My Little Bear

Fast approaching, inevitable, everywhere.

It’s hard to remember that even though my son isn’t with me, in my arms, that I am still qualified to be a mother.

I’ve done my best to avoid the commercials, the movies.. over the last few months I’ve become good at avoiding things.

Commercials are normally the hardest thing. I’ve stuck to Netflix and other streaming services as opposed to watching cable, purely to avoid commercials. The days following my release from the hospital, I saw a Pampers commercial, showing the birth of a healthy, crying baby. I heard the cries and it made me collapse, I still don’t do well with commercials or crying babies. I never got to hear Kaeden cry. Just another thing on the long list of things I’m missing out on.

I’ve had reminders from friends and family, that I am still a mother. Regardless of how much I don’t feel like I am, I’m assured that I am.

I still count the days without my son. I still cry, I still hurt, I still ache. Every period since my son was born sleeping is a constant reminder that I’m no longer pregnant.. no longer waiting for my son to be born and growing him inside me.

They don’t always talk about what happens after a stillbirth. My body and mind have an insufferable need to be pregnant. My hormones are crazy and out of wack. I still experience phantom symptoms, feeling ghostly kicks in my stomach, hightened smell and taste, easily nauseated. The flutter in my heart when I experience something along those lines, followed by the constant thoughts of “Am I pregnant?” courses through my mind. It’s become my “new normal”. How absurd for something so mentally damaging to become “normal”.

I’m grateful to the WNY Perinatal Bereavement Network. They are hosting a “Parents Day Breakfast” for those who have lost their children through many different, cruel means, the day prior to Mother’s Day. They also host a lot of group therapy sessions, and a multitude of other events for grieving parents. I’ve neglected to take advantage of these resources and potentially helpful happenings.. I felt I wasn’t strong enough to attend. But perhaps it’s no longer a matter if I’m “strong enough”, but maybe something I must do to become stronger for myself.. for Kaeden.

Please keep those who are missing children this upcoming Mother’s and Father’s Day in your thoughts. Please be mindful of your wishes, but know they are appreciated- though potentially painful. I’ll be attempting to remember that I am a mother. I’m no less of a mother than someone with many living, healthy children. Though it’s hard to feel that sometimes, I would like to believe it’s true.

I wish those that are suffering as I am, spend the day doing things that would make them proud to be a parent. Perhaps I’ll do something to brighten my day.. plant some flowers, paint a picture.. something creative for my son. I may never receive a card or present from my son- but it’s not the material things that matter. What matters is that I’m trying to better my life, hoping that I could one day be a person that I am proud of for my son.

I worked overnight that day. Got off of work at 7am and called the OBGYN at 8am, and asked if I could come in later in the day, so I could sleep. I went in for my appointment, which they graciously moved to 1:30pm for me, and expected the regular check-up. Vitals, weight, heartbeat.... heartbeat.

I should have known. After minutes of searching and near silence.. nothing. Another doctor in.. a second opinion. Nothing. Panic setting in. Uncontrollable sobbing. Brought to another room. Sonogram. No heartbeat. 33 weeks pregnant. Nearly 8 months. No heartbeat. Calling my mom. Calling. Calling. Crying in the arms of my doctor who’s also crying. She and I had become very close. I can’t speak. I give the phone to my doctor. It’s all a blur.

I was in labor for 2 and a half days. Admitted on the 27th, and induction started immediately. Days filled with pain. Hopelessness. Hoping. Hoping they were wrong. Walking across the bridge from my OBGYN to the hospital. Being admitted to the hospital and one of the first things the nurse asks me.. “Have you picked out a funeral home?” ... no I haven’t fucking picked one out.

This post is as jumbled as my thoughts that run through my head hour by hour.. minute by minute. Was it my fault? Did I sleep on my stomach? Did I eat the wrong thing? What did I do?

These days felt like years. As much pain and upset that I was in, I didn’t want it to end. If I put it off.. then I wouldn’t have to face the realization that he was gone. Is it a bad dream? Can I just wake up and have my baby? Please.. anything. Heartbeat. Please.

Roughly 45 hours of labor. From induction to delivery. They didn’t tell me what to expect when my water broke. Exactly 4am on the 29th, it happened. Disgusting brown liquid poured out of me and I couldn’t make it stop. Didn’t know what was happening. I just wanted it to stop. I was so embarrassed. Called the nurse. Change sheets. Stand and cry in shower. Back in bed.

Contractions. Words can’t describe how empty I feel, having to go through the entire labor process and not have my son in my arms right now. Contractions. So much pain for something already so painful. Yoga ball. Epidural. All of the normal motions of a normal delivery.

Epidural. I was so exhausted I passed out. 2 hours later, I was woken up. Go time.

Maybe 2 pushes.. and he was here.

The moment I learned that /apparently/ there was nothing anyone could do. Nuchal cord. Cord malfunction. Cord. Heartbeat. Empty.

I relive these days nearly every time I close my eyes. I sleep to escape how I feel but it just follows me into unconsciousness.