Day 17

Posted: April 3, 2013 | Author: | Filed under: The Story of a Mother | 5 Comments

We did Easter baskets for the kids on Sunday, and they both got a little jar of bubbles. Guess what? Ender loves bubbles. He eats them. It’s pretty hilarious, and I was going to post a video of it, but then today ended up being so depressing that I thought I’d share my sad life with you some more.

It seems like Wednesdays and Sundays are the hardest days for me – Sundays because I see lots and lots of little babies at church, and Wednesdays because then it’s “x weeks until.” I hate finishing the sentence. Until I hold my baby. Until my baby dies. Until I leave the hospital empty-handed.

I don’t feel angry or like this is an unfair situation, but I do feel jealous of all the parents who are expecting healthy babies. If things had gone differently, and Tiny Baby had been a healthy girl, I was going to sew a blessing gown. Now we’ve had a generous offer of a handmade burial gown.

Most of the time it’s so easy for me to discuss the situation calmly and, to a large extent, unemotionally. But then the hurt catches up with me and all I can think is

I want my baby.
I want my baby.
I want my baby.

But in 3 weeks, my baby will be gone.

Day 16

Posted: April 2, 2013 | Author: | Filed under: The Story of a Mother | 8 Comments

Mika has already done a great post about things that people can do or say to be helpful.  People have been truly fantastic in how much they have been willing to help with everything from babysitting to steaks.  However, one of the hardest things for me is to answer the question, “how are you doing?”  It is such a simple question, and it frustrates me that the question is no longer simple to answer.

Half the time I feel fine.  Half the time I feel like I’m on the verge of tears.  Half the time I feel like I can almost forget that anything terrible is happening.  Half the time I am bad with fractions.

The truth is, I just don’t know how I am.

When we first learned that Tiny Baby wasn’t going to live, I was devastated.  It is true that simply thinking about the situation with Tiny Baby no longer brings the sharp, acute pain that it did only two weeks ago.  Right when we first found out, it seemed like the world had stopped; perhaps more accurately stated, it felt like the world had no right to go on.  Mika and I walked around and saw people living their lives: laughing, joking, and smiling.  As we looked at the various people walking around, seemingly without a care in the world, I couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with everybody.  Didn’t they know that the world had ended?  Didn’t they know that our Tiny Baby was dying?

Now, the pain is still there, but is it just beneath the surface.  It has transformed from a sharp pain to a dull ache, that is always in the back of my mind.  In the past week, I haven’t had really had too many breakdowns.  And I wonder, is that OK?  Isn’t this something that I should be freaking out about? Didn’t I lose the right to ever feel normal again?  Even though I can sit down and logically think through how it is OK to have good days and bad days, I still feel guilty for having a good day.  Does that mean that I am not thinking about Tiny Baby enough?  Will people think I am heartless if I say that I am doing OK on a certain day?

Even on the days when I feel that I am not falling apart, I can always feel the pain just below the surface.  Instead of the sharp pain, it is a deep sea of turmoil just waiting to break through my facade.  I almost feel that I haven’t explored it fully, and I am terrified what will happen when I have no choice but to come to terms with what is happening.

Day 15

Posted: April 1, 2013 | Author: | Filed under: The Story of a Mother | 3 Comments

Can you believe it was only two weeks ago we got the first hint of bad news? Today Jarom and I went to talk to the monument company just up the street. We picked out a headstone for Tiny Baby.

If I were in a different frame of mind, or if we’d decided to wait longer to induce, I might have wanted to design a headstone myself. Most of the options they had were much too cutesy for my taste – Precious Moments angels and puppies and the like. It’s a little harder not knowing if Tiny Baby is a boy or girl, so I wanted something that could work for either gender. I don’t think I could pick out a headstone after the baby dies, which is why I wanted to get things lined up ahead of time. We ended up with this design – we can call in (or have a relative call) when the details are ready, and they’ll order the headstone and place it about 3 weeks after the burial.

Sometimes I imagine that “the upcoming loss of my baby” and the grief accompanying it is like a ball that’s at the end of a long string. I’m at the other end, and most of the time the ball is far away. I can function normally – or almost normally – as long as the ball is far enough in the distance that it’s just an object I can think about rationally and calmly. But at the end of the day, or in the middle of the day, or when I suddenly realize that I will actually have to bury my baby, I’m curled up with the ball. I just want to cry and hold onto how much it hurts.

It’s difficult for me to not know how I should feel or even how I do feel. If I’m having a good day, is it because I’m doing a great job of coping or because I’ve distanced myself from what’s happening? If I’m having a bad day, is it because I’m wallowing too much and I should try to distract myself? What if my day is good and bad? What if the reason everyone thinks I’m dealing with this so well is just because I don’t cry in front of anyone but Jarom?

For the most part, I do feel like life will be okay and we’ll gain a lot from this experience.

But I’d really rather have a healthy baby.

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