If you’re not ready to hear about some raw emotions…depressing ones…don’t read this. I need to write about how I’m feeling so that I can feel some relief from the crushing blows. If you can’t handle that sort of thing today, please wait and read this later.
Stillborn and still breathing…through gasps of air. Stillborn and still standing…but not today. Today, I woke up rested and happy. My daughter was looking forward to a field trip with her preschool, the sun is shining, and there was hope in the air. I was preparing for a day of self pampering. Shower and shave those winter legs. Let your hair down. Put on that new shirt. Look up what getting a facial is like so you know what you’re cashing in your gift certificate for later this afternoon. Cook for the lovely ladies of Bunco and have some fun fellowship later tonight.
But wait. In that relaxing shower, it hit me. Today is the 11th. I gasp for air. A year ago today, I was big bellied and all smiles, counting down the days until we would bring our baby home. Today? The fog breaks. The days ahead are torture. Agony awaits. When will it hit? Now. No special triggers happened and still I find myself curled up on the couch, sobbing, wailing, moaning. I flick off my glasses which are hindering my eyesight from the cloud of tears and grab the nearest towel. I cry out to Jesus. I sit alone in a big, empty house telling Him of all the pain. “I can’t do this without you. It hurts so much.” I look up and imagine the 1 year old that should be scooting across the floor, along the coffee table. All I have to cling to is a necklace with his feet imprinted. The pictures of his lifeless body. It’s not fair. Today, it’s not fair. I SHOULD have a one year old to snuggle with, chase around the house, and feed new foods to. I should NOT walk by his sister’s room and sob knowing they were supposed to share that room. How there should be blue burp cloths and blankets strewn around the house. The memories of those first moments knowing He was gone. The entire day spent at the hospital….the labor, the tiny, non responsive fingers. No resistance. No cries. No new baby for Mommy.
A year later, it stings. The hurt bubbles up unannounced and steals the joy of the day. “Oh, James….Oh, I miss you…”
So much I miss him. My heart feels like it has been torn in two. No doubt if you ripped me open and saw it, you’d only see part of it. Part of it is in Heaven with my baby. That’s the only place I can go to feel whole again. I won’t be whole until my family is together again. I can survive, yes. But I won’t be whole.
Stillborn and still hurting.
Stillborn and still wailing.
Stillborn and still lost.
Stillborn and still broken.