The Best Worst Day Of My Life.. Part Two..

The next few days are a blur.. A blur of sadness, sleeping pills, pain medication, and frustration.. I don’t think I’ll EVER leave my bed. My phone keeps ringing, but I’m not answering.. I don’t want to speak to anyone.. It’s actually probably better if I don’t.. My husband is handling that.. I overhear a few conversations and the stupid things that people say when they think that SOMETHING needs to be said but don’t know what to say.. Some of these things enrage me. My husband takes the brunt of my rage: Yes, we do have three wonderful, healthy children already; but is that supposed to make me want this baby any less?? And is grieving the loss of my child making me any less thankful for the children that I already have?? “So, I guess you’re all sad now..??” REALLY?! Did you REALLY just say that?!.. I know that God has a plan – but I really don’t want to HEAR about His plan right now.. from you. Let Him deliver His plan to me in His own time.. I don’t want or NEED a “messenger”!!.. “At least she wasn’t further along..” Right. At least there’s THAT.. how comforting. “There was obviously something wrong with the baby.. It’s better to have lost it now than to have had a child with disabilities or to lose it after it was born sometime later down the road..” Really, truly, SERIOUSLY?!.. I don’t even have words for how much THIS angered me.. Sometimes, the best thing to say is, simply, that you’re sorry.. sorry for the loss of the child.. sorry for having had to experience such a terrible thing.. sorry that there is nothing that you can do to take the pain away but that you’re here if need be – and want to be.. That is all..

My kids know that something is wrong but don’t know what it is.. They know that Mommy is sad and won’t get out of bed.. They know that Daddy is acting strangely and overtly happy and overcompensating for everything that goes on with them.. They need to know.. It’s time to tell them..

My husband’s grandfather who was very dear to us had recently passed away in January.. Our children had experienced that loss with us and through us and were fully aware of what death was.. We told them stories of heaven and how Papa was in a much, much better place, was no longer sick or in pain, and would always be with us in our hearts and memories.. I decided to use this as my window into their world before telling them.. Here they were.. Three brightly shining smiles with happy faces around them aged six, three, and one sitting atop our bed and very excited to be doing so.. They knew that there was some sort of news for them to hear and were excited to be hearing it.. I began.. I began by bringing up Papa’s death.. Their expressions (minus the one year old) began to change.. Their smiles began to fade.. “You know how Papa went to heaven, right??” I stumbled with my words.. They nodded their heads to say yes .. “Well.. In life, sometimes things happen.. sad things.. and we’re not sure why they happen.. They just do..” Largely round eyes are focused directly on me now.. I continue, “Well.. You know our baby, right..??” Realization begins to set in – their young minds are more perceptive than I had even expected – an acute sense of awareness and visible warmth begins to flush over their faces as tears begin to roll down from my six year old son’s knowing eyes.. My three year old daughter yanks the covers over her head, then buries her face into the bed.. I’m taken back by this.. I hadn’t even told them that we lost the baby yet.. My ability to speak ceases to exist as my son leans into me to be held.. My overwhelmed husband takes over.. His words are also hard to find but he reassures them that everything is going to be alright.. that we love them.. that it’s okay to be sad and to cry.. There are a lot of tears now.. My one year old son isn’t aware of what is going on but is quietly observing and wanting to be held as well.. He knows what sadness is.. My husband continues.. He speaks of heaven and our baby now being in it.. The kids seem worried that the baby is there all by itself – I reassure them that Papa is already there and is taking care of our baby for us.. Papa LOVED babies, so he was the perfect person for our sweet baby to be with now.. They find comfort in this.. I too find comfort in this.. My daughter pops her head up and begins acting silly, full-tooth smiling and making funny noises.. She’s trying to distract everyone from being sad and having tears and is seeking laughter – something that is usually always prevalent in our home.. We let her react however she needs to react.. Our youngest son finds her entertaining.. My oldest son is in my arms and says in between tears, “But I really, really wanted our baby..” I pull him closer and squeeze him tighter. I can feel his tears on my chest.. I know, son.. So did I.. So did I..

As time goes on.. My children take it upon themselves to draw pictures of the baby.. pictures of the baby in heaven, pictures of the baby with them, pictures of our family and what it would have looked like complete. They’re so proud of these drawings and love to show them to me.. And I, in return, love to receive them. I take them and save them.. I have plans to make a memory book for the baby that we had been referring to as “Baby Eberhart”.. And in that, in of itself, is something that greatly began to consume my thoughts: There is no headstone to visit for my sweet baby.. There aren’t any pictures.. I’ll never even know if it was a girl or a boy.. I’m barely “allowed” to have feelings around some of our family who act like nothing ever even happened.. I WANT to remember my baby. My baby DID exist, though the days were numbered. I never want my baby to be forgotten.. I love my baby – I always will..

This became a mild obsession for me.. Finding tangible ways to commemorate and memorialize our baby without suffering the brunt of too much judgment from others.. My thoughts turned to a ficus tree that I had as a child that remained ever present throughout my life. I remembered my mother telling me how they had brought it home around the same time that I was born and that it was as old as I was. This used to fascinate me and made me feel very connected to this tree.. I decided that WE needed a ficus tree.. In it, I would find an ever-present state of being that I could view with my own eyes. I refer to this tree as the “tree of life” and put a white dove on its branches that my husband was given at the time of his Papa’s funeral that had been placed on a floral arrangement with each dove representing a grandchild of Papa’s… this dove being my husband’s. This tree’s home is at our front door. Arriving or leaving, my thoughts are drawn to my baby and Papa when I see it – thoughts that they are both in heaven, together, and that they are both surrounded in peace always greets me. The idea of releasing balloons with notes or pictures drawn attached to them also entered my mind.. one for each one of us with pictures to be taken as they floated off into the blue sky.. These would be my pictures. My pictures to remember my baby. They have an album to fill, afterall.

Grief is one of those things that is open-ended. There is no set format to follow, no allotted time of acceptance (though others would like to set one for you), and shouldn’t be viewed as something that needs to be rushed through or hidden. I will always love my baby. I will always miss my baby. I will always wonder what they would have looked like and been like – I have two amazing examples of the possibility of what may have been in the form of the two sons that I already have both who were conceived in January and both who were born in the month of October which is when this baby was due to be born. As time goes on, I cannot imagine my feelings changing. That’s like saying that I will love my children less and less with every passing year. Sure, I did not have the incredible opportunity to hold this baby in my arms that I so greatly desire even to this day to have had been able to do, but that doesn’t make my love for our baby any less than if I had. I think that I should be allowed this, as I feel that everyone should.

I found that one conversation in particular that I had with a very dear friend of mine who had gone through loss herself to be one of the most influential conversations of this whole experience up to this point. I shared my story with her, and she listened. And we cried together. She began to tell me of her story of loss in a way that we had never discussed before, and we were able to relate to each other’s feelings of the things that had gone on for us, though they were starkly different but the same. It was during this story that I had a number of realizations.. Things that had happened that were much more than just coincidence that I view as Light to my loss. I believe that there are many things that happen around us and in our lives that are signs to reveal to us that there is more out there than we think. I believe in God and believe that He is present – whether or not we see it is left up to us and whether or not we allow ourselves to be open enough to receive it is also left up to us. I have learned throughout my life that everything happens for a reason whether we understand that reason right away or whether it takes a great many number of years for the reason to come to fruition, in all things there is purpose. I have lived such a life that would reflect that notion quite well, the loss of my child being one of them.

How is this? How does losing my child reveal any Light at all? Here is what I found… I found that the timing, in particular, of every single thing that had gone on during my loss to be impeccable. Had my referral to see my doctor not been approved when it was, I would not have had my ultrasound when I did.. Depending on timing had it been earlier I would have possibly seen a live baby then lost it unexpectedly without any sort of warning.. or I could have seen my baby without its heartbeat and been forced to wait much longer than I did to deliver the baby naturally.. As it worked out, I saw my baby without its heart beating within hours of what would be the start of me losing the baby. I feel as if my short prayer said within the depths of my mind in the doctor’s office that day had been answered in that my loss didn’t take a week to begin – it started that night, AFTER my kids had gone to bed.. I found that while waiting for the doctor in the exam room on the day that I delivered my baby while in the deepest materialization of sorrow that I had ever experienced in my life – when my Faith was actually being shaken - to also be the exact same time that I had realized that it was a Christian office to be incredibly profound.. that even the song that was being played spoke so directly to what I was actually going through at that very moment still amazes me. I have no doubt that had the situation been different that God would have revealed Himself in some way to me, but that this was the way that was meant for me, individually, at this time in my life. I was fortunate enough to have a concerned, supportive and caring ultrasound technician, an incredible, compassionate, sensitive doctor and a wonderful, soft-hearted nurse. These things, along with things that happened later and continue to happen even now, is why I refer to that day as the “best worst day of my life”. If I had to lose my child, I cannot imagine any other way of having done so.

Even knowing and realizing all of this, the struggle to come to grips with everything continued...