This Year’s Back To School Reminds Me Of The Child I Lost
This year marks the first time that all three of my kids will be in school, and most excitingly, two of my kids are starting school for the first time. Having an empty house during the day for the first time is bittersweet for most parents, I’m guessing, but milestones like this have been extra difficult since I lost my first born son.
A few years ago, before my youngest two kids were born, I found myself pregnant with what should have been my second child. The pregnancy was a happy surprise, especially since my now-husband and I hadn’t been dating long. But we were both ecstatic anyway and dove right into planning for our expanding family. At my 18-week doctor’s appointment we learned we were having a son, which was exciting for me, coming from a family of all girls.
A few weeks before my due date, I woke up at three a.m. with severe abdominal pain. At first I thought I was having really bad Braxton Hicks, but as the pain increased I realized it was something more. We headed to the emergency room in a panic, expecting to be told I was in early labor. It was close enough to my due date that we figured everything would work out. A premature baby wasn’t ideal, but he would have a fighting chance.
Before before I was even admitted I realized how wrong I was. I looked down and blood was gushing from between my legs, “This isn’t right,” I said to the nurse at triage, and from the look on her face I could see she felt the same way. At this point my contractions were coming fast; much faster and harder than at any point during my older child’s labor and delivery. I honestly thought I was dying and all I wanted was to deliver my baby before that happened.
Everything else after that was a blur. My sonÂ was delivered an hour later, stillborn. I held his tiny, lifeless body for as long as they would allow me to, and all I can remember feeling after they took him away was hollowness.
The grief you feel after losing a child is hard to describe. For weeks, I refused to leave the house; the outside world felt too huge and dangerous. Even after I worked up the nerve to leave the house and go back to work, I would escape to the bathroom to sob into my fist, silently so no one would ask me how I was or if I was okay. Recovering from giving birth is hard, even when things go right. But when they go wrong, the emptiness is almost unbearable. It went beyond the intellectual knowledge that my child, who was just a few days, weeks, months ago, in my womb, was now gone and buried. The emptiness was a physical feeling. A distinct feeling of incompleteness right there in my body, under my heart.