s so very hard to have never seen him alive. I long for any kind of communication, and I have always thought that a dream would help me know he is okay. I want so badly for him to know how much I loved him and that I would have given anything to save him.

Saturday, I watched a little girl that is close to my family. Her name is Dorothy. My Grandmother has her, and asked me to care for her that morning, as she had something to do that day. I have always enjoyed her company. We played with bubbles, and pet the horses. We had a phenomenal time. But, as she came into my home early that morning, she walked right into Skylar’s room. She put her little chin on the edge of his crib and said, “Where is he?” It was so strange to me that she said ‘he’. Little miss Dorothy and I had never really talked about the fact that the baby in my belly was a boy.

I stood silent in the doorway as I thought to myself about how deeply I wish to know the answer of that question myself. My Grandmother responded, “He’s in heaven, with Grandad”. I’ve been reading into heaven quite a bit lately. I’ve found a great amount of comfort in thinking that my little boy looks down on me from heaven, and sees how much I miss him. I can’t help but question sometimes if it really is true.

Dorothy responded, “No he’s not, he’s with Michael” Michael, my husband, was still in bed.

I’ve had a bit of trouble with the idea that my sweet boy is somehow not in heaven. After all, don’t people say that children can see those who are gone?

Last night, I awoke at 2:17am. I had been dreaming of my sweet boy. However, my dream did not wake me. As I woke, it took me a moment to adjust back to reality. In my dream, our boy was alive.

Michael and I were headed to some large get together where nearly everyone we knew was there, and I recall being nervous, as it was the first time we were taking our Skylar out to something like this. As we got there, strangers were telling us how adorable our boy was. In reality, I recall being so proud of him in the hospital, even though he was gone, he was still so very gorgeous. In my dream, people were coming to us, mentioning how they thought we had lost our sweet boy, and we got to tell them that our doctors were wrong. In this dream, I told so many people that it was a mistake; I explained to so many people with so very much joy, that our son had lived.

In this dream, my Skylar was the happiest little guy I had ever seen. He was about a year old, walking and somewhat talking. In the final moment before I awoke, he looked up at me, smiling. His eyes were so very bright, and his smile so genuine. I could tell he loved me, and looking at him being happy warmed my entire body with happiness. He looked at me as all babies look to their mamas, with so much love and trust. The relationship between a mother and her child is something I have longed to be a part of for as long as I remember. In that moment, though it was a dream, I was the happiest I’ve ever been.

Readjusting to reality upon waking up was remarkably difficult.

In my dream, my son’s eyes were blue, with green in them. In my dream, my baby boy was happy, and so was I. I hope he is in heaven, and he can see how very much I miss him today. I hope one day soon, I’ll be in heaven with him, and I can look into his eyes like I did in my dream last night, and feel the happiness wash over me once again.

 

Response

There are two types of people in this world.

When you find yourself in the darkest moments of your life, how do you respond?

Do you remain calm, processing what is about to happen to you, as you discover your life is about to change? Do you handle difficult things with composure, for the sake of those around you? Or do you allow your emotion to flood your mind? Do you allow yourself to behave however you please, no matter who you’re around?

In moments of tragedy, there are only two types of people.

 I often find myself concerned about other people when I have to tell them what has happened to me and my boy. In the beginning, when I first learned what happened, I remember apologizing to the ultrasound tech. I knew I had ruined her day. She cried with me when she had to tell me my boy was gone. 

When I met with the nurse that specialized in cases like mine just minutes after I found out, I remember asking her how she deals with people like me every day. As I was sure no one would ever want to do what she does. She just shook her head at me, and I didn’t understand why.

I was sent home that day, to get my things and wait for an available hospital room. We had time to kill, so we decided to go tell our families in person. I remember being so scared to tell my parents. My heart broke on a whole different level when for a split second, my daddy didn’t believe me. All my mom could say was how she couldn’t imagine what I was feeling. But in that moment, all I was feeling was worry for them, and how they were handling what I had just told them. 

The entire time I was admitted and in labor, I recall feeling so concerned for my family in the neighboring room, and if they were okay. I felt so bad for them, because they felt as though they had to be there for me. They must have been tired, uncomfortable, hungry, and of course, sad beyond belief.

In the time that followed my sons birth, people came to visit. The door to Skylar’s bedroom is near the front door, and right off the living room. I recall always worrying if seeing my home would upset visitors. The swing in the living room, the bassinet near my bed, the completely finished bedroom for our baby boy.. I had dealt with it at that point, but coming to see us and our home like that must have been devastating.

I returned to work quickly. Just days after I was released, I went to speak with my boss about my return. By that point, everyone in our family had adjusted to what had happened. However, walking into my place of work, that was not the case. I love so many of my coworkers so deeply. To see the sadness in their eyes as I told them about my beautiful boy was both endearing, and shattering at the same time. They cared so deeply for me. My little boy had impacted their lives so very much. 

When you become the person everyone hurts for, you’re treated differently. People want to hug you, and when they do, they sometimes loose their composure. As you’re holding someone, your chests touch, you can feel them breathe, your faces are close, you can hear their emotion.. and when they begin to cry, you can detect it with nearly every sense you have. I couldn’t tell you how many people I have hugged tighter, because I know their hearts are broken. They are crying for me. I wish I could take their pain away. 

A month after I lost my sweet Skylar, I had to go see my doctor to both make sure I was doing alright, and to get test results to find out what went wrong. One specific test they did is one I declined early in my pregnancy. It tests for genetic issues, and that was something I didn’t care about once I finally got pregnant. However, now that my little guy was gone, we were turning over every stone. 

As I completed my blood work and went to check out, the lady, without thinking, asked me how far along I was. I could hear the hesitation in my voice as I lowered my head and responded “I’m not pregnant”. That was something I have had to remind myself repeatedly, saying it aloud was difficult. You get so used to feeling a baby kick in your belly, that sometimes you think you feel them when they’re not there. 

I could see the horror in her face as she realized what she had just done. As we discussed appointments, and tests, she apologized multiple times. Michael rubbed my back the whole time. He won’t allow me to go to doctors appointments alone anymore, and I was so thankful he was there. He expected me to break in that moment, so he was comforting me in every way he could.

As our conversation came to a close, she apologized one more time. I decided to say what had been running through my mind the entire time I stood there. I told her to not worry about me. I had anticipated the regret she was feeling was something that might haunt her for some time. I didn’t want her to loose sleep over saying the wrong thing to a complete stranger. My heart hurt for her. Enough hearts had been broken already for me. Though it was difficult, I was thankful it was me she had done that to. That was a mistake she will never make again, and I was glad it was someone like me, someone who could handle it. 

Looking back on everything I’ve been through at this point, I find myself feeling thankful that I was the one carrying Skylar. Not just because I knew him best, but because I know I’m okay. I cant imagine how difficult this has been for those who love me. My husband, my parents, my best friends. I cant imagine watching someone hurt like I have been, or watching someone go through labor, knowing they wont get to keep their baby. I honestly believe its been harder for them. Because they watched it happen, and couldn’t fix it.

In every encounter I’ve found myself in since my boy has been gone, I’ve watched people closely. I’ve learned to be sensitive to the cues that come before the tears, and comfort those who hurt for me. Because it happened to me, I have the power to make people feel better. I can reassure everyone that I am indeed, okay. I’m thankful that I can comfort those who’s hearts are shattered for me and my little family. My little boy was so very loved. He would have been the luckiest little boy on the planet.

I found myself in a stressful situation this weekend that could have potentially been very bad, but it turned out okay. In those moments, I recognized a large division in the types of people that were around me.  As I comforted those who were in complete panic, it helped me realize how very different I was from them.

In this world, there are two types of people. The ones that want people to feel sorry for them, and the ones that feel bad for making others hurt. 

 

When Time Stands Still

When the worst news I’ll ever hear filled the ultrasound room, time as I knew it came to a screeching halt. I forgot how to breathe. Speaking became a great effort. Making eye contact was nearly impossible. My hands were shaking, my mouth dry, though I didn’t want to eat or drink a thing. I suddenly didn’t care what time it was, or what day it was. Thus, time stood still. 
Terrible things like this happen every day. In fact, every 20 minutes a baby like my sweet Skylar is born in the United States. So many other terrible things happen each and every day, and time never really does slow down.

Everyone remembers the worst day of their lives. How their chest felt tight, as they tried to process whatever it was that changed their life for forever. Your throat closes up, and words become impossible. When Michael held our first baby for the first time, time halted. My, how differently I had imagined that moment would be. 

The saddest part, is that life goes on. You could be on your way home from the hospital after getting the worst news of your life, and you might find yourself being on the wrong end of a rage filled driver. You could be anywhere, and someone could be complaining about how terrible parenthood is, not realizing how painfully you wish to be in their shoes. 

Of course most people I encounter every day don’t know what happened, but because life has begun to move on, I don’t feel the need to tell them. In the time since I lost my boy, I can see the sting that comes with sharing such terrible news. To be frank, I’m tired of being the person everyone feels sorry for. 

I’ve recently had to tell another patient at work what happened to my sweet boy. There have been a few times that I’ve been greeted with seemingly harmless questions like “did you have that baby yet!?” Of course, I always have to tell them what happened. 

The most recent time I had to break the news to someone, it hurt me all over again, but not in the way you would think. The question was asked with such uplifting joy and excitement. When I said I had my baby, but he was gone, her face changed so very quickly. The sorrow was so deep as her eyes filled with tears. 

I sometimes wish I could lie to everyone, because I know I am on their mind for days and weeks afterward. Their hearts break for me, I can see it in their eyes weather or not tears come with the emotion on their faces. It’s one thing to have a broken heart, but to break others with the news of what’s happened to me is so much harder. 

But nevertheless, life has moved on. I’ve noticed it has become less acceptable to be upset about everything, and it’s only been 8 weeks ago. Though I have had two months to learn how to function in the world again, I will never be the same. I appreciate life and everything in it in a completely different light. As, you never know when everything important to you can be turned to ash in a tiny wooden box. 

Bills still come, as do condolence cards. Hospital bills have started flooding in. But there is an extra sting that comes with all the formula coupons, parenting magazines, and different “congratulations on your new baby” mailers from places like target, and diaper companies. 

I try to take one day at a time. Because two months ago time stood still. I understand in other moments, not just the bad, time stands still as well. Time for me stood still in the moments I married my husband, and when we first heard our baby boys heartbeat. I know one day, time will stand still for much better reasons. 

For three consecutive nights before I learned my boy was gone, I had a dream that I didn’t quite understand. I dreamt that I was in the delivery room meeting my baby for the first time. It was a beautiful birth, and that baby was crying to no end, just as I had begged for Skylar to when he was born. 

What was strange was, that baby was a girl. I recall waking up each time following this dream thinking, what? I’m having a boy? And I’m happy he’s a boy! Why am I dreaming this? I’ve clung to that dream ever since. It made no sense to me at the time, and I just told myself I must have been all my hormones. Now however, I hope that dream was a sign. 

The dream was so very real to me. In that dream, time stood still. I can still picture it clear as day. One day I hope time for me will stand still because of something good. But, until then, life moves on. Every day takes me further and further away from my sad, sad story.. and I’m okay with that. I try to look forward to what life has in store for me. I look forward to time standing still again. Because next time, it might be something good.

Control

I haven’t written often lately, because I find it easier to share my feelings when they are good. Last week, that was not the case. Reality had sunken in and I had noticed the world around me getting darker and darker. At times, I didn’t know where my life was going anymore, and adjusting to that very idea had been very hard for me. The sadness that is associated with being the mother to a stillborn baby is rarely anything less than difficult. It’s often hard to tell the difference between depression, guilt, and grief.

In the two years it took me to get pregnant, I had hope. One day it might happen, one day I might be a mommy. Eventually I had started to lose hope. I recall telling my husband that we were only going to try for another six months. Once we had been trying for a total of two and a half years, I would be done. Now I’m back at square one. We do plan to try again, likely for a year. But I can’t help but think about how much harder it will be. The trying, the pregnancy, and who’s to say we won’t have our baby taken from us if were ever lucky enough to have another.

What if something is to happen again? I’ve handled this once, and not gracefully. I’m certain going through something like this a second time will break me. The uncertainty in life has started to change my spirit. Last week, I wasn’t nearly the person I used to be. I had known going through the loss of my first baby, my son, would change me. I try to limit how much I change, but the truth is, I haven’t got control over anything.

The hardest part about losing my sweet boy is that I feel like I never got to say goodbye. He was gone before I ever met him. I often try to imagine what would have made the situation harder or easier depending on how things could have been different. I do believe knowing something was wrong, but at least seeing his eyes open would have helped me. However, knowing he was already gone, I did have time to prepare myself. I try not to dwell on what could have been, simply because I can’t change it. But sometimes I can’t help myself.

Sunday morning, I sat in the fellowship hall of the church we’ve been regularly attending since we lost our boy. My husband and I were just sitting there talking about where our lives will be taking us in the next few months. My mind was brought back to the night before our sweet Skylar was born, the day I found out he was gone, yet I had to go home. Still pregnant, but aware that the baby in my belly was already gone. It was the worst feeling I’ve ever endured. I looked to my husband, in that busy café within the church, and said “I hope I never have to experience anything like that as long as I live. I hope in all my days that will be the worst of them all.”

I recall the fear I had in saying those words. My stomach felt tight, my throat filled with the lump I have grown so familiar with. This lump that always comes before tears. I was terrified. I’ve always been a person that needed to be in control of everything. God love my husband, as he has always tolerated my controlling tendencies. However, in that moment, as I thought about our future, and how terrified I was of going through something like that again, it became very real to me that I was not in control whatsoever. I had been so ignorant to think that I ever had a grasp on our lives, and what happens in them.

In the time since our son has been gone, I have held onto guilt. I grasp onto the blame like a light pole in a snowstorm. The results that came back making it obvious that it was not my fault have not helped me as much as I had hoped they would. I still can’t shake the feeling that my son literally died in the one place he was supposed to be his safest. My body was supposed to protect him. Instead, my body failed him.

I watched a video this weekend that changed my perspective on guilt. I often watch videos of this miraculous woman that calls herself the jersey belle. She shares stories of life and love, and her perspective on things, and though she always makes me feel better, this time in particular, the tears were rolling harder than they have in weeks.

She told us a story of someone she knew that was holding onto guilt after losing a friend in a car wreck. She blamed herself for the accident, when it couldn’t possibly be any fault of her own. I too, have been holding onto guilt, though what happened to my sweet boy couldn’t have been my fault. While telling the story, she mentioned she tried to understand why this woman was holding onto the guilt of her friends wreck, much like I hold on to the gilt of my sons demise.

She mentioned the guilt was the final thing we have control of. When you’re someone like me, and your nightmares come true, you try to grasp onto the only thing you can. Control is comforting to someone like me, and I’ve been grasping onto guilt because my world has fallen apart, and the only thing I have control over these days, is the way I feel.

This weekend, when I discovered my need for control was the root of my guilt, I was able to let it go. I was able to make a conscious effort to release the guilt of losing my boy. The light pole in snowstorm was not bringing me any healing. We never really have control of what happens in our lives, and once we accept the fact that our lives are completely out of our grasp, we get so much relief. 

It’s miraculous how your mind can go to great lengths to try to comfort yourself in all the wrong ways. Sometimes life throws us the scariest things, and we are simply just supposed to handle them. But, in reality the human mind is truly the scariest thing of all.

 

Light

When I first found out my boy was gone, he was still in my belly. Looking back now, it really is hard to believe I’ve been through as much as I have. Sometimes it doesn’t even seem real. It’s almost as if the last six weeks of my life have been a terrible dream that won’t end. Often people don’t know what to say. There is one thing most people do find the bravery to say, that my sweet Skylar is now in heaven. When I found out he was gone, and before I was in labor, I recall thinking I wasn’t sure if there was a God, or even a heaven, because surely no God would willingly put someone through this. 

My opinion of God was changed pretty quickly. When the pastor from our church came to see us after my sweet Skylar was born, he changed my heart. When I told him about how angry I was, and how God could have just as easily just told me “no” when I asked for a baby, he understood. He looked at me with tender eyes as he said “but wasn’t he beautiful? Aren’t you glad you had the time you did with him?” 

My entire outlook had been changed in an instant. My precious baby boy was a miracle. Though I would have given literally everything to have more time with him, I still wouldn’t change having him for the world. Before I even left the hospital, I knew there was a God. I didn’t know much about him still, but that was simply because I didn’t have the need to know him. Life has always been so good to me. That is, until my worst nightmare came true.

In the first days that I was home, so many people reached out to us. So many of them mentioning that our son was now in heaven. This of course, was something that I wanted to believe. The idea of my sons existence ending just as quickly as it began was simply something I couldn’t handle. Thus, I began looking into heaven. 

In the few short weeks it’s been since I’ve lost my sweet boy, I’ve read stories, books, and even bits of the Bible. I find so much comfort in thinking that what people say is true. That maybe, just like mommies point out their babies in the nursery, claiming how cute they are, maybe my sweet boy is pointing at me saying “look, there’s my mommy! Isn’t she pretty?” 

From the small amount I have learned about heaven so far, there are no doubts that I will do literally anything to get there. I’ve also found quite a bit of comfort in learning about God. All the questions I had in the beginning, about why God allowed my baby boy to be taken from me, or why so soon, I’ve found answers for each and every one of them. 

I’ve learned to accept why these things happen, and I’ve learned to have hope for what my life has in store. I do find myself scared sometimes, because I know it can be concerning to look forward to the next life as much as I do, but it’s only because I know where I’ll be going, and who is there.

I’ve found such comfort in learning all I can about heaven, and all things related. Doing anything to get there will bring me comfort as well. It is rare that a child gets to save their parent, but my Skylar has turned me toward the lord. My faith is far stronger than it has ever been. My sweet boy has saved me. His little hands now guide me toward the light. It is unclear if I would have made it into heaven before, but I will do anything to get there now.

Life Decisions

There is so much comfort that comes with knowing your family approves of your life decisions.

In the time I was in labor, my husband was by my side the entire time. Holding my hand, and being there for me every time I began to cry. I endured most of the labor naturally, as the physical pain was far easier to handle than the emotional pain I was being haunted with. Through my entire pregnancy, I had not been afraid of labor in the slightest. The end result, or the idea rather, of being handed my healthy baby boy made it all worth it. I still was not afraid of labor. I dove head first into the entire ordeal. Fear was not something that concerned me at that point. My worst fear had become a reality. Physical pain was something I welcomed.

My sweet Michael was there the whole time, and has been ever since. With other people, I try to remain strong, and hold back my tears when they come. I know my hurt makes most uncomfortable. But with Michael, I can let it all out. I can ugly cry until I can’t breathe, and he will comfort me the whole way. Snot and makeup everywhere, and he loves me all the same.

In the time since this has happened, so many people have come to me in praise for my sweet husband. So many have told me how much respect for him they have gained, since they’ve watched him care for me so diligently. Every member of my family, and even some of his, have sang his praises. All of those that were there for our Sons birth have mentioned how good he was to me, and how lucky I am. Not that I didn’t already know I was a lucky girl.

I’ve been writing of my gratitude of him ever since. Last week, I wrote a lengthy piece about a toy ship in a bottle that brought me so much peace when we bought it. The story that came with that ship in the bottle prompted me to get a collection of messages from miscellaneous people, one of which, being my mother. Now, I won’t share the exact message I had gotten from her, but I will mention that it sent me over the moon with joy.

Michel has always been a very timid guy. Out of respect of everyone around him, when he is not familiar with people, he will often not speak, but instead listen. This is something I’ve always loved about him. But, for my family, it was misleading. My Daddy expected a man that would shake his hand the day he met him, and talk to him without issue. This is not the kind of guy I married. Michael and my Daddy have a wonderful relationship now. In fact, he may talk to my Daddy more than I do.

When my mom sent me this message I hope to never forget, she said a few things that warmed my heart so deeply, and it sent me into the best mood I’ve had in nearly months. My mama knows me pretty well, as we are quite a bit alike. My mama knows that I struggle with depression sometimes. She admitted she worried about my choice in Michael at first, she mentioned she was worried that he wasn’t strong enough, and didn’t have enough personality to keep me. I’m a pretty strong willed girl, and she worried about his ability in keeping me happy.

She went on to mention that she made great efforts to be a good mom, and allow me to make my own choices. She was determined to support me in any decision I made, even if she worried they might be incorrect. She then mentioned how she had recently realized how very wrong he was. She mentioned that she now knows that my sweet Michael knows me better than anyone else possibly could, including herself.

She went on to mention the little ship in the bottle I had recently shared the story about. She said she would have seen that very object, and done her best to distract me from it, knowing it would bring me pain. Michael didn’t do that, he allowed me to see it, offered it to me, and we brought it home. He knew it would bring more tears, but it also brought me comfort. My mama mentioned she would have kept me from ever seeing it, but that’s not how Michael handled it. That ship in the bottle is in our little boy’s room, and my heart smiles every time I look at it.

She mentioned she has grown more comfortable with him over the years, as we’ve been together, and our marriage has grown, she has grown to know that he is a good man, and he loves me very much. She then mentioned her respect for him has grown since. After watching the way he has handled the grief we have had to endure in the loss of our boy, and the way he has been so careful to help me through it, with so much care and patience.

The last words in her message were of the most significance. She said “There’s no way you could have made a better choice. He is perfect, and I love him!”

I had always known he was the man for me. When he looked at me so tenderly when we first met, and the way he always respected me those years ago when we were still in high school, I knew he was the man I would marry. He would bring lunch for me at school every day, and he has worked so very hard to support me every day since. He puts me before himself at every given opportunity. Though every marriage has its moments, my confidence in my choice in him has never changed. These days, when I’m not ugly-crying, he has me giggle-snorting, and I love him more every day.

My heart has been so warmed when family members have mentioned how perfect he is for me. There really is so much comfort that comes with your family loving the man you’ve chosen just as much as you do.

Conversations

A friend of mine called me when I was three weeks into the nightmare I now live with every day. Her cousin had just joined the worst club there is, she was now a mama like me. A mother of loss. I instantly felt the need to reach out to her. Going through this is so very hard, and I had already learned that reaching out to others was immensely helpful. I recall being drawn to help her and her family in any way that I could.

When I hadn’t heard anything from her in a few weeks, I didn’t think much of it. Of course she didn’t know me, and she may have not been interested in opening up about the worst day of her life to a complete stranger. Three weeks later, her cousin, my friend, assisted in getting us into contact, and I’m so thankful she did.

A few days ago, she finally reached out to me. I recall before we spoke, thinking how lucky she was. Yes, she lost her sweet baby girl, and that’s the most terrible thing in the world. But, I felt as though she was more fortunate than I. Because she is still a momma after this, she has two boys at home to love on. I had assumed that would be better than what I have, my empty arms, childless. I had assumed wrong.

Once I got to talk with her, it was clear to me how very sweet she was. She talked with me about her struggles, and I shared both my struggles, and what I have learned in the time I’ve been grieving. She prayed for me over the phone in the deepest, most endearing way. I told her about all the scenarios at which people had changed my perspective, and what my views were on how to handle what we were going through, as it really does change you. Then, she had her own hand at changing my views.

We spoke about how terrible it is to go through something like this. I told her at first, how angry I was at God, and how I had really questioned my faith. After all, what kind of God would ever intentionally put someone through what we’re suffering through? In the calmest tone, she said to me “our God doesn’t want this” he soothing words washed over me as if I had been submerged in waves of relief. I believe she is right, she said “We live in a fallen world. This is why this happens; he didn’t do this to us”

My questions in faith had been immediately answered. This wasn’t the plan from the beginning. My miracle was, but his death was not. My little Skylar was meant to be, but I don’t believe God meant for this to happen to him. I was supposed to hold him as he cried when he was born. I was supposed to see his eyes open. I was supposed to watch him grow up. This fallen world took him from me, so on the bad days that I wish to no longer be here, I am not to blame.

We then discussed how difficult it was, the physical and emotional pain. How hard it was to deal with people again, and how hard it is for her to explain to her sons why their little sister is gone. In the time before I spoke with her, I had assumed everything was easier because she still had babies to hold. I recall the moment she mentioned how she told her boys, my stomach leapt into my throat, and cold chills covered my body. How difficult it must have been, explaining what happened to two small children. How terrible it must have been, to see their reactions and answer their questions. My heart instantly broke for her all over again.

Talking about my sweet boy always brings me so much joy. I love to tell people how beautiful he was. When I asked about her sweet girl, she spoke of her with such grace. Hearing someone else speak about their baby that’s now gone was so different, because for once it wasn’t me. Though it is sad, she spoke of her with such unconditional love. How lucky that little girl was, to have this very woman as her mommy. A mother’s love really is breathtaking. I recall feeling so grateful, that this complete stranger had opened up to me about such a raw hurt. Her words brought tears to my eyes for a whole different reason. I was in awe of this woman I had never met.

Just before we ended our phone conversation, she asked me a few questions about my experience of being a mother of loss. I recall telling her how very sad I am, and that God could have easily just said “no” to me, when I asked to be blessed with a baby. She asked me one simple question that changed everything in my heart. She said “If you could go back in time, and change everything, would you? Would you have never gotten pregnant?” She already knew what my answer would be.

The truth is, I would do it all over again. I would go through labor, I would lose my boy, I would see his little heart on that ultrasound screen motionless. I would do it all. In fact, even if I knew it could be worse. I would go through a much longer labor, worse pain; I would endure so very much worse if I had to. Because, I got to see how absolutely beautiful our baby could be. I got to feel the flutters of little hands and feet in my belly for months. I got to know what it’s like to love someone more than yourself.

I would do it all over again, just to see his face. I would endure it all, just to put his little fingers around mine one more time.

In the hour that we spoke, my heart had been healed so much. I find so much comfort in people giving me their perspective, and allowing their opinions to change my heart. My only hope is that through our conversation, I may have helped her as much as she helped me. Because, that was why I wanted to reach out to her in the first place.

 

Questioned 

In the times following the loss of our boy, some people have been very brave. Where some are distant, and don’t know what to say, others are intrusive, and sometimes make things more difficult than they should be. They ask me about things that I’ve had to learn how to answer carefully. They sometimes want to hear answers that I don’t even know. 

While I was in the hospital, about half way through labor, family members were showing up by the carload. This was something I hadn’t intended to have, so it was a bit difficult to handle on its own. I had originally wanted to spend the time we had with our sweet Skylar alone. Though looking back, I’m glad we had such a large amount of unwavering support. But, with a large volume of people, the questions soon followed. 

Why did this happen? 

What an awful question to ask me in the thick of it. To this day, this is probably the most difficult question I’m greeted with. In the days following his birth, we had no idea what we had done wrong.

Since then, we have found the tip of the iceberg when it comes to reasoning. But, there are still far more tests to be done before we will have concrete answers. That being said, putting what we’ve learned into words is very difficult for me. Explaining where I went wrong, and how my body failed him will never be an easy conversation. 

Will you try again?

This question is less difficult these days. At first, people would try to offer me hope when it was too soon. You’ll have more, you’re still young, you can try again. I recall thinking I didn’t want to ever go though this again. As I sat in the ultrasound room when they were verifying my son was gone, I recall thinking I would never be pregnant again, that this would be the last time I ever saw an ultrasound. 

That is, until my doctor placed the most beautiful boy I had ever seen on my chest the second he was born. Once I stopped holding my breath and finally admitted the fact that he wasn’t going to cry, and my miracle was gone, I knew I needed to try again. The first time Michael held our son, in fact, the first time he had ever held a baby, he said the same. He looked at me with the most tender eyes and asked if we could try again, just one more time. We do intend to try again, but we don’t really know when. There’s quite a bit of healing that needs to happen before I’ll be ready. 

In the first few days after we had lost him, I remember thinking I didn’t want a replacement. I recall often telling Michael that I didn’t want another one. I wanted the baby I had, and no one could fix that. This hasn’t changed. When people tell me we will have another, it often rubs me the wrong way. I don’t want another one, I want my Skylar. Another baby will not heal me. One day we will head down that road again, but I don’t think it will be very soon.

What will you do with his things? 

To be honest, when I came home from my appointment, anticipating a call to begin my hospital admission and labor induction, I was terrified to go home. Just inside the front door, there is a nursery entirely complete, and ready for a baby. A baby that slipped from our grasp far too soon. 

It’s been six weeks since our son was born, and some still ask this question of me. His room has not changed. 

The bassinet that was in my bedroom is now packed away in a closet. The baby swing that was in the living room has now been moved. However, his room remains the same. Putting together his room brought me so much joy. I had waited to be a mommy for years, to finally be able to put together a nursery was the happiest days of my life. Not to mention, in this room is the nicest furniture we’ve ever owned. The room is perfect, just like our boy was. 

Even after our Skylar was gone, his room still brought me joy. Of course, there was the hurt that came with knowing it is a room that is no longer needed. But, I have always admired when things look nice, and my hard work has paid off, and his room is the nicest one in the house. 

His room is decorated with clouds, anchors, ships, and cars. Plus, planes, maps, and compasses. The day after Skylar was born, Michael wheeled me around Walmart while we waited for my prescriptions. A small decor item caught my eye. It was a small bottle with a ship in it. I recall initially thinking how perfect it was for our boys room, and them remembering we had said goodbye to him less that 24 hours before. As I lost every ounce of composure I had, Michael placed the bottle in the cart, and we brought it home that day. I wept as he immediately placed it in his room when we got home.

I don’t intend on changing his room whatsoever. It will remain as it is, until we are pregnant again. For now, there’s an urn on the shelf on the corner of the room. With that, there are clay castings of our sons hands and feet. His hospital bag is still packed, and sitting on the changing table. In his crib, there’s is a memory box filled with special things to me. The hat he wore with his name on it, forget me not seeds from the hospital staff, his footprint cards. The alphabet book my best friend had made for him from the baby shower, all the condolence cards we received, all his ultrasounds, and his birth certificate. 

This room belongs to Skylar. The soft white blanket he was wrapped in at the hospital with his name all over it in blue and gray is draped over the back of the recliner I sit in this very moment as I write. 

I often spend time in this room. It is where my son is. It is where I spent so much time and effort building the life I thought my son would have. This room is where I go to be close to him. 

His things are going nowhere. The white letters that spell out his name still hang on the wall, and the ship in the bottle we bought after he was gone still sits on the end table next to me. One day, life will have moved forward enough that I may change my mind. But for now, I sit in the recliner in his room, and remember how happy he made me for every second he was here. 

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