The Thing Nobody Talks About: Losing Love.

The Thing Nobody Talks About: Losing Love

It’s a long read.  Don’t feel obliged.

I wrote this a few months ago, on a day when I was really hurting.  I didn’t want to post it, and it was never my intention to.  But I have realized that by not posting it, I am not able to post anything else to my blog.  I don’t post like I used to because I feel like a piece of me is missing.  I feel like by not posting, I am lying to my children.  I am omitting a piece of us that is so important: our baby.   So I’m sharing.   For me, to move on... I'm sharing.  Because I just miss being myself.

I’m not sharing so that everyone knows- I’m sharing because, while this blog is to keep our friends and family feeling close with what is going on in our lives and shows them the ridiculousness of our children, it is also a sort of “memory book” for my children.  When they are older, I want them to remember the crazy things they did.  It’s not that I want them to look back on this and be sad, but rather, I want them to remember that that there was a point in time…. if only briefly… when there were three of them.  And we were all so excited. 

Started January 2016, revisited through March 2016

God willing, this will be the most horrific thing I ever write about- and there will be way too much TMI, but everyone deals with everything differently and for this horrific event in my life, today this is how I am dealing.

Since my son was about two years old, so for over three years, my children have prayed for a baby sister and a baby brother every single night, without fail.  At the first prayer for a baby, Gabriela Catalina prayed for a baby sister- Colton, naturally, followed along and prayed for a girl as well.  After a few months went by, Colton realized he wanted a brother, so he began praying for one.  Of course, Gabriela Catalina said that wasn’t fair, so they both began praying for two babies: a baby girl for Gabi and a baby boy for Colton.  Twins, I could handle.  About a year ago, Colton upped the ante: two boys and two girls.  Quadruplets, I could not.   Amused by my terror, the number occasionally climbed until he reached 6 brothers and 6 sisters.  After his prayer was over, I assured Colton that 6 baby brothers and 6 baby sisters were nowhere near his future.  My mother in law happened to be around for that prayer and she was so tickled she said, “Well now, you never know God’s plan!”  I assured Colton I knew MY plan, and it did NOT include an additional 12 siblings.  He asked me if he could continue to pray for 6 brothers and 6 sisters and I said that the beauty of prayer is that you can pray for whatever you want: you might not get it, but you could certainly ask for it.  He then asked if he could pray for six daughters and six sons.  I told him of course, but that he should also probably pray for a very loving, child hungry, patient spouse.  He has prayed for both every day without fail for about a year now and has constantly reminded me that I “never know God’s plan.”  How little we realized the wisdom the boy carried.

After three years of this, and us trying- partially for them, but mostly for us- this past fall, on October 16, 2015 on a beautiful Friday afternoon, I found out we were going to get the greatest gift: a new baby.  I was ecstatic.  The kids happened to be with me at my doctor’s appointment and I had my OB/GYN take a picture of me holding my three babies: two on the outside, one on the inside.  I was giddy with holding my secret.

That weekend, my mom flew up so that Ben and I could go to NY for a dear friend’s wedding.  We stopped at a store to pick up some snacks and I made Ben go to the baby aisle with me.  I told him on the off chance our kids were right (they told our babysitter two weeks ago I was pregnant before I even knew and that I was having twins)- and we were going to actually have twins in the near future, I wanted matching outfits.  I do random stuff like that all the time, so he had no idea.  

At the wedding, I did a pretty good job at feigning drinking to conceal my secret and with the exception of one uncontainable moment of excitement, I told no one.  Even my husband thought I was keeping up on the drink fest.  His birthday was coming up on the 20^th and I had such a great idea.

You see, the Monday before, I knew I was pregnant- I could feel it- and contacted this woman on Etsy and told her my idea for announcing my pregnancy to my family if I were pregnant- she assured me she could do my idea and could do it whenever I wanted.  Friday, right after I found out we were expecting, I emailed her.  Even though this woman had a brand new newborn, she made my surprise and overnighted it the next day so it would arrive in time for Ben’s birthday, which was four days later.

So the wedding ends and we come back home.  As my mom gets into the cab to leave, I causally tell her that I am pregnant.  I didn’t get to tell her in person for the other two, so telling her for my third was really special to me.  She was beyond excited and of course cried all the way to the airport to the cab driver because she was so excited.  Like a goon.

The next day, I put my plan into action.  For Ben’s birthday we went to eat at his favorite Mexican Restaurant: Uncle Julio’s.  We got there and the manager came out before we sat at the table and said, “Hey- I hear its your birthday!  We are so excited that you are here.  At our restaurant, if its your birthday, we make you all put on these silly shirts to wear while you are eating- but the whole family has to wear them and you have to be blindfolded while we put them on.”

So we put the shirts on the whole family:

Thing 1 for Gabriela Catalina

Thing 2 for Colton

Thinganator for Ben

Thingcubator for me, with a tiny Thing 3 on the belly

When my family took off their blindfolds and realized we were going to have a baby, I thought my kids would fly to the moon on happiness.  Three years was a very long wait for us and we were beyond excited.  That night at dinner, we played “name that baby” wherein our children came up with ridiculous names like, “Ella Pumpkin Rose,” “Frankfurter Ninja,” “Isabella Sparkles Unicorn,” “McArthur McArthur McArthur.”  We talked about where the baby would sleep, whether we would get a bigger apartment- what the baby would look like.   We dreamed all the dreams there were to dream.  We went home fulfilled.  And giddy- all of us.

That night my kids lay in bed and thanked God for me being pregnant- they thanked Him for bringing them a new baby brother or sister.  They prayed for twins, or triplets.  They decided it didn’t matter how many babies we had- they just wanted one of each.  They asked me when we were going to find out whether the baby was a boy or a girl: I said since we already had one of each, we would wait and find out the day the baby was born.  They were not pleased (and constantly whined about it for weeks).  They wanted to know when I would find out how many babies were in there: Gabriela Catalina was convinced there were twins, Colton gleefully decided there were 24- the boy loves shock value, what can I say.  I told them excitedly that we would find out on Friday, November 13- one of my two lucky days: my long time best friend’s birthday/my half birthday.  It’s a thing between Elizabeth and I- we have always wished each other a happy half birthday on each other’s birthday- she’s been my main better half for over 20+ years.

We aren’t the family that likes to wait with news- we’ve got something exciting, we share.  Life is about being excited and happy things and celebrating the good in life (hello Pollyanna) so that day, we shared our thrilling news- with everyone and anyone within earshot.  Like- we were in line at the store and my children would go up to people and say, “Excuse me.  MY MOMMY IS PREGMANT!!” (yes, pregMant- with an “M”).  Our extended family was, of course, delighted.  Some caught on right away, some it took them awhile.  My favorite was when I called my friend Katie. 

She answered, “Hi!!!  How are you?!”

I replied,  “Pregnant!  You?”

She answered, “Good!  Wait- WHAT?!”  Lol, I can still hear her in the back of my mind- it was fabulous- one of those moments of pure joy you never forget.   

My brother in law Matt noticed some time ago that the birth order of Mark and Frances’ (my in-laws) grandchildren goes like this: girl, boy, girl, boy, girl, boy, girl, boy.  So, according to Gabriela Catalina, the baby was destined to be a girl, and if per chance there were two, then a boy would follow for Colton.  So they better make sure they pull the girl out first.

Not too long after, all the pregnant things happened- among the body changes, I began to get sick and throw up which as we know is my lovely way.  Waking up early enough to get it out of my system before I went to class was a bit of a challenge, but I figured it out.  I sit in the front so as to not get distracted and at some point I saw myself in the mirror and realized I looked like a hot mess.  I told my professors about the pregnancy so they would understand that the reason my eyes couldn’t stay open was not because I was bored- its because I was completely exhausted from creating life.   They were super excited for me and even more supportive.  There’s not too too many JD/MBA students who have multiple children and become pregnant during the school year- AU has done an outstanding job of supporting my role as a mother thus far.

Then something else amazing happened.  I found out that my best friend here in DC (my neighbor/friend/nanny) Danielle was also pregnant!  Not only did she find out on the same day as me, but we literally had the same due date!  I was in HEAVEN. 

My kids were in heaven. 

We laughed about how we were going to throw up together and how we were going to go into labor together and how if one of our husband’s was going to the store for cravings, we would let the other know so that we were both covered.  It was like a dream.

We found matching outfits and decided that we would take pictures together every single week in the same spot so that we could watch our babies/bellies grow.  We picked a spot on the carpet and decided that we would stand in the same spot each week for nine months and watch our babies grow closer together.  Gabriela Catalina took our pictures and we laughed at our ridiculousness.  Gabriela Catalina decided she wanted in on the fun, so she and I took pictures and pretended to be pregnant together as well.  We were all over the moon.   I don’t remember the last time I was that happy.

About two weeks later my husband and I came to a disagreement.  In the thirteen years I have been with him- it is the worst argument we have ever had.  We were so angry with each other we literally stopped speaking to each other.  For two weeks we did not say a word.   We have never done something like that before- maybe a day or so- but two weeks?  Never.  It was not pretty.  Silence is never golden. 

November 13 came around.  Begrudgingly, I said he could come to my appointment.  I figured if I was about to find out I was having triplets (or 24 children!), he should probably be there to catch me from falling off the table and I would drive him to the nearest bar for him to take shots for the both of us.  As I sat in the waiting room, waiting to hear my name, I was honest with myself and let the events of the past week truly sink in.  My body had stopped hurting in the ways it had hurt before.  I was able to actually eat some semblance of a meal (something I cannot do during the first six months of pregnancy).  Whenever I saw Danielle, and how miserable she looked, I had this pull in the pit of my stomach that told me something was not right. 

As my OB/GYN walked into the room, she was so excited to see us.  She knew we had been trying for a very long time and she, too, was ecstatic.  I told her not to get too happy because I knew the baby was dead.  Sometimes my intense fear of death throws people off- especially when I say something completely random and out of place like that.  But I prefer honesty.  I simply, all of the sudden, knew.  She looked at me for a second and then laughed.  She told me not to be ridiculous, that the baby was not dead, and to stop worrying.   She joked with me about how I have to stop thinking so negatively and she laughed and said I was probably pregnant with triplets.  I told her if that was the case, FAS or not, I was going to need a drink, but that I wasn’t being negative: just honest.

Within the first two seconds I knew something was terribly wrong.  I’ve only birthed two babies, but I’ve seen them enough times on the ultra sound to know that something was not right.  The silence was deafening.  It screamed at me from every angle.  I could tell she didn’t know what to say…how to say it.  Afterall, she had just told me I was ridiculous (as any person should).  Before she could say a word, I told her its okay.  That I knew.  And that I was a walking human coffin.

The baby was there.  It was just too small.  I saw the baby.  My little love- unsure as to whether or not the baby was in fact lifeless, or, as I desperately hoped, just hiding too far back to be measured correctly, just as how Gabriela Catalina and Colton were.  But deep down I knew this was different.  The baby looked different.  I felt different.

To be honest, I have no idea what she said after that.  I stared at the ceiling.  Trusted her as I did, I was desperate for her to be wrong.  I have lost too many loves recently and a part of me could not accept I would lose my baby, too…. Or that I already had.  She asked me if I wanted to do blood work, she talked to me about my options- I couldn’t handle all of her talking and just asked her to leave.  All I wanted to do was to run- to keep running and to never ever look back.

Ben and I, in shock from the blow, still seething from two weeks prior- didn’t say a word to each other.  We didn’t hold hands.  We didn’t hug.  We didn’t lean on each other to cry.  He left the room without so much as a word.  I wished he would disappear, too.

I was convinced she could be wrong, so I scheduled another ultra sound for a week later.  Convinced probably isn’t the right word.  Desperate is more accurate.  I wasn’t able to accept this.  Plus, my two other babies had measured small, so I was hoping…hoping this was the same.

I couldn’t look at my husband.  Literally could not even look at his stupid shoes.  I was still so angry with him from before.  And now I was just even angrier.  I was still so angry with him (angry really isn’t the right worth- seething, scathingly enraged is just a touch more accurate) and so upset about the baby, that I stayed elsewhere that weekend.   I couldn’t bear the thought of looking at him.  If I could have shot fire out of my eyes and singed him bald, by God I would have.  I know myself well enough to know that when I get so angry at someone that I cannot even look at him, it is better to not be anywhere near.  And to walk faaaaar away.  Like to another country.  Except this time, n 352 would be empty, as it has been for far too long.

So I booked myself a fancy hotel and ordered room service.  I didn’t care if I charged $8,000- I really didn’t give two craps.  Had I been in NYC you know I would have booked a suite at the Plaza, or somewhere else equally as lovely.  As I should have.  Hell.  I would have bought the Plaza.  You can charge a hotel building on a credit card, right????

I Googled everything.  I cried, a lot.  And by a lot, I mean, probably all the tears of my entire life combined, to the power of infinity, magnified by a jillion.  I felt a hole in my soul so deep you cannot even fathom.  It was a level of grief I have never experienced before- not when my sister died, not when my friends have died, not when my precious Nana died, not when my Grandpas died, not when my dearly beloved Milagros died, her loss perhaps the worse of all thus far.  It was a thousand times of death radiating all around me.  I couldn’t escape it.  On the subway to my hotel I was so claustrophobic with the sense of suffocating grief that I literally shed four layers of clothes and was one stop from being indecent when the doors opened for us to spill out onto the platform.  I was that crazy woman on the subway…tripping...running up the stairs to throw up, sweating, eyes wild, hair flying.

I sent incoherent demanding texts to my mother, who, without question, agreed to whatever I asked, whenever, without even knowing the extent of what was happening.  I sent desperate, incoherent emails to my NYC “sisters.”  I texted my cousin at 3 in the morning, beside myself with grief, anxiety, terror, and anger.  To say I had lost myself would be generous to the definition of normalcy. 

Anyone I reached out to said whatever I needed, whenever, at a moment’s notice.  I found extreme comfort in the love and understanding of those I loved, of those who loved me.  And I only reached out to a select few who I knew would never ask me anything I didn’t want to be asked and somehow knew when to never ask and when exactly to say the most beautifully perfect thing.  But then I grieved again when I couldn’t call the one person I wanted to- my Milagros.  I miss her tremendously and without her love and guidance and her, “Hay que ser fuerte mujer,” I fell into this hole of desperation. It was like in the movies where the world keeps spinning and the person is looking confused up and down and around with black streaks running down her face and its kind of funny because you want to yell at her to suck it up….. but its you, and its real life, and you can’t just man the balls up.  Because all you want to do is crawl into a hole…… 

I wanted someone to tell me it was going to be fine.  I wanted someone to tell me my doctor was wrong.  I wanted to be one of those women who I found on Google who had a “misdiagnosed miscarriage.”  This seriously could not be happening.  I’ve waited so long- its so unfair. 

I somehow convinced myself around 5 in the morning that if I didn’t go to sleep, I would actually, literally lose my ever loving mind.  So I did- only to be awakened repeatedly of night terrors of seeing my dead baby.  It was all too much. 

By Monday, I was ready to do the blood work to see what was happening.   Monday morning, I woke up, put my big girl panties on, and showed up to class.  I’m damn good at feigning confidence and perfection when necessary. 

There is a girl in my law school class who has a beautiful tattoo on the underside of, I believe, her right arm.  It says something similar to: “Be kind to everyone.  For all have a cross to bear.”  I know its not exactly right, but that’s the message- and I carry it with me every day. 

There is so much more behind the smile.   Always.

I spent the next week in a blur.  To be honest, my comment for law review was due on November 22, just a week after I found out I was potentially walking around with a dead baby in my innards.  Do you have any idea what that is like?  To know there is a strong possibility that you actually have a dead body inside you????  It’s not awesome, that’s for sure.  And at the very least, I’ll leave the details of that to your imagination.

But there was work to be done so I used my anger, my desperation, my complete and utter sadness, and channeled it.  I turned in my 54-page comment two days early and passed my technical requirement on the first go around.  I don’t know if the thing will be published, but I don’t know of too many walking human coffins who manage to turn in a comment for law review, so, publication or not, give credit where credit is due, brother.  I’m awesome.  And I know it. 

A bit of back tracking- the Tuesday after the bloodwork, so three days before I turned in my comment, I was doing office hours for law review when one of the girls asked me about having another baby because I was nauseous in the office.  I paused a bit too long and they squealed in delight that I was pregnant.  I told them not to get too excited because I think the baby had stopped growing.  They told me they didn’t care about what “might be” happening, and to lets focus on the fact that I was pregnant.  They asked me all the perfect questions you ask a mom who is carrying a child- are you going to find out what sex the baby is?  Are your kids excited?  When are you due?  How do you feel?  Do you have any cravings?  How do you feel?  For that twenty minutes, I got to forget what was happening and for that brief moment in time, I was excited to be pregnant, because I WAS pregnant.  It didn’t matter for a brief moment that I would never meet my baby- what mattered is that I had one sitting with us at that table.  I could never explain the joy those girls brought me by insisting we don’t even think about what was going wrong.  That conversation was my last one about hopes for the future and I am forever grateful for that circle of friendship I had that day.  I think about Chauna’s face today and I smile, remembering how they made me feel.

They lost my blood work at the lab, and didn’t tell me the results until Thursday evening, the night before my next sonogram.  It was an agonizing four days of waiting.  The blood work still showed high levels of all the important letters, meaning it wasn’t certain I had lost my baby.  What with both my other kids measuring small, I had hope.  It was small, but it was there. 

I walked into that room knowing that she would tell me what I didn’t want to hear.  I had told Ben he could come to the appointment under the condition that he was to be there as my husband, and not the man I wanted to throttle.  And he was.  For the half hour we were there, he held my hand, held me when I cried.  All the good things a husband is supposed to do. 

Before she even looked, I told her, “I brought you chocolate. I figured, if there’s a live baby in there, we should celebrate!  And what better way to celebrate than by eating a bar of chocolate?!?!  Because you know, that’s what healthy good mothers do….. feed their fetus babies chocolate….I had bought two so we could eat them together, but then I ate mine…. And then I also almost ate yours.  So you should probably put it where I can’t see it.  And then I thought, well, if there is no baby, that is pretty f*g depressing and we are probably going to need some chocolate.  So, that’s what I do for you.”  She really likes me and laughed and was grateful for her “lunch.”  I then told her that no matter what, and she could think I was a crazy person all she wanted, but that I didn’t care, I wanted a picture of my baby.  She knew what was coming and told me I could have whatever I wanted.  Love her.  I can think of no better person to have her job- no better person to have been in that room with me that day.

So then, there was the baby.  The tiny, teeny little piece of me that I would never carry outside my body.  The baby I would never swaddle, never lay in a crib, never hear laugh.  The baby that would never roll over, crawl across the floor, or look at me and smile.  The baby that would never torment my other babies with his or her crying or toy stealing.  The baby that I would never cuddle after scraping knees.  The baby that I would never get to watch grow into a beautiful, confident productive person.  The baby that I was going to have to tell Gabriela Catalina and Colton had died.  That they would never meet the baby.  My doctor asked me if I wanted her chocolate.  I told her, “No.  You probably need it.  You just had to tell your patient that she definitely isn’t going to get to have her baby and that she is walking around with a corpse just waiting to fall out of her lady bits at any given moment.  You’re kind of like the death character in Family Guy.  This is a shitty part of your job.  You need the chocolate.”  She sadly smiled and thanked me. 

I couldn’t opt to do the D&C.  What if still she was wrong?  What if?  Whatifwhatifwhatifwhatifwhatif??????  I know it was crazy but I wasn’t ready.  I thought I had 8 months and 1 week (because that’s how long they hibernate) to carry around life inside me and all of the sudden I was just told that life was gone???  Just completely gone?  I couldn’t.  She said I could do whatever I wanted so I decided to wait two more weeks to do one last ultra sound.  For sure the baby would come out on its own before then and then I wouldn’t have to make any decisions.  For sure……for sure.

I’ll say it- and I don’t care.  I’m pro choice.  All the way.  I fully believe it is a woman’s right to choose what happens to her body.  I may or may not agree with her decision, but that is not my decision to make.  And I support her right to choose.  And a part of being pro choice is the CHOICE to be pro life- which is what I am for me.  Stupid or not, I felt like doing the D&C was killing my baby.  Even though it was already dead.  I get it.  It makes no sense.  But what kind of sense is there to be had when you are losing a child?  None.  None whatsoever.  So I couldn’t do it.  I wanted nature to take its course and not be held accountable for any decisions to myself. 

But then, without detail, I woke up everyday for over a week and a half, with a constant reminder that my baby was dying inside of me, if not already dead.  And I could not handle the emotional trauma of it all.  I couldn’t.  I would get up in the middle of class and walk out and cry hysterically for a good five minutes, attempt some sort of grace to pull myself back together and walk back in to finish lecture.  It was a nightmare.  I scheduled the surgery.

So, after having seen my still baby one last time, on the Monday, December 7, while my classmates sat for our first final of the MBA degree, I had my insides scraped out.  What they don’t tell you is that you can feel it, the physical emptiness ,for days after.  For weeks.  For months.  For some reason, I thought I would have the surgery and be done with it.  It’s not the way it works.  Nothing is ever what you think it will be.   I can still physically feel the loss of a part of me. Every day.

I had wanted something to hold, something beautiful, something to remember my baby by.  So I designed a ring and found someone to create it, only to find it online at Tiffany’s. I wanted a broken circle, to represent the break in my soul and my new, incompleteness.   It was “only” $375 so I thought who cares?  I would have spent that much on diapers for the first three months so I went to the store to get it.  But when I tried it on, it looked awful.  It was bulky and didn’t look right and didn’t fully look like what I wanted to represent.  I was so sad.  Its stupid, but I had it in my mind that I would carry this thing on my hand and then it would be okay. 

Then I spotted this beautiful diamond circle with a break.  It was incredible.  It was perfect.  It was exactly what I wanted.  It was $2200.  I didn’t care.  I really didn’t.  But in trying on that ring, I had a moment of clarity and recognized that…..”perhaps”…… just “perhaps” I might not be in the right state of mind, and chose to walk away.  I at least had some sense about me afterall.  I found that same ring online that night on Etsy- more diamonds, better quality, for $220.  Now THAT is a price I can pay without putting ourselves in a position of homelessness. 

It’s not a cross.  It’s not a representation of faith.  Because truth be told, I’ve none left.  And yeah, I’ll go to church on Sundays....sometimes.... and I’ll teach my children about God and we will pray and we will sing all the songs- but because I believe that religion, that believing in something, keeps you on a good path.  I think for the most part it keeps your head on right.  It helps you hold on to something- until something so destructive happens that you cannot possibly explain.  And then you just pretend.  And, judge all you want, that’s what I’m going with.  I don’t want your scriptures, I don’t want your thoughts, I don’t want how Jesus works for you- I simply don’t.  You do you.  And I’ll do me.  But the last time I prayed, my baby died.  I don’t know if that’s something I can ever do again and mean it.

It is an imperfectly, beautifully broken circle- the break in circle is the baby I never got to meet.  The baby I carry around in my heart each day.  The circle is my soul- never to be mended.  Forever marred. 

Telling my children was the saddest thing I have ever done.  To see their faces fall….was devastating.  We bought them some books to help- because somehow reading a book replaces a lifelong best friend they would have found in their sibling- and I think the books did help, and for each a special lamb.  I tied a pink ribbon around Gabriela Catalina’s because she thought the baby was a girl, and a blue one around Colton’s because he thought the baby was a boy.  They sleep with those lambs, their babies, every night.  We read a book about how we thought we were going to have a baby, but we got an angel instead.  We read one about heart strings- I think that one is the most helpful.  It helps to explain the pulls we feel on our hearts when we miss someone.  And I think it gives the kids comfort to know that when they miss the baby and feel their hearts pull, its because the baby is thinking of them, too.  It helps me as well. 

Three days after my baby left my body, I took my first exam.  Two days later, a second.  A few days after, my last.  Yeah- I sat through exams, having just lost a baby.  And I actually passed- nay, did well- certainly not as well as I otherwise would have, but my GPA suggests otherwise.  

I again needed something for myself so what better way for a pick me up than to go to your favorite hairdresser?  Because somehow getting your hair done replaces a lost baby……..????????  I was grasping at straws.  

God bless Kerry at the Aveda Salon.  I came in and told her I wanted her to do the color the same but to cut it different.  She kept asking me about different styles and this 9 month pregnant chick kept walking behind me and all of the sudden I couldn’t take the near baby experience behind me coupled with all of these decisions.  I choked back tears and, seeing as how hair dressers are also half counselors, she leaned in close and asked if I was okay.  I was on the verge of losing all sense of composure (I had showered for this and put on makeup- I was determined to keep it together!!!) and told her I had just lost my baby and I needed something.  That I just needed her to fix something.

She cried and hugged me and said she couldn’t bring back my baby but she could make me beautiful.  And she did.  And just knowing that I told someone, that I shared with someone, and she cared, and she cried with me, made it okay for awhile.  And for a short while, I felt like myself.  

Am I okay?  No.  Will I ever be?  No- and who could be, after losing a baby. And who should dare suggest I be?  So don’t ask.  If you do, I will always answer that I am fine- but that will forever be a lie.   I hear phantom cries sometimes, pick up the scent of a nearby newborn baby much sooner than ever before, have sleepless nights where I lose my baby over and over and over again until I cannot feel anything anymore- and then I wake up to find that I really don’t have a baby anymore.  I sometimes dream that people abandon their babies on the subway and that I show up in court to ask if I can take them home.  I have nightmares that my currently pregnant friends lose their babies too.  I can’t escape it.  My heart is always heavy.  

It’s the worst when one of my children misses the baby, wants to talk about their loss.  I can barely keep it together myself, much less console someone else.  Colton is more matter of fact- the baby is dead and its sad but we are moving on.  But Gabriela Catalina….our hearts are connected in a way I never thought possible between two souls.  We often, unbeknownst to her, share the same emotions.  She and I truly are connected by heart strings.  And so, before school, I take a pause, to hold my sobbing daughter, the one who misses “her baby.”  And I answer questions matter of factly about how the baby died, what it means, whether or not I can have another one.  And I am honest.  She desperately needs another baby- as if getting new one would simply replace the baby she just lost- maybe that’s what we all need.  I don’t know.  I don’t really know anything anymore.

But I explain to her that as much as we all might want that- that I can’t right now, because I am honestly too sad.  She asks me how I would feel if something happened to her, to Colton, to Daddy, to Chata.  I hold her close, water spilling down my cheeks and I tell her…I would be devastated.  I would be lost.

And a few days later when there was a fire in our building and Ben stayed behind for an extra minute to get Colton’s elephant (someone is forever setting off the fire alarm and we thought it was just from popcorn)- when we got outside and saw the smoke pouring out from the building and realized there actually WAS a fire, she became hysterical.  She thought we were going to lose her daddy too- because he still hadn’t come out.  It was awful.  Just awful.  

The kick of it is.... the whole process took months.  I thought that once I had the surgery, I could begin to heal.  But two weeks after I continued to have complications- awful ones.  And I continued to have complications ... for too long.  Way too long.  And the compilation of the complications happened in the middle of an interview- it was terrible.  I had to schedule an emergency doctor's visit wherein she rushed me to the sonogram room- there was too much blood.  We realized that the reason I still felt and looked pregnant two months later .... is because I was.  Not all baby bits had been removed.  

8mm.  

8mm of baby parts is all that it takes to wreak havoc.  To make you feel insane.  Literally.... insane.  I immediately had to take medicine to finish flushing everything out.  Taking medication "for abortion purposes" does an effing psychological number on you- even when your baby is already dead.  It is by far the most traumatic thing I have ever done.  Over the course of the next 24 hours- well.... a lot happened physically.  It was the most traumatically horrific thing possible I have every gone through.  And in the morning, all I wanted was to feel normal.  So I decided to make pancakes with my boy.  But in the middle of pouring the batter, I all of the sudden felt terrible.  I told Colton to go to his room immediately- and for once, he obeyed without question.  I leaned up against the wall and slid to the floor.  Ben asked if I was okay.  "Tell me when he's gone," I said.  Ben said he was- and I passed out on the floor.  

I'm not sure what happened in real life for the next few moments.  But in my brain, I was lifted off the floor and carried into a sea of balloons.  I was floating on a cloud of pink balloons that kept running into my head- and I could smell candy- and hear babies laughing.  And then I would see a flash of my hallway and then return to floating in a sea of pink balloons, and I was bobbing and dancing on the pink balloon waves.  And then I was laid on the ocean floor, where I heard the water rushing in... and out... in .... and out.  And in my mind I was on the balloon sea for days. 

In real life, when I collapsed on the floor, Ben picked me up and carried me down the hallway- the pink sea was comprised of the pink balloons still hanging from Gabriela Catalina's birthday party.  The candy was them eating in their bedroom.  The babies laughing was a game they were playing on their kindles.  And the ocean floor was my bed.  The sound of the ocean waves was my husband talking to me.  This was all of thirty seconds, not days.

Two days later, I was back in class.  And I was finally not pregnant anymore.

Some days its all I can do to get up, get dressed, and get my kids on the bus.  It’s all I can do to pretend to be alright and make dinner- read for school, take my kid to ballet.   

It is times like this when I realize how truly blessed I am in my friendships- in my relationships that I have had going on two decades.  The support that my friends have given me is unlike anything you could ever know.  The love and compassion that they all shared in their own unique ways is the closest anything will ever come to filling the void forever stamped in my heart.  Another dear friend of mine found out at the same time that she was also pregnant with the same due date- and when they were ready to announce, everything started happening with our baby, and out of love they waited.  They waited to share their joy, so they could be there for our grief.  They called us first, out of love, before announcing to the world.  It would have been fine to find out like everyone else.  But the love and compassion they showed is something else from out of this world- the tiny sense of peace that phone call gave is something I hold on to.   Without these life gems, I think my being would have disappeared completely.  

So, I get up, and, as a dear old friend advises, just put one foot in front of the other.  Just one.  And if I just keep putting one foot in front of the other, maybe one day, it will get me somewhere.  

To my baby that I never got to hold in my arms…. I love you all the love in the world.   And I miss you- every second of my life.  I wish you could have been a part of our craziness for longer.