After getting the heartbreaking news that our baby was no longer living, I took the ultrasound picture and put it up on our refrigerator. It was a silent memento of what we had lost, the only proof we had left of our baby. It hurt to see it every day as we went about our daily lives, but I knew it would hurt so much more if we did not see it. It seemed important that we could hold onto our baby for just a little longer. I told myself I would take it down when the doctor finally pronounced that the miscarriage was complete.... that didn't happen.
Yesterday, after I had finished running and was stretching out my aching muscles while listening to some calming, thought invoking music, I decided it was time.
I honestly didn't think it would be that big of a deal. I don't cry anymore. I don't tear up when I share my story. I feel okay with things.
Then, as I took the picture of my tiny baby and began to put it in a box to keep safe with all of my other sentimental keepsakes, I lost all control. The floodgates opened. My strength was gone.
By taking the only picture I had and putting it away for good, felt like I was burying my child. I never got to meet this baby, but that didn't make the thought of burying him/her any less horrific. I couldn't do it. Each time I thought I had gained some control and was about to put it in the box, the tears started again and I found myself cradling the picture once more.
I thought I had grieved. I thought I was past all of that. I had kept myself busy and plastered on a fake smile, hoping everyone believed what I was selling. "Fake it 'til you make it," right? Well, apparently I was wrong.
Since I wasn't making any progress in my goal to put the picture away, I decided to write my baby a letter, hoping that would allow me to empty my heart of the pain I was carrying. Honestly, it did. I wrote out my confusion that I couldn't be his/her Mom. I wrote out my pain that I carry deep down on a daily basis. I wrote how I hope he/she is happy in heaven and how I hope that in some small way, I was able to help him/her progress in his/her journey. Most importantly, I was able to tell my baby that I love him/her.
I could hear Austin crying in the other room, done with his nap and ready to play. But my body remained on the bedroom floor, paralyzed until the grief had passed. When I finally felt like I had expressed my heart, and said all that remained to be said, I placed the letter and the picture in the box and put it away for good.
Austin was shocked to see me when I entered his room because I looked like a scary mess. At first he wouldn't even let me pick him up. I guess my fake smile over the weeks has been pretty believable if my own son is confused.... I took him downstairs and sat on the floor with him. He then proceeded to make every attempt his little baby mind could think of to make his Momma happy. He started with bringing me his little stuffed puppy that he always wants to cuddle with when he is sad. That little thoughtful gift brought me to tears again, but this time it was tears of a different kind. Tears of gratitude that I have such a special little angel to spend my days with, while my other little angel is gone. Next he tried cheering me up by jumping up and down and making faces at me, most of which were giant gap-toothed smiles with eyes only for me. I felt the sadness melting, and a big smile of my own started showing. The final act in his repertoire was to jump on me and open his mouth as wide as he could to kiss me. At this point, I was hooked. By the kiss of a baby, I was happy again. That doesn't mean that deep down I wasn't still hurting, but I just couldn't hold out any longer. I found myself laughing.
No comments:
Post a Comment