I had all these grand plans for the first post on this tweaked and improved, shiny and new blog. This is not the post I thought I’d write.
I was pregnant. We were going to ride this rodeo one more time, and this time it all took on new meaning because we already had a little darling in our life that allowed us to see what a miracle we could create. When I heard that heartbeat for the first time, so loud and so reminiscent of our Rylie’s the first time we heard hers, I was smitten. No turning back, this was happening, I was in love, and we were no longer a family of three, we officially had two little darlings in our life.
I really felt this pregnancy. And by felt, I mean I was nauseous all day and never knew what fatigue felt like until a couple of weeks ago. I convinced myself that all this discomfort and sickness was taking away all the sickness from the baby. For the rest of my life, I’d wish that I could take my baby’s pain away, and for the only time in his or her life, I could.
God had different plans though, and I’m still struggling to understand them. At our 12 week appointment, with Rylie in tow (excited and repeating to everyone around her “baby’s heartbeat, baby’s heartbeat) the doctor turned on the ultrasound screen and we knew instantly. There was no longer a little flicker in the chest, and no movement like the doctor had predicted to Rylie that we would see. That moment is burned into my brain, hearing Rylie ask for the heartbeat, and to see…nothing, to hear…nothing.
I’ve never felt loss so close to home. As I write this, my vision is blurry because my eyes are filled with tears and puffy from no sleep last night. I’m angry, I’m devastated, I’m confused, I’m afraid, I want answers. I want to turn back time.
Tomorrow is the procedure where they remove him or her. At first I was angry that they couldn’t do it sooner, and now, I don’t want tomorrow to come. I’m not ready to let go yet. So I’m writing this post now, when the feelings are still so raw and fresh, so that I don’t ever have to let go and so that we will never forget. Before we found out, I made a video that I was going to use to announce our pregnancy. I was going to cut out the “baby” parts and change the music, but then thought to myself… “Why would I cut those parts out? In those moments, we were a family of 4 and you sweet baby, were still so alive in our minds and hearts.” So no, I’m keeping the video, and I’m going to watch it whenever I need to be reminded.
Sweet baby, I’ll never get to hold you in my arms, or kiss your eyelashes when you’re sleeping. I’ll never get to hold your hand, or kiss your booboos when you fall. I’ll never see your smile, or have my heart melt when you reach up to me. I’ll never hear you call me mama. But I will always be your mama. You’ll also never be cold, never be afraid, never feel lonely, never have your heartbroken. If you could hear before your heart stopped, the last thing you heard was my heart beating, and every beat was for you. I struggle with my faith, but if you are in heaven, and every part of me hopes you are…then instead of me holding you in my arms telling you about all the people that love you, I hope that God is holding you and telling you all about us. I want you to know that Rylie was so in love with you too. She already knew she was your big sister, and it broke my heart yesterday and this morning when she’d lift my shirt and kiss my belly, which has become a little ritual for us. Last night she asked me to read her the “baby” book, a book we got her to help her understand what being a big sister meant. It’s her favorite book. A part of me wanted to hide it last night, but I didn’t. We read it, and she still lit up at the part when the “Rylie” is holding “the baby.” It broke my heart, but I believe that for a long while she won’t let us forget, and that’s ok with me.
Your gift to us was that we will cherish your sister even more than we thought we possibly could now. You brought your dad and I even closer together yesterday, if that was even possible. And maybe one day, someone will need me to really understand their loss, and I will, because of you. My heart aches for you, and I already feel so empty. You have already left your mark, I promise. I love you, I miss having you, and I promise to never forget. I’m comforted in knowing that Rylie got her first guardian angel.
*update. A part of me didnt understand why my body would not miscarry on its own. A part of me thought that process would give me more closure in a way. We have the most wonderful doctor though. When I asked if I could see the baby one more time before the procedure, he said “you’re the boss.” In the operating room, right before they put me under, I got to visit with our little one, one last time. He spent so much time showing me the little hands, feet, and profile. It was the last thing I saw before drifting off to sleep as the doctor held my hand. Now THAT is the image I’m left with, and I’ll be forever grateful.