“I’m so sorry.”
Those were the last words I really remember hearing. I know I nodded when he asked if I understood. I know I got dressed and even paid my bill before leaving. I caught a glimpse of my husband as I was starting to run out of the door. I just knew that if I didn’t keep moving, I was going to collapse. I made it to our car, and allowed myself to look at my husband. The tears just started to fall. I somehow squeaked out “we lost it.” My husband somehow understood. I don’t remember the car ride home. I don’t remember going inside and taking off my coat or my shoes. I just remember lying in bed, facing my husband, holding hands, and just crying.
In that instant my world changed, and I did not yet know how much. In that instant, all innocence was lost. The rose-colored glasses were off, and I saw my husband in a new light. For the first time I saw him as a man and not a rock. I knew he could be sweet and charming, but I didn’t know the depth he could have until that fateful day. I saw, as his heart was breaking, the depths this man could love. My black and white, no compromise husband was so completely in love with a speck after only 4 days. I felt safer in his arms that day than I’d ever had before.
I had gotten a positive pregnancy test only 4 days earlier. I took the test and rushed to tell my husband. It was an amazing feeling. We immediately started planning all of the fun stuff like nursery décor and names. We didn’t have time to talk about how we couldn’t afford a baby, especially not in our 1 bedroom apartment. We made giddy phone calls, blissfully unaware of what the end of the week would hold.
After laying there crying for I don’t know how long, we decided that we needed to let both of our large families know. When I asked him who to call first, he just stared at me stumbling over his words. I decided that I would call his mom first, then my mom. We would let them distribute the news to our siblings. I did alright with the call to his mom, a little squeak when I choked out “we lost the baby,” but overall not too bad. Then I called my mom, and my strength was gone. I completely broke, again. My mom said that her, my dad and my brother and sister would be coming over as soon as they could. They live 2 ½ hours away, but she promised they’d hurry. It was in that time that I realized my immediate coping mechanism, so I ignored all of my feelings. I didn’t realize until much later how bad of an idea that is.
Ignoring how much pain we were in is how we got through being around anyone for the next 2 weeks. We couldn’t escape it when we were alone, and it brought out some nasty fights. Tensions rose, because we just didn’t know what else to do. Then bombshell #2 hit, and all of a sudden we knew what we needed to get through this.
Two weeks after we lost our baby, while we were having an argument in the car in a Kroger parking lot, my husband got a call from his mom. My sister-in-law, who was 24 weeks pregnant, hadn’t felt her baby move all day. When she went in to the doctor, they did an ultrasound and couldn’t find a heartbeat. Little Felix was born still the next day. I remember standing in their kitchen trying to find words to say that could help somehow, but all I could think of was how weird it was being on the other side. Seeing my beautiful and strong sister-in-law go through such heartbreak with such grace was amazing to me. And all I’d been doing was squabbling and not wanting to get out of bed.
When we left their house, in the quiet of the car, I started sobbing. My husband looked at me and asked, “What is it?” All I could say was sorry. Instead of trying to lean on him, I’d been taking my anger and sadness out on him. What I didn’t know how to do at that point, was stop.
The funeral was hard. I got dressed that morning not wanting to wear all black. I wore a bright turquoise shirt because I thought my sister-in-law might like it more, I don’t really know why. Seeing her and her husband stand by the casket was heart-wrenching. There were a few times during the proceedings where I felt like I couldn’t breathe. When we got out to the gravesite, I completely lost it. I know people were staring, probably thinking I wasn’t behaving appropriately. But something stirred when I saw that hole. I didn’t just bury my nephew that day, I buried my son as well. I let my heart finally realize what had happened and let it know that it was okay to break.
I had to tell the story of my dear little Connor and his sweet nephew Felix. I had to tell the story of my incredible husband, and my not-perfect life. I had to get these words out of my head and in to the world, because 6 years is far too long to keep this to myself. I’m ready to take a deep breath and, finally, move on with my life.
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