I have aged - in a good way, believe it or not - in the past two months by ten years. Mentally, when you go through a stillbirth, it does that you. It's been documented and my therapist believes it, too. I'm ashamed to say that I could never really empathize with those who had gone through stillbirths before. I heard of it happening to a handful of people before and while I recognized it was sad I didn't put it on the same level of other losses and didn't think grief could be felt the way you feel it when loved ones die. As the parent never raised the baby, and the baby did not even live for a day or a few hours in this world, I thought it wouldn't be hard as losing an actual child or baby. I can imagine that miscarriages are very sad and painful, too, frustrating if you've been trying for forever, but I don't even know what that feels like. Is the pain less than that of a stillbirth? I would hope so. Because this pain hurts a lot.
I wasn't able to empathize because I didn't know what it was like to be pregnant, and what that does to you as mother. We're mothers the second we conceive. For me, I was just counting down the days. My mind was in a completely different place. And the funny thing about my pain is that it comes and goes. I was trying really hard to suppress my pain. I was simply too scared to feel it. I'm so emotional and sensitive as it is, anxious, even, my brain was trying to protect me. It's really interesting. An out of body experience - my body was literally trying to take care of itself. A few days after delivering, I actually started at my hands and stomach in gratitude - as if to recognize the tremendous trauma they went through and thank them for not dying and giving up. Because when I pushed that baby out, a small part of me did die with him. I don't let myself fall to the deep, black pain this can take me to. The longing and the missing. Words can't express the way my soul feels drained and worn by this loss. And the tremendous, deep, all encompassing love. The love that is the polar opposite of the sadness my soul feels at losing him. This love is willing to go through any means necessary. It cannot be extinguished and is made of steel. It will last through my own death and Judgement Day itself.
This loss has made me see God in a new way. It's reminded me of my mortality and that those whom I love more than anything - parents, siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles, and my husband - will go, too. I feel closer to Him than ever before. When I can't stop crying and the sadness consumes me, I imagine that I'm crying into God's arms and on His shoulder while He pats my back. He is Just. There's just no question in my mind about it. He doesn't just leave you to cry and suffer alone. And even if I'm not crying 24/7 for the baby, missing him at all times, God knows the depth of what I feel, and His reward is just as great. There's nothing more I can hope for than paradise itself. I could write pages and pages of how much I want to see my baby's smiling face, hold him, carry him, feed him, wipe his snot, blow air bubbles on his tummy, change his diaper, soothe his cries, make him laugh, watch him; and I've been denied that opportunity in this short life. But I'm reassured over and over that my pain is not in vain and is a vehicle for me to do so much good, and achieve so much good. It's made me kinder, more appreciative. I don't have room for any more bullshit or negativity. I am unable to tolerate negativity from others, and there's definitely no room for pettiness in my neighborhood anymore. This has made me press pause. I'm prioritizing happiness and love. Enjoying life is my mode of living now.
I miss him and I love him and I don't know what tomorrow will bring. But my list of things and people to be grateful for grows every day: the love and compassion I get on the daily from every person in my life is mind blowing. Literally every. single. person is willing to talk to me, cry with me, take care of me. I can't believe how lucky I am to have such amazing friends, cousins, and colleagues. I don't doubt for a minute that any of them will take me in and let me be me and take care of me for as long as I need it. I am floored and so incredibly grateful. Had this loss not happened, I wouldn't have seen them the way I do now or be who I am today.
I wasn't able to empathize because I didn't know what it was like to be pregnant, and what that does to you as mother. We're mothers the second we conceive. For me, I was just counting down the days. My mind was in a completely different place. And the funny thing about my pain is that it comes and goes. I was trying really hard to suppress my pain. I was simply too scared to feel it. I'm so emotional and sensitive as it is, anxious, even, my brain was trying to protect me. It's really interesting. An out of body experience - my body was literally trying to take care of itself. A few days after delivering, I actually started at my hands and stomach in gratitude - as if to recognize the tremendous trauma they went through and thank them for not dying and giving up. Because when I pushed that baby out, a small part of me did die with him. I don't let myself fall to the deep, black pain this can take me to. The longing and the missing. Words can't express the way my soul feels drained and worn by this loss. And the tremendous, deep, all encompassing love. The love that is the polar opposite of the sadness my soul feels at losing him. This love is willing to go through any means necessary. It cannot be extinguished and is made of steel. It will last through my own death and Judgement Day itself.
This loss has made me see God in a new way. It's reminded me of my mortality and that those whom I love more than anything - parents, siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles, and my husband - will go, too. I feel closer to Him than ever before. When I can't stop crying and the sadness consumes me, I imagine that I'm crying into God's arms and on His shoulder while He pats my back. He is Just. There's just no question in my mind about it. He doesn't just leave you to cry and suffer alone. And even if I'm not crying 24/7 for the baby, missing him at all times, God knows the depth of what I feel, and His reward is just as great. There's nothing more I can hope for than paradise itself. I could write pages and pages of how much I want to see my baby's smiling face, hold him, carry him, feed him, wipe his snot, blow air bubbles on his tummy, change his diaper, soothe his cries, make him laugh, watch him; and I've been denied that opportunity in this short life. But I'm reassured over and over that my pain is not in vain and is a vehicle for me to do so much good, and achieve so much good. It's made me kinder, more appreciative. I don't have room for any more bullshit or negativity. I am unable to tolerate negativity from others, and there's definitely no room for pettiness in my neighborhood anymore. This has made me press pause. I'm prioritizing happiness and love. Enjoying life is my mode of living now.
I miss him and I love him and I don't know what tomorrow will bring. But my list of things and people to be grateful for grows every day: the love and compassion I get on the daily from every person in my life is mind blowing. Literally every. single. person is willing to talk to me, cry with me, take care of me. I can't believe how lucky I am to have such amazing friends, cousins, and colleagues. I don't doubt for a minute that any of them will take me in and let me be me and take care of me for as long as I need it. I am floored and so incredibly grateful. Had this loss not happened, I wouldn't have seen them the way I do now or be who I am today.
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