The Worst Day
* Today I'm sharing a very personal narrative, but one I know many women have struggled through. Please be considerate, comments are welcomed*
(Image credit: Getty Images/EyeEm)
November 28th, 2020
Today could be considered my worst day, and I’ve had many bad days. Today is still the worst; today, I lost a child and gained an angel. I’m not the most practiced religious, but it gives me some kind of closure believing the line “all children go to heaven,” to be true. It gives me closure believing that now just wasn’t your time... and then I think that perhaps your soul is still waiting to be mine, that you're floating around waiting for the opportunity to be housed within the body of my future child. You're waiting very patiently, my rainbow child.
It feels very surreal that I ever experienced such pain as this miscarriage has caused. It’s worse when I remember how excited I was. When I looked at Jacob, my eyes and my tone were as serious as they could be to hide my enthusiasm, “if we’re thinking this, we’re going all the way;” no regrets or uneasiness. Finding out I was pregnant made me cry tears of joy and my heart jumped with eagerness at the idea of Jacob and I’s little girl. We’ve been wanting a girl since the beginning. Someone to pamper, dress up: and with two older brothers she’d be well protected and loved, yet know how to fight and defend herself. We’d be the perfect family, complete after her arrival.
It’s my fault this happened. Jacob lies, telling me there’s nothing I could have done. But deep down I know, “if I hadn’t stressed,” and “if I hadn’t started working midnights right away,” and especially, “if I had seen the signs,” then I could have prevented it.
At six weeks gestation, you were nothing but tissue and black spots. At first, you had a 50/50 chance of surviving, and I was betting on that 50. I believed that maybe if I slowed down, you’d have pulled through. I believed you would have stuck to my insides because you knew how badly I wanted you here. I talked to you and begged you to stay. In that hospital room all alone; I sang to you. A melody that didn’t exist but just flew gently and quietly from my mouth as I rubbed at my stomach hoping you could feel me and my belief in you. Yet, when I stood up, you fell out onto my pad in a lifeless clump, and even though there was no human shape, I knew it was you. I had bled through my underwear and pants just thirty minutes before I was finally taken back to that empty room. A three-hour wait, then blood, so much blood, and the inevitable. I already knew, I was just hoping that I was wrong.
I think that perhaps I should have stayed away from that hospital after all. Perhaps that waiting room caused the final blow, with two separate crying patients, one holding their head asking “please Jesus, save me,” and another their stomach, crying so loudly and so painfully, yet no one said a thing… and I, freaking out yet silent because I knew my baby was dying but I hadn't wanted to bring attention to my tears.
I had cried silently since the bathroom up until my hospital discharge, never letting someone see me cry as I waited until I was alone or at least unseen, and then after the doctor told me I most likely miscarried, it was time to accept this dreadful reality.
I called your father; told him to meet me. “Can it just be you?”
He had been waiting with my dad-- your grandpa-- for hours… but I only had the strength to see Jacob and Jacob alone. Outside, the air was freezing, and I stood at the door silent for a time, looking around for him until I decided it was best to sit down. I sat down in silence and kept replaying the events that just happened. I replayed the looks on the aid’s faces as I left the hospital; pitying, not knowing what to say, and knowing nothing could be said to this woman with bloodshot eyes.
I wanted to stay on that bench and freeze. I wanted the pain to go away.
When your father finally arrived, I climbed into the car but did not look at him. I was silent still. Then, he stroked the back of my head, and all the tears came gushing out alongside my screechy cry at the notion of his gentle touch.
We both cried the whole way home.
To the doctor, you were nothing but tissue, but to us, you were our developing child. Our third baby, and perhaps the one to complete our household. But now, we’ll never know. We’ll never know what sex you were, what you’d look like, how you’d act, or how you’d grow. I pray that someday, if I ever have the confidence to try for a third--no --fourth child, that your soul will find its way back to us. Be it a boy or a girl, I’d rather you be here than not at all. If only I had realized… then I’d never have had to say goodbye forever, on this utter worst day.
Fly high my angel, and await your opportunity to come home to us. We’ll be waiting.
With Love Forever,
Your Mother Sky, and your Father Jacob
P.S. “Not every seed that is planted in this world grows to fruition…” but I know someday I’ll be with you again. I’ll do my best to stay strong for you and the boys, just know, your mother is very weak at heart, so please forgive me if I become reckless and drink more than I used to. There is a part of me that wants to crumble, but then there’s this fire in my heart that makes me want to achieve higher and become the best version of myself; because then, when you are brought home to me, you’ll have a mother you'll be proud of. Thank you for being here with me, even if it was only for a short time.