Monday, January 31, 2011

The Last Day of My Life

January has been, for most of my married life, the end for me.  It was the last month that I knew the innocence of being newly pregnant; the last month before I knew that dreams were shattered every day, that babies still died, that it didnt happen to "someone else".  It held the last shred of my naivety in believing that pregnancy=40 weeks=baby in your arms.

10 years ago, on February 11th, I said good-bye to my first dream, my first baby.  My first miscarriage.  My womb was empty and my heart was broken and there were- and still are- no words to express that grief.  I've dreaded February, the memories of that ultrasound, the pills to induce the miscarriage, the "I'm sorry" from the doctor.  Telling Peter.  Watching his heart break.  Crawling under the blankets. Crying.  Destroyed.  I never thought I could feel worse than that moment.

3 years ago, today was the last day of my life.  The woman who emerged after the next day would never be the same.

January is always the end of an era to me... Each year, it replays that sweet innocence, that hopefulness, that unabated joy- untouched by the grief of delivering a tiny little baby who, although he did his very best, just as his sister did 2 weeks after, could not overcome the weight of the world's oxygen and eventually fell into what I pray every second was a peaceful sleep.  I can see myself, 3 years ago, working, discussing nurseries and deliveries and candles and music and a birthing bar and god-only-knows what else.  I can see that woman who thought that the hardest part was over, that "preterm" for her would be 36 week twins, that the worst thing to happen was leaving her babies in the NICU for a few days.  A woman who couldnt fathom leaving her baby in the morgue.  Who couldnt anticipate second trimester deliveries and the cold that robs her children of their last breaths of life.  Who never imagines having an undertaker hold her babies...  Her husband putting them in a crematory... Their bodies reduced to ash and air, even as their hearts continued to beat in her own.

To think of that woman catches my breath because, truly, I no longer know her.


Joanna said...

You are absolutely right - I barely recognize myself too. It seems my whole life and priorities have shifted to a new "axis". It's hard for me to accept the "new me".

Anonymous said...

Many, Many hugs, Michele. I missed hearing of your most recent loss, and I am so, so sorry.

Leah said...

I can't even imagine how much your life changed. Your innocence was definitely taken away. We all have moments that show us how imperfect life can be. Some people's moments are greater than others, and IA can't imagine a greater moment than losing a child.

Thinking of you.

Kakunaa said...

This post takes my breath away. HUGS.