Under Lock And Key
He died on the thirteenth, but I never remember much of that day. I remember the next day, though. I remember waking up to a nurse setting a tray before me with heart shaped napkins and little candies. I remember seeing a picture of a lily posted on the door to my room, which I equated with Valentine's Day, but it had nothing to do with that. I found out later they put it on there to notify the other hospital staff to tread lightly: this mother lost her baby. Now the thought of flowers and candies sometimes sickens me. And tomorrow is Valentine's Day.
Today is almost over, but it hasn't hit me at all. It's almost like a void today. Or maybe I am blocking it. I have gotten very good at doing that. It's strange, because I feel every other emotion whole-heartedly. I am not good at hiding how I feel. Except with Logan. With him, I don't show anything. I can't speak about him much. I know what I want to say, but I cannot physically get the words out of my mouth. It's almost like screaming but nothing comes out. Not a sound.
Kade used to ask me questions all the time, but it always resulted in me staring at him until he stopped asking. Eventually, he gave up. I can't answer his questions. They're my questions, too and they've gone unanswered. It feels strange to write about this. I certainly can't speak any of it. This is going to absolutely kill me, but I feel the need to get some of it out.
No one ever really talks about stillborn babies. People might sadly mention that they've had miscarriages (for that I truly sympathize), but it's not the same. I feel terrible for other parents who've lost children after they've been born. But it's not the same. I've had countless medical staff tell me how often it occurs, but no one talks about it up close and personal. It's the big fat elephant in the room.
Imagine expecting something for awhile, but never getting it. Imagine changing your life to prepare for something that will never happen. Imagine wanting something so deeply, but knowing you will never get it. Now imagine that something had a name. Imagine that something had a face. Imagine that he never got a chance to look at you, or smile ... or laugh, even though every feature was fully formed. Even though he had a face of an angel. Even though he was perfect in every way. Even though they could never find a reason. That's the best I can describe the situation. Stillbirth robs you of everything, after pregnancy promised the world.
It's been six years. On most days, I am fine. Of course, on most days, I am blocking any thought that would lead me to think of it. Some days, it will sneak in and I lose myself in it. I watch family members have new babies, coworkers are getting pregnant (one is on her sixth child), but not me. And it's all with a certain detachment. Even if I did get pregnant again, it won't be HIM. I don't want another baby. I want MY baby.
I asked for a hope chest for Christmas. I used the excuse that Kade was growing to old to have his baby things in his room, which is true. But the real reason is that I wanted a place for all Logan's things. I can't look at them anymore. I changed the nursery to my computer room a few years ago, which definitely helped. Although, taking down the crib was not the best day of my life. But his clothes still hang in the closet. His blankets still lie on the shelf. I have to put them away now, only because I can't bear to see them anymore. I can't name one person who has hung on as long as I have.
After the funeral, I remember getting angry, because time had stopped for me, but everyone else kept moving on. Why?! Didn't they know they were supposed to stop, too? I held him within me. I felt his movement and kicks. I sang to him. I rubbed my belly. Please stop for me, because it's hard to not feel any of that again. And I've barely moved on. So, it kills me to put all his things away. It kills me to move on. He was mine. And I don't want to. But the pain is still as sharp as Valentine's six years ago. And it's getting harder for me to block it. No one understands a mother who sobs six years later. "Isn't she over it by now?" Nope. I can't let go.
There will be a piece of me always reserved for him. The part of me that no one else will ever get. That no one else will ever see. I will never let him go.
Today is almost over, but it hasn't hit me at all. It's almost like a void today. Or maybe I am blocking it. I have gotten very good at doing that. It's strange, because I feel every other emotion whole-heartedly. I am not good at hiding how I feel. Except with Logan. With him, I don't show anything. I can't speak about him much. I know what I want to say, but I cannot physically get the words out of my mouth. It's almost like screaming but nothing comes out. Not a sound.
Kade used to ask me questions all the time, but it always resulted in me staring at him until he stopped asking. Eventually, he gave up. I can't answer his questions. They're my questions, too and they've gone unanswered. It feels strange to write about this. I certainly can't speak any of it. This is going to absolutely kill me, but I feel the need to get some of it out.
No one ever really talks about stillborn babies. People might sadly mention that they've had miscarriages (for that I truly sympathize), but it's not the same. I feel terrible for other parents who've lost children after they've been born. But it's not the same. I've had countless medical staff tell me how often it occurs, but no one talks about it up close and personal. It's the big fat elephant in the room.
Imagine expecting something for awhile, but never getting it. Imagine changing your life to prepare for something that will never happen. Imagine wanting something so deeply, but knowing you will never get it. Now imagine that something had a name. Imagine that something had a face. Imagine that he never got a chance to look at you, or smile ... or laugh, even though every feature was fully formed. Even though he had a face of an angel. Even though he was perfect in every way. Even though they could never find a reason. That's the best I can describe the situation. Stillbirth robs you of everything, after pregnancy promised the world.
It's been six years. On most days, I am fine. Of course, on most days, I am blocking any thought that would lead me to think of it. Some days, it will sneak in and I lose myself in it. I watch family members have new babies, coworkers are getting pregnant (one is on her sixth child), but not me. And it's all with a certain detachment. Even if I did get pregnant again, it won't be HIM. I don't want another baby. I want MY baby.
I asked for a hope chest for Christmas. I used the excuse that Kade was growing to old to have his baby things in his room, which is true. But the real reason is that I wanted a place for all Logan's things. I can't look at them anymore. I changed the nursery to my computer room a few years ago, which definitely helped. Although, taking down the crib was not the best day of my life. But his clothes still hang in the closet. His blankets still lie on the shelf. I have to put them away now, only because I can't bear to see them anymore. I can't name one person who has hung on as long as I have.
After the funeral, I remember getting angry, because time had stopped for me, but everyone else kept moving on. Why?! Didn't they know they were supposed to stop, too? I held him within me. I felt his movement and kicks. I sang to him. I rubbed my belly. Please stop for me, because it's hard to not feel any of that again. And I've barely moved on. So, it kills me to put all his things away. It kills me to move on. He was mine. And I don't want to. But the pain is still as sharp as Valentine's six years ago. And it's getting harder for me to block it. No one understands a mother who sobs six years later. "Isn't she over it by now?" Nope. I can't let go.
There will be a piece of me always reserved for him. The part of me that no one else will ever get. That no one else will ever see. I will never let him go.
posted by Ari at 9:20 PM
1 Comments:
Oh, Ari. I can't begin to imagine how that must feel, despite how brutally perfect you voiced it here.
Before I was born, my parents had a daughter who lived for 3 days. Even as a child I wondered if she had lived, would they have ever still had me. I wonder if my mother still carries that pain with here after all of these years.
Excellently written post. I wish I could say more.
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