Struck by Lightning

It’s been a little over a month since I held my baby boy in my arms. I still can’t believe that a month has come and passed. For me it feels like I can still feel him kicking and I’ve heard that’s a normal thing to feel. These phantom kicks are yet again another reminder of what I’ve lost; what I was never going to have. I had my second “empty arms” support group session this past Thursday. I’m not really sure how I feel about going yet. All I do know is that the first meeting was awful. Sharing my story, hearing other’s stories, it was all very emotional and brought me back to the warm waters of my nightmare. Afterwards I felt some relief because I had found others. Others who have gone through such terrible losses and are living with the same pain we are feeling. I cried the whole drive home feeling mentally exhausted. That weekend was a rough one. I just felt so angry and sad all at the same time and I couldn’t hide any of it. Everything annoyed me, everyone annoyed me, I cried for a few days and then the days got better. I was anxious, in a good way, to get back to the second meeting that following Thursday. I never thought I would be a “group” person, but when I feel so alone in my misery, it’s nice to physically see that my emotions are validated because others are feeling the same way. To make things a little harder, Claire has been non stop talking about the new baby in my belly. She came into our bedroom the other morning wanting to talk to my belly. She said “hi baby, I’m your big sister Claire.” It crushed me. Completely crushed me. Chad quickly swept in to distract her by making a tent with the covers and they pretended to go camping while I cried into my pillow. My heart is broken and the only hope I feel now is that time will make it all easier. That’s what everyone says, so I just have to trust in it. Claire and I took our car to the Infiniti dealership a few days ago for a standard oil change and state inspection so we prepared ourselves to spend the day in the waiting room of the service area. The receptionist took a liking to Claire since she could relate having a three year old at home and a little boy who was turning one the following day. She told me, “Uh oh someone is gonna need a little brother or sister soon. Are you going to have more?” Ugh. I instantly felt the tug on my heart and the knot in my throat. I was fighting that second personality of grief back down. Not now. Don’t do this now. I fought back the tears and told her, “yes we are thinking about trying real soon.” I walked with Claire towards the children’s room thinking ‘lady if only you knew what I just went through and what we lost.’ But she didn’t know. She’ll never know. As Claire played with a broken box of Candy Land pieces, I couldn’t stop wondering, had I ever been that receptionist? What I mean is, had I ever said anything to another woman about having more children, or asking “is this your only one?” I sincerely hope I haven’t. Now I know how much it hurts. How empty I felt when she asked me that. It was like I wanted to tell her because I do have another child. He was real, he was alive and he was mine. And even though I was never going to have Christian outside of the womb, I still had another child. But how do you say that? Do you say that? I would never want to make someone uncomfortable and that’s why I chose to respond the way I did. We received a call from the genetic counselor down in Charlotte a few days ago. The tests confirmed 100 percent that Christian had Thanatophoric Dysplasia Type I. It’s a lethal form. Christian was never going to survive this. If I would have carried him to term and he survived that, he wouldn’t survive more than a couple of minutes, an hour at most, in my arms. His ribs would be too underdeveloped and he wouldn’t be able to breathe. The thought of him going through that kills me. The feelings of guilt have now vanished. I know it wasn’t anything I did or didn’t do to cause this. She told us once again we were struck my lighting and that this could happen to ANYONE. The chances of lighting striking us twice are pretty rare, but I will never consider myself free and clear again. This past Monday I had to go to my OBGYN for my afterbirth checkup. It was yet another reminder, causing the heartache to intensify. I had to see my empty uterus on the ultrasound screen. Christian was just in there and now he’s gone. I felt numb. The only thing that reminded me that I was alive and awake was that suffocating feeling of helpless desperation that comes from a completely broken heart and soul. I have cried through all of the daily reminders of Christian dying and reminders of the hope that I had for him as a healthy little kid. There have been a couple of things this week that made me actually smile. I still teared up, but there was a smile I promise. This past week being Dr. Seuss’ birthday I kept reading the quote “A persons a person no matter how small.” Being a kindergarten teacher I have always loved that quote, but it has now taken on new meaning. From the Faces of Loss Faces of Hope website (where my story is also shared) they sent out a beautiful fact that I think will make all mommies, especially those that have lost a child, feel warm inside. When I’m feeling my worst I keep going back to remind myself that he is always with me. "During pregnancy, cells sneak across the placenta. The fetus's cells enter the mother and the mother's cells enter the baby --and stay there for life. In mothers, fetal cells often take residence in her lungs, spinal cord, skin, thyroid gland, liver, intestine, cervix, gallbladder, spleen, lymph nodes, and blood vessels. The baby's cells may also live a lifetime in Mom's heart and brain. Implicated in health and disease, fetal cells may also leave behind some of the mind-shifts that happen in motherhood." ♥ Our babies are always with us...literally♥