To My Angel Baby
I never knew your name. I never heard your cry. I never heard your heartbeat, felt you kick and flip.
I didn't know you were there, didn't even know you could come to me. I felt the pains of my uterus expanding to grow new life and thought it was my PCOS again. I'm so sorry, my baby. I had nausea and exhaustion, cramps and bigger boobs, but thought it was the stress of school and your father and I having to move so quickly. We loved each other, you should know that. You were conceived in love, my baby.
I went to the OB/GYN. She asked if I wanted to do a blood test to make sure I wasn't pregnant. I felt a pull telling me to check, but dismissed it as....... I don't even know what. But I told her I didn't want to waste her time. She did a pelvic exam on me. She said I was pink and looked like I was almost ready to start my period. We didn't know that you were there. I'm so sorry, my baby. She gave me pills to help me force ovulate and start my period again since it had been so long. I'm so sorry, my baby.
Your father redeployed early, voluntarily. I waited until after he left to start the pills so he wouldn't have to spend his last few days stateside with me cramping and having PMS. Sometimes I wish he hadn't left. Maybe I would have taken a few more tests, maybe I would have gotten a blood test. Maybe he would have taken me to the hospital when the cramps and bleeding were so bad and we could have stopped it. Who knows, my baby.
It took 10 days after I finished the pills for the cramping to start. I wondered what was taking so long. I should have gone to the doctor. When the cramps came, it was the worst pain I have ever felt. I moaned and contracted for hours, instinctively working my way through the pain like I was in labor. I remember thinking that something was wrong, something wasn't right. It shouldn't hurt this bad, it shouldn't last this long. But I was in too much pain to drive to base medical. I couldn't move, couldn't call anyone, couldn't think about anything other than working through one wave of pain at a time. I'm so sorry, my baby.
The bleeding came the next day. Painful, thick, exhausting. I don't know how I made it through teaching classes or going to class that day. I was depressed, far more so than I understood. I didn't know why I was so depressed. Your father and I were fighting, I told him we were done, I didn't understand why. Our friend died, it made me so sad in a way I didn't understand. I didn't know you had been there, that I had lost you.
I found out I was pregnant in October. I was laying in bed, cramping. I had been throwing up all day. My boobs were bigger, I was exhausted. And then it hit me: I knew these feelings. I had felt them before. Back in Washington, back in January and February. I knew then. I knew you had been with me. I cried all night long. I cried that I had accidentally killed you. That I was a doula, and hadn't recognized the symptoms in my own body. I cried for the loss of you, of my marriage to your father, of the recognition of what had happened. It was a grief I can never describe, a gut punch to my center, my core. I cried for the next 4 months, almost every night. I didn't sleep. I fell back into depression. I couldn't love your half brother inside of me; I resented myself so much that I couldn't bring myself to focus on him. I hope he knows I couldn't help it.
I talked with my aunt (your great-aunt) Nancy. She was the first person besides your half brother's father that I had told about you. She connected and channeled for me. She said that this had happened for a reason, that you said there was no reason to be sorry. That you had charted yourself in knowing this would most likely happen, to help me understand loss and grief. I cried.
Things started changing after that. I started paying attention to your brother more often, then eventually, every day. I told him I was sorry for being so sad, for making him sad. I told him what had happened, I could feel him listening, forgiving. It hasn't been easy, and it's far from over. Finding out that I miscarried you after finding out I was pregnant has traumatized me. I've had no one to talk to, everyone just wanted me to be happy about your brother. But I'm going to counseling, and I will heal and be a good mom to your brother. I love him, I love you. I can feel him kicking me and flipping around as I type this, making the laptop bounce every once in awhile, him telling me it's ok to be sad, but reminding me to come back to now, because he needs me. I have tears and sadness as I write this, but I'm ok, it's ok.
I know when I'm in labor and pushing out your brother to come meet us you will be there. I do not know you, you have chosen not to make yourself known to me when I request to talk to you, but I feel you, feel your energy and your spirit. You are probably wise to not talk with me, it would probably send me spiraling. But I know you are here and will be there in the room next to Broden as he enters our physical plane.
Thank you for having been with me, however short the time. Thank you for this gift of grief and growth, because through difficulty we emerge stronger and with more understanding and empathy. Thank you for being one of my spirit guides now, and for staying around Broden to help protect him.
I'm sorry, my baby.
I love you, my baby.
Love,
Your Mom.
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