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.