Today I was reminded of a moment long since silenced, but not forgotten. One moment that existed so long ago now...lives ago....
It was a time of happiness, expectation and naivety. Just like any other family, we were excited at giving our first-born a sibling. When the time came, we both wept momentarily as we realized that our family of three would soon become a family of four. Then we saw the doctor and everything began to change. I began to have issues with the pregnancy immediately. Even the doctor tried to prepare me with what only now sounds logical to my ears; "I'm not going to kid you - this could very likely be the beginnings of a miscarriage."
I don't remember ever being so frightened. I must have cried a river. I went to church to pray for strength and the health of our unborn child, already struggling to survive. I tried not to cry, to bring attention to myself, but my heart pounded with fear. My instincts were kicking in, but my heart wouldn't listen. I couldn't..wouldn't connect to this baby just yet.
It became difficult struggling with saving one baby at the expense of not being able to be a mother to my first child. He didn't understand and it upset me more. Being pregnant was supposed to be a happy time, a time to yell from the rooftops that our family was growing. Yet, here I was, afraid that people would see the fear in my eyes if I told them - it was easier not to let anyone know.
Days continued and nothing changed. I was no worse off, but no better either...which I made myself believe was a positive thing. Everything was so different from my first pregnancy that it masked the truths about what was happening - all of the signs were just chalked up to it being a different baby. All of the instincts I was having about this unborn child were underscored by some logical comparison.
Days ran into weeks, and things went up and down. When the symptoms returned so did the fear but I carried on, no idea what was on the horizon. That was Thanksgiving. Two weeks following that, the nightmare began.
The doctor didn't say much that morning, he just turned and picked up the phone to book an emergency ultrasound for me. My heart sank and the fear clutched at my throat as my stomach tied in knots. They took me right through at the clinic - an old little place that didn't emit comfort in the least, but as least there would be answers. The technician was quiet about her work and scowled at the monitor over and over. I knew something was wrong.... I tried to ask questions, but my fear grew as she explained she wasn't allowed to say anything. I begged her to show me the baby...so she relented. What I saw next was my own confirmation and the only glimpse I would ever have of our child. It was small, but it was etched into my mind forever. The technician turned the monitor away quickly and there was nothing to say. That was noon.
I waited for the reality of the doctor's phone call and hours went by. The phone didn't ring at 6, or 7 or 8 either. I called the doctor's office from our bedroom phone and left a message. there were splashing sounds of a happy toddler taking a bubble bath coming from the bathroom when the call finally came. I sat on the edge of the bed and listened...only the first few words were crystal clear; "It isn't good...." The rest trailed away as the shock took over and rawness of pain began sweeping through each vein in my body. I managed to finish the conversation, then say something quickly after hanging up before the sobs overwhelmed my voice. I ran to the sofa and threw myself into a ball in the corner of it. I had to make calls to family...they were also waiting to hear the news.... I managed to dial and spoke to my mom...but I could already barely speak. It hurt more to say it out loud. A short time elapsed before I felt mom's comforting arms around me. All I could muster by now was "My heart hurts" over and over and over again. I stayed there for hours, my heart hurting and breaking with every sob. I can't think now how it must have felt to grieve the loss of your grandchild, yet watch your daughter's world fall apart, but everyone took care of us first, without reservation or question.
I can't describe the feeling of carrying a non-living baby, however small, inside of you. The statement alone is raw and ugly. It's a bizarre and unjust thing to have to find emotions for. It was the loss of our dreams for this child - I was mourning the idea of who this child would become and how he or she would fit into our family. I was sad for our family - my husband, our son and myself - that this new child we had planned and wanted would not be.
I was strangely brave at the hospital for the procedure that morning - October 30th, 2002. I held up my chin and told myself it would all be over soon. Then when my husband had to leave and I was left alone to wait those final moments before surgery, the wall I had built around myself all morning began to tumble, brick by painful brick. I could hear the nursing station - the banter about something meaningless and I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs for them to shut up. How could anyone 'just be' when I was going through this hell?
Finally I went into the operating room. I remember clearly lying there, both arms strapped down, involuntary tears streaming down either side of my face. I said to the nurses, "I had thought the next time I would be in a hospital would be to deliver the baby, not for this...." The nurse dabbed the tears from my face as I felt myself finally drifting away....
When it was over and we went home, there was a long and devastating climb back to being myself again. The pain of the loss stung at every turn, made worse by the taunting of post-partum, which I had to endure without a baby to distract me.... Eventually I turned to friends and family to drag me up to my feet again. It was a call to my aunt - a priest - that helped me to finally let go. She knew I needed closure and suggested I name the baby in order to release it's spirit.
Grace. My Grace-angel. Never has a name come to me so easily.
I began to heal after that defining moment. I don't know at what point my Grace stopped being, but I do know that I gave her that name and let God take her home finally. And for that, God blessed me the following Thanksgiving with twins and my year had quite literally gone the full circle of life. My Thanksgiving babies...all three of them, share a piece of my heart and always will, along with my oldest baby. Grace is remembered most at Christmas now, with an ornament thoughtfully and lovingly placed on our tree every year....
Today I was reminded of my sweet Grace-angel. Now she lives here too, forever.
I love you my Grace.
Love, Mommy xo
