The Last Goodbye

Yesterday was the day.

I thought for sure, it would be too much to bear. I just waited for the emotional time bomb to end all time bombs to come and take me out.

I waited for it to come. I expected it. Thanksgiving, I hosted dinner & I was indeed an open wound. A simple statement of “don’t you miss a baby in the house” sent me into silent hysterics.

I wanted to run and escape but there were no exits at this family function. I stifled tears and silently retired to my room. I needed a minute to breathe to contain the emotional outburst bubbling beneath the surface. I just felt so overwhelmed and helpless but the problem is, the thing I’ve been trying to do is runaway from myself, from the pain.

Friday, I agreed to take my mother shopping. I walked numbly through the stores. Seeing 9-month pregnant women every which way I turned. The sadness lingering right beneath the surface, pressing closer to my heart with each breath. I felt as if I might die, as if i might suffocate under the weight of my sadness right there in the middle of Target or Kohls.

I didn’t care. I just want to stop feeling this way.

Then Saturday came.

I was prepared with an arsenal of alcohol, pain pills & sleeping pills. The Big Guy was given strict orders to please let me spend the day alone; not without him or the girls but I needed my space in case of an inappropriate outburst. If I needed to cry or break things, like I’ve wanted to do for the last 6 months, I wanted to do so. I needed to be able to feel my pain and grief, to mourn my baby.

I’ve spent the last 6 months not fully giving myself over to the realization that my baby was gone and I will NEVER get to hold him. He will never come back. Game over. I can’t change this.

For months, I’ve put it in a shelf and waited, it was as if it wasn’t real until the due date came and went, as if somehow the time between my baby dying and the actual
due date things would change. This would all just be a nightmare and come November 24 th I would wake up & my baby would be fine, alive & well. I know this sounds completely insane but it was the only way that I could survive the shock to my system, the loss of something I wanted more than everything.

Yesterday was that day. I spent the day in bed, watching a Shameless marathon. It was the only thing that got me through the first month of the miscarriage. There is something comforting about watching a show about people who are more miserable than you are yet they still carry on. That inspired me. It gently shook me from my grief.

I came out of hiding for brief periods of kisses ad snuggles & an episode of Igoodbye Carly that made me cry more than it should. I ate carbs & ice cream. I cried & I laughed. I mourned for my loss but I was also thankful for my daughters whose giggles were filing the house from the other room. The Big Guy shielded me all weekend from everyone, letting me feel my grief and mourn our loss. He is my rock and I will never be able to repay him for this weekend. He is my hero forever and always.

Amidst the suffocating fog of grief, I worked out for 1 1/2 hours. I haven’t worked out since I lost the baby. It felt like I was doing something normal again.

Then I took a hot shower, got in bed & gave myself over to my grief. I fully expected a repeat of the animalistic cries & earth shattering pain that I had in those first few days. I braced myself for the hit and took some pain pills to soften the blow because I remembered that the last time it shook me to my very existence. I wanted to die with my baby.

Surprisingly, this time it felt like letting go, as my heart was pulled in one direction and my head was pulled in another. It felt like saying goodbye and though I was sad to let the dream go and my baby will be as much a part of me as my two living girls, it was time to accept something I could not change. There is liberation in acceptance.

I’m too weary to fight the pain and too exhausted to hold on to the anger. It’s time to let it all go like a Chinese lantern into the sky. It’s time to free myself from my shackles of constant grief and carry on in memory of the little person I will someday meet in heaven and hold on my arms. Today, I feel different. Today, I feel closer to normal than I have felt since that awful Monday morning, April 30, 2012 when the ultrasound tech told me that she could not find my baby’s heartbeat. For the first time in months, I slept all night and woke up feeling at peace with myself.

I can’t change this. I couldn’t prevent it. I did nothing wrong. This baby may never be in our arms but it will always be in our heart and though it was only here with us for a very little time, it had a lifetime supply of love. I am letting go.

 I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)

I am never without it (anywhere I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)

 e.e. Cummings

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