Wednesday, August 15, 2012

31 Weeks

belly at 30 weeks. I can pretend I can't see my toes. only 9 weeks, 63 days, and 9 appointments to go...

In my experience, pregnancy ends today. 

Abruptly.  Without cause.

It ends in tears.  Shock.  In the kind of pain that never heals, not fully, not really.

Eve died at 31 weeks exactly.  Today I am the same gestation with our rainbow baby.

It's hard to express how that feels.

I thought I'd be scared, but I'm not.  Or if I am, the anxiety is buried more deeply, embedded more intrinsically, than I can fathom.

I am sad.  Very sad.  Grief upon grief.  I miss my daughter.  It's hard to think of anything other than This is when she died.  No matter where I am or what I'm doing or who I may be with, my mind is focused first upon her.

I am sleeping terribly.

I do not feel myself.  I do not feel connected to the earth.  I pretend to everyone I meet.

I am surprised.  I expected the weeks leading up to this gestation to be terrifying, to feel like falling.  But they didn't.  They felt normal.  Good, even.  But now this living feels like dying.

I feel impatient.  I want to meet our boy before he's dead.  Eight weeks more feels like an eternity. 

I am mourning the fact that our son will only be younger than his sister, who should have been older than he for forever, for just a few more hours.  If he is alive at 11:30 PM today, he will have outlived her.  Will Eve still be his older sister if she is no longer technically older?  I feel confused.

I feel angry.  Angry that she's gone, and angry that I couldn't keep her here.  I want to smash things, smash everything.

It is quiet.  I expected today to be clanging loud with fear and dread and disaster, but it is quiet.  Just like her death, and her birth.  The world outside my window is as gray as my heart.  I am glad. 

I hurt.  That's what it comes down to.  What it always does.  No amount of feeling normal, of joy over this sweet boy or anything else, can erase her absence and the hurt that comes with it.

I miss her. 

22 comments:

  1. No words, just sending love and hugs your way.

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  2. Hugs to you Beth and more hugs. I wish there were words.

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  3. Holding you in my heart today. <3

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  4. Oh, Beth. I'm so sorry. Take care of yourself today. Love and prayers your way, now.

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  5. I'm so sorry. My son Henry died suddenly and shockingly at 30 weeks. No answer found. I am praying for you. It is so hard. I have gone on to have 2 rainbow babies and I love them more than I thought it was possible to love someone. They do not replace Henry, nor did I think they would, but they have brought such joy and purpose to my life. It hurts to now know what I missed out on, but i wanted you to have hope. It will get easier. (((hugs)))

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    1. Thanks, Rooney. It sounds like Henry and Eve had similar stories. I'm so glad that you've had two rainbows -- not to replace Henry (which would be impossible), but to bring more love and joy. That's so encouraging.

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  6. I'm so sorry. My son Henry died suddenly and shockingly at 30 weeks. No answer found. I am praying for you. It is so hard. I have gone on to have 2 rainbow babies and I love them more than I thought it was possible to love someone. They do not replace Henry, nor did I think they would, but they have brought such joy and purpose to my life. It hurts to now know what I missed out on, but i wanted you to have hope. It will get easier. (((hugs)))

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  7. I have no words of advice, but I hope in some small way it is comforting to know that you are not alone in this journey. We all plod along through the pain, with the pain, despite the pain, because of the pain. I think pain has become our constant companion. But we don't have to do it alone; we can do it together.

    Sending lots and lots of hugs,
    Lisa
    http://dear-finley.blogspot.com

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  8. praying for the peace that passes understanding.

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  9. {{Hugs}} and prayers and much love. I think expressing yourself the way you do is the best thing to do-no matter what those feelings are xo

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  10. no words. only love.

    prayers for His peace and the most tender and gentle of hugs.

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  11. Beth,
    First of all to put a smile on your face-the photo of your belly is classic and I love it, what a great picture!

    Even though we only know each other through our baby loss blogs I have been wondering, wondering how you would feel when this day finally came. Scared? Angry? Relieved? I can not go onto have a rainbow baby and that makes my heart heavy, really heavy...but I have thought many times what the weeks, days and months leading up to Lily's loss would be like. You explained it perfectly here. Eve will always be your son's older sister-someone that will live on is his heart forever. Many blessings to you today and the days to come ♥

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  12. Hugs Beth, I lost Angel at 31 weeks 5 days and I am sure passing this milestone is heavy on your heart and mind.

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  13. Hugs! You've been in my thoughts and prayers. Sending you lots of love!

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  14. Oh Beth I am so sorry my friend. Hang on the sun will shine again. Eve you have a wonderful mommies that loves you so much....but you already know that don't you. PRAYING FOR YOU BETH LOTS OF PRAYERS!

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  15. This is heartbreaking and beautiful. You and both your sweet babies are on my heart. I am sure there are so many mixed emotions hitting this milestone with Jacob. I wish you had both your babies here with you.

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  16. By the way, love what you did with your blog header :)

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  17. Beth, nothing I can say but SORRY. xoxo

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  18. This post made me cry. I hear your pain. May your day of redemption come. Thinking about you!

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"I am glad you are here with me."
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King