Day 10

When my neighbor’s sister went into labor at 23 weeks a year and a half ago, I was heartbroken for her. The baby lived only a few hours. I wrote about not knowing what I could possibly do to help. What was there to say? What comfort could I give? With my limited funds, what could I give her that would show how sorry I was for her loss?

I’m glad now that I wrote about that experience, because it helps me understand how you guys might be feeling. I feel bad that anyone else is sad – it seems bad enough that Jarom and I are going through this; I don’t want friends and family to have a hard time too! Looking back on that experience, though, reminds me that we “mourn with those that mourn.” It’s part of being human. We do feel sorrow when misfortunes befall those we love.

One of the things I’ve heard people say most is, “I wish I knew what to say.” Unfortunately, aside from changing the facts of the situation, there isn’t really anything you can say that will make things better. A lot of the time I don’t even know what to say. But, because I’m a generous and magnanimous person, I’ve compiled a list of things that make me feel better – both things you can say and things you can do. Obviously, the sentiment behind these has to be real, because otherwise it isn’t actually meaningful.

Things I like hearing

• I’m sorry you’re going through this.
• I’m heartbroken with you.
• I went through this (which, if it is the case, I’m so sorry that you understand) / I know someone who did. (I’d rather not hear “I knew someone whose baby was really sick but lived” because . . . well, just because.)
• I’m bringing you dinner / taking your kids / sending you a note in the mail.
• I’m thinking of you.
• What can I do to help?

It’s hard not to want to do something concrete. I’ve had lots of general offers of help, but often I can’t think of something specific on the spot or I’m just too unwilling to actually ask for help. Some of these things can only be done if you live nearby, but others are good even long-distance.

Things you can do

• Bring a meal, especially one I can put in the freezer.
• Take my kids away for a while.
• Bring or send a game or project I can do with the kids. Playing with them helps me A LOT.
• Mail a note. Knowing that people are thinking of me makes me feel loved.
• If you want, pray for us.
• Come keep me company while I do housework – I really struggle when I don’t have a grownup around to talk to – or even do the housework yourself. (I hope I don’t sound selfish or demanding; it’s just harder to keep up with housework lately.)
• Send a package. I have an Amazon list, which is probably legitimately selfish to link to, and I’ve been thinking it would be nice to have some nicer toiletries to take with me to the hospital. Body wash? Shampoo? Lotion? (Not long before I had Evan, my sister-in-law gave me some amazing body wash from Victoria’s Secret. I saved it to take to the hospital and I always remember feeling pampered by the luxurious soap.)
• Email, Facebook, comment on the blog, or text to see how I’m doing. There are times when I really need to know that someone is thinking of me.
• If you know someone who’s lost a baby, ask if they’d be willing to talk to me. In the end I doubt there’s much I can do to truly prepare, but it might be helpful for me to connect with other parents who have an idea what I’m going through and who can share their experience.
• Babysit in the evening so Jarom and I can go out. Spending more time together helps us feel better, as does trying to have fun and enjoy ourselves.
• Stop by to say hi.
• Ask any questions you have. Talking about it is good for me.

What do you think? Do you have other ideas of what friends and family can do?

Day 9

Since this weekend I’ve spoken with a funeral director, a nurse in labor & delivery, the person in charge of the local cemeteries, a photographer, and the owner of a nearby monument company. I didn’t cry or feel distraught during any of the conversations; I took careful notes, evaluated my options, and tried to start planning for the coming month.

I’m worried that I’m distracting and distancing myself too much. I feel less of a connection to the baby when I’m already looking into funeral arrangements. Would it be better or worse to drown myself in grief? Is it normal to be grieving when I haven’t lost the baby yet?

I want to have a normal day when I don’t think about this at all. There were times before when I even forgot I was pregnant; being absorbed in Evan and June, in getting stuff ready for my shop, in the mundane demands of life kept me busy, and I didn’t dwell on my pregnancy much. Now it seems like it’s Everything. When I play with Evan and June, I’m grateful they’re alive and healthy. When Evan gets fussy, I try extra hard to be patient with him because he’s the only son I’ll ever raise. When Jarom is at work, I miss him because he’s going through this with me. And when I try picking an Easter dress out for June, I can’t handle seeing the newborn clothes nearby and knowing I won’t need to buy any.

I don’t know how to find a balance between living everyday life and allowing myself to be heartbroken.

Day 8

Can we all agree to never again have a week so eventful, life-changing, and exhausting as last week?

On Saturday I woke up feeling . . . normal. Not overwhelmed. I’ve still had moments of sadness – it was hard seeing a cute baby at church yesterday and knowing I won’t get to use June’s baby clothes again. But I’ve mostly felt at peace. I want to use this experience to make me a better person: more patient, more loving, more compassionate, more thoughtful.

Jarom and I talked yesterday afternoon and decided to induce labor on April 24. It gives us a month to prepare ourselves and make arrangements. I spoke with the funeral director of a local mortuary this morning and he said they provide they services free of charge for situations like this, and we’d just need to cover the cost of the casket. I was surprised at how easily I was able to ask questions and think through what I’d need to do for a service. It’s nice to at least have a little while where I can function before I go to the hospital.

I’ve also been contemplating how I can reach out to other parents who’ve lost their babies. One thing that has surprised me is how many people I know who lost a baby or are close to someone who did. I want to make a hand-lettered watercolor piece I can put on the wall to remember this baby, and I’d like to do the same for other parents who’ve gone through this. I’d love to hear your thoughts or find out if you know someone who might appreciate a similar piece.