Tuesday, August 30, 2011

It's been four weeks since we walked into the doctors office and discovered that Nico's heart had stopped beating.

I delivered him one month ago today.  Only now can I write a little about it, if only to make some sense of the tragedy that has swept into our lives.  The journey for us began at 25 weeks when I noticed he wasn't moving as much as before.  At that time, we discovered he had a congetical heart defect but was reassured that surgery at birth would correct.  Little Nico stayed with us for a month after that, but his heart just couldn't keep up and we lost him.  During that month I remember praying for a miracle to heal his heart.  When they said he was smaller than "normal" I prayed that he would grow.  When they said that I was losing amniotic fluid at each appointment and saw a continual decrease I prayed for fluid to fill my womb.  I prayed and prayed and prayed.  But he died anyway.  So now I pray for peace and strength to get through this.

Yesterday I went back to work.  After one month I felt like I couldn't postpone returning to work.  So that some sort of "normalcy" would return to our lives.  It wasn't as bad as I feared.  I am lucky to have a private office, so I cry and not have to worry about people seeing me fall apart.  The hard thing is returning to a place where I was once pregnant.  Everything around me is a reminder of my pregnancy, of my son, of my joy.  My students remembered that I was pregnant, now I have to tell them my baby has died. 

When I walked into my office yesterday, I found my room as I left it 1 month ago.  The pillows were still propped up on the couch.  The last time I was laying there, sitting back comfortablly, with my legs up and belly out.  Nico was was kicking or turning over, and I would spend an hour or so just laying and feeling him, loving him.  Before adjusting the pillows back to their regular places, I sat in the same spot, propped my legs up, and rubbed my belly, my empty womb, missing Nico, but still loving him.  Always loving him.

Friday, August 5, 2011

About Loss

How do I begin to say goodbye to my son, Nico?  I don't know how or if I'll continue here.  My heart is so broken, I have no words to express what I feel right now.

"Love sorrow. She is yours now, and you must
take care of what has been
given. Brush her hair, help her
into her little coat, hold her hand,
especially when crossing a street. For, think,

what if you should lose her? Then you would be
sorrow yourself; her drawn face, her sleeplessness
would be yours. Take care, touch
her forehead that she feel herself not so

utterly alone. And smile, that she does not
altogether forget the world before the lesson.
Have patience in abundance. And do not
ever lie or ever leave her even for a moment

by herself, which is to say, possibly, again,
abandoned. She is strange, mute, difficult,
sometimes unmanageable but, remember, she is a child.
And amazing things can happen. And you may see,

as the two of you go
walking together in the morning light, how
little by little she relaxes; she looks about her;
she begins to grow."