Empty

10 weeks...4 days

Baby Wells making a debut at 6 weeks....

Yesterday I didn't hear a heart beat. Yesterday I lost a piece of me. Yesterday.......

There were a few days of spotting, that left me calling my midwife in a rut, to only be told that this was normal, and because there was no sign of cramping it could be that my cervix was reacting to changes. So I was left with the assumptions that my unborn baby was getting settled as I shift into the second trimester. But the day went by and the bleeding didn't stop. I decided to take matters into my own hands and begin to research online why any pregnant woman would be bleeding without cramping. I was also left with the answer that this is normal and typically happens within the first trimester. So I stick to the plan and because I had a routine prenatal appointment scheduled within a day or so, I knew I would be relieved by the sound of a heart beat, and a picture showing my growing baby.

 But that's not what happen.....

As usual my oldest daughter, Kennedy, 9, accompanied me to my visit as she has done before. Partly because the appointments are conveniently after she gets out of school, and partly because my husband is working or in class, so she enjoys being my support. In my honest motherhood fashion, I explain to Kennedy that I have been bleeding so that I would request a ultrasound to make sure her little brother or sister was okay. I wanted her to know that this appointment would be slightly longer, but wanted for her to be aware of the journey we have to take as mother's to make sure we give life to a healthy child. In her most happy voice she reassures me that "mom you are so strong" and that "mommy you are going to be okay". Little signs that God gives us to make sure we know his presence.

And so in normal procedure I prepare for my ultrasound. The instrument goes inside my body, shifts left, shifts right, and in what felt like forever, was a small moment of silence by both my daughter and I, as well as the assigned doctor. She begin to explain to me in her most gently voice that the baby had stop growing, and that there was no sign of a heart beat. She reminded me that nothing was my fault and that women face this same challenge about 20% of the time. As I turn my head to my daughter, she stood up in confusion, not really understanding what the doctor was implying. And so as a child of curiosity she ask "what does that mean?". As the doctor responded that her unborn sibling had died both tears fell from both my face and hers. I asked for a moment alone with her. What's crazy is that in my most vulnerable moment, I had to still be strong for my daughter, who was leaning on me for reassurance that this too shall pass. But I couldn't, I felt empty, I felt completely alone, and I felt lost. I sat there in my tears, without movement, without courage, and without direction. The doctor came in to continue to talk about what happens next, and as she spoke, her words became just a sound, and I heard nothing. I asked to leave, there was no plan necessary because in that moment I knew that if I pushed hard enough past my fear of waking up, that this would all be over.

The flower that didn't get to blossum....

If a mother is mourning not for what she has lost but for what her dead child has lost, it is a comfort to believe that the child has not lost the end for which it was created. And it is a comfort to believe that she herself, in losing her chief or only natural happiness, has not lost a greater thing, that she may still hope to “glorify God and enjoy Him forever.” A comfort to the God-aimed, eternal spirit within her. But not to her motherhood. The specifically maternal happiness must be written off. Never, in any place or time, will she have her son on her knees, or bathe him, or tell him a story, or plan for his future, or see her grandchild.
— C.S. Lewis,

My daughter held my hand, and I felt so bad that I failed her, and couldn't be what she needed me to be at that time. But I needed her more, and although she is just my child, she was there to hold me as I have held her. We sat in the car, and I continued to be speechless. But can I just shout how good my God is. My daughter is such a little therapist. She sat with me in my silence, she then begin to preach a word of hope and faith, and reminded me that not only is it okay to cry, but that her sibling was gone to heaven to be an angel for us. She then took my phone and called my husband. She gave the phone to me and I could hear his eagerness to learn that his child was okay, and all I could do is cry the words that I was empty. 

Now here I am a few days later. Laboring my unborn baby into the toilet, filled with such darkness and pain. Using my words to try to cope with it all. There are many times in my life where I needed to be strong, is it ever okay not to be? 

I am not functioning very well. Living with the knowledge that the baby is dead is painful. I feel so far away from you, God. I can only try to believe that you are sustaining me and guiding me through this. Please continue to stand by my side.
— Christine O'Keeffe Lafser

The grief is so hard to bare. I took the remainder of the week off. Sent the kids to school, and told my husband to go on with his routine as usual. And I lay in bed, under the sheets, in a fetal position and cry. Emotions of guilt, shame, and hopelessness come over me. Unanswered questions that go through my mind that I know I will never get comfort from even if I knew. Then I pick up my daughter's from school, pretending to be whoever they imagine me to be, all while feeling numb inside. Having feelings of being grateful I have 2 children and why me. Stuck between should I try again or is it even worth it. And I just don't know. For now I will be okay with feeling weak, and grieving. My prayers go up for all women who have to suffer lost of a child. My bond with my child started way before he was conceived. I want him to know that although he was never born into physical life, he was loved. Forever and will always....

Christmas gift 2016