I walked out of that ER and drove to my home knowing that my precious Peanut was gone. There was nothing I do could do to bring that sweet baby back. He had been gone now for what looked like at least a month. I was about 13 weeks pregnant, but he only measured around 6-7 weeks. No heartbeat. No hope. Just stillness. Painful, heartbreaking stillness.
Then came the self-inflicted questions.... What did I do wrong? Was it something I didn't do? Did I do something that caused irreversible harm to my tiny baby before I even knew he existed?
Then came the grief almost immediately after. Like a wave that mingled and twisted with the guilt I was feeling. Warm, hard tears spilled from my eyes. And then the heavy, heavy sobbing. My hand slipped to my belly, just that week showing some roundness and giving a clue to the rest of the world of the tiny little life that I thought I was growing inside of me. I had to cradle that sweet little soul the only way that I could. I rubbed my belly. I cried. I cradled the roundness because I knew in that moment that the soft belly I had come to adore wouldn't be there much more longer. My baby would leave me completely, and I would be left with the emptiness. The ache. The grief. The longing. The pain.
I pulled out the box that I had started collecting baby things in. I grabbed the tiny sleeper I had bought for him to wear that first couple of months that he would be a part of this world and hugged it tightly to my chest. It hit me like a mack truck. He would never wear that sleeper. I would never cuddle and snuggle my baby. I would never see his sweet smile. At least not here in this life.
The pain was.... is real. The grief even over 2 1/2 years later still finds me now and again. Like a wave that slowly rolls in and then crashes down all over and around me...
October is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month. I am the one in four who has suffered a loss.