Wednesday, November 26, 2014

That moment

Three weeks ago, I was cleaning out the silverware drawer while Ben was eating breakfast.  We got to enjoy a bit of a late start due to my doctor's appointment.  Who knew how many crumbs could get in a silverware drawer?  And who could possibly bring a baby to a home with so many crumbs everywhere?  I was full-on nesting. 

An hour later, my world came crashing down.

That moment - where my doctor couldn't find Lydia's heartbeat - keeps replaying over and over in my mind.  It's the stuff nightmares are made of.

My counselor told me for most moms, it's the moment of birth, the moment of hideous silence when birthing the baby.  For me, it's the silent doppler.  For me, it's the rising fear as my doctor can't find it.  There was a moment, for a second, when that fear subsided.  There was a heartbeat.  And then the doctor told me that that heartbeat was my own.  That second of hope that came crashing down.  And she continued searching.  And it wasn't there.  And it wasn't there.  And it wasn't there.   For me, it's that torturous moment, that feeling deep-down inside, when I know.

And now there is my life before that moment, when I thought our biggest struggles were about stress and money and lack of time.   And there is my life after that moment. 

1 comment:

  1. It's true. Your life will now be divided into before Lydia and after her. You will never be the same, the way you approach life will never be the same, and most likely, the way you approach people will never be quite the same. You may find that there may some positives in that, eventually. I know I have more true compassion for humanity in general than I ever did before. I know now that most people's greatest wounds are invisible, and you never know who's carrying one. One example - a woman in a class I attend seemed always seemed prickly and as if she were miserable to be there with a drawn, almost angry expression. 'Why is she here then? Yikes, lady', I thought. But then, I learned her daughter suffered an illness at 10 months of age that left her a paraplegic. A very rare side affect from the medications she received. Her daughter is now 7 and has 24 hour care at home. Well. That would do it. And I learned once more that people move on and function, but they are affected by their experience, their reality that so much of the world can't or doesn't relate to. I should know this better than most, but still sometimes need reminding. To be gentle with others. You never know what they've been through - or are going through.
    Is that a fair trade for losing my daughter? HELL. NO. Never. But in some ways I'm a better human being for having carried my daughter, and for mourning her forevermore. It's not much. But I cling to it.
    A caveat to that? People who bitch about their kids, complain about pregnancy or getting pregnant by accident (we were infertile), and people who know about Anna but don't acknowledge her. Got nooooo time for those a-holes. (Though I've found that people with wounds like we have don't act that way anyway, so…)

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