Today I got up at 6:00 AM when my alarm goes off every weekday. I peed, packed the kids’ backpacks, emptied the dishwasher, made the beds, got the kids dressed and off to school/daycare. I went to work…spoke with a half a dozen insurances, had 2 initial consult meetings with potential clients, broke away from the office for a family planning lunch date with the hubs. I went back to the office and sent 27 emails, made a half a dozen phone calls, and set up 4 future appointments with potential clients. I went home and made dinner, swam with the kids, and put them to bed. Everything about today was normal. It was a good day filled with life, growth, and love.
With the babies in bed, the husband fast asleep, the chores done and last messages of the day returned…there is quiet. And in the quiet comes grief, tears, and longing for what will never be. In the darkness of the night I sit quietly, silently crying, and think about the day, exactly 31 weeks ago, when the 2nd ultrasound showed no growth, no heartbeat, no life. When the doctor quietly whispered through her own tears that our tiny little gummy bear baby was no longer living. It felt very clinical at first…a medical procedure was needed for a medical ailment. It was several days before I emotionally understood what had happened. That it wasn’t just a piece of tissue that had to be surgically removed from my body. That it was our once living, growing baby that was taken from us.
And tonight, on the date that is designated as the day our little babe would’ve entered this world and officially joined our family…I wonder what today would’ve looked like had life continued. Would today be the day I labored for hours in agonizing pain…to be immediately rewarded with immense joy and love? Would today be the day we held our newborn baby for the first time? Would it be the first of months worth of sleepless nights? Would this little one have colic its brothers or would they be an easy and calm baby that let me enjoy snuggling and smelling the sweet baby smells all day and night long? And would we have added another boy to the bunch or been graced with the presence of a girl?
The past 7 months have been an ocean of grief…waves of sorrow, lulls of peace…it has taken every ounce of strength I have to swim and navigate the currents that grief creates. And today feels very unfair. That after a lengthy lull…a significant amount of peace…heartache, anger, longing crush my spirit and makes it hard to breathe.
My heart breaks as I realize my arms are empty. Knowing that I will never know that tiny babe in this lifetime. That I’ll never see my baby roll over, sit up, crawl, walk or talk. I’ll never walk them to their first day of school or wait up late for them to come home from their first date. I’ll never teach them to drive, see them graduate, or cry joyful tears at their wedding. I will never know what that itty bitty little 9 week old fetus could’ve grown up to be.
Tomorrow I’ll wake up at 6:00 AM when my alarm goes off. I’ll pee, pack the kids’ backpacks, empty the dishwasher, make the beds, get the kids dressed and off to school/daycare and head into the office. Tomorrow will be filled with love, laughter and life. But tonight I sit in sorrow and tears. And that’s okay. That’s real. That’s grief.