Wednesday, July 4, 2012

A year....

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 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 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 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.