It's been a long time since I posted. Not because I've forgotten...not at all. I've tried to move on. It's not that easy. I'm 8 months pregnant with your sister, Emily, and I still talk to you all the time, but right now there are just some things I need to say because today has already turned out to be really rough...this WEEK has been really rough.
I hate the 4th of July. I relive that moment last year over and over again. The anxiety and feeling of dread I had when I went to bed the night before, listening to your heartbeat race. No matter what I told myself, I couldn't calm down. I just knew. I kept telling myself that it wouldn't happen again. I wouldn't lose another baby, and SURELY it wouldn't happen twice at the same point in my pregnancy with no reason. We had just seen you a week before on ultrasound and you were perfect! Plus, my first loss had been gone two weeks before we found out...so I was past that point. I remember waking up and grabbing the doppler and convincing myself I was being silly...but there was nothing buy emptiness. No clicks, no swishes...no heartbeat. Nothing. A part of me died. I knew you were gone, but I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that it happened...again...and I had KNOWN that it would, somehow.
There are no words to describe how I felt. The ache in my heart, the pain in my chest, the confusion in my mind, or the breathlessness that consumed me. I was no longer striving to meet my healthy, little baby...I was going to have to go through delivering a baby, a stillborn, saying goodbye, and then somehow going on with my life as if nothing had happened. The only way to cope was to shut down as much as I could so I didn't go crazy. It's hard to go through that and no one really gets it or understands. It's a very alone and secluded feeling...it still is. I remember walking into the hospital's L&D and the nurses welcomed me. "Are we going to have a baby?" "Yes. Just not quite the way I planned. Not alive." I remember their faces. They took me to a room at the end of the hall where I wouldn't have to hear the happiness going on around me. They closed my door and put up a sign on my door with a leaf and a teardrop to signify to everyone that entered my room, so they knew not to come in boasting of babies...this was not a happy occasion. I remember hearing the Brahm's lullaby play over the speakers to signify every time a baby was born...a life was born. There was no lullaby for you, Andrew, although I like to think you were greeted with much greater fanfare where you went.
I remember seeing you and first realizing you were a boy. Then when the nurse brought you to me in your little knitted blanket, I looked at you and couldn't believe that you already looked just like Trevor. No one else may know just how real you are, but me and Daddy do. You were a real little boy...just a tiny one. You had a life. You had a heartbeat. You had tiny fingers and toes, complete with nails. You were perfection, aside from the fact that you were gone. I miss you so much. It still hurts more than I ever thought it would. The kids still talk about you and hug your little lamb with your ashes. I slept with it last night. I will get out your keepsakes later and cry some more, but it's all I have to feel close to you...those and your ashes. While everyone else celebrates the holiday, I will probably lie in bed and wish the day away. The month really. Of course, I can't do that because your sister has a birthday next week. The first in three years that I am not going to lose a baby. After losing you last year, she had a really tough time, so I have to make this one special for her. She deserves it.
Well, I miss you little man. I miss you more than I could ever express. I hope you will look out for your sisters and brothers here on Earth. I know you are our special angel and you will be helping Emily arrive safe and sound in a short while. Mommy loves you so much.