My heart shattered into a million pieces on February 18, 2017, when the ultrasound confirmed our baby boy no longer had a heartbeat.
He entered the world silently on February 19, 2017, at 2:18 pm.
The next day, after the hospital discharged me, we went to the funeral home to sign the papers for them to pick up our son.
We lived the unimaginable— something no parent should EVER have to do for their child.
You aren’t supposed to give birth to a child, leave the hospital empty-handed, and then head to a funeral home.
That is NOT how it is supposed to go. Yet, that was our reality.
I spent the next six weeks off work on my “maternity leave” with nothing to do but grieve my son.
Time passed in a fog of tears and visitors. I struggled with the fact that the world continued spinning around me when mine had stopped.
I was irrevocably changed, and I couldn’t return to the life I knew before.
The pain was suffocating, but it was one of the few reminders that my son was even here, that for 32 weeks and 5 days, he lived.
During the brief moments when I felt like I could catch my breath and I smiled or laughed, I felt guilty.
It seemed wrong to me since my son had just died. Then the pain would return, and I would welcome it with open arms.
The pain was a reminder that even though Asher died, he did exist.
My son did live, and the pain I felt from losing him was proof of that.
Gradually, as time went on, the acuteness of the pain lessened. Tears weren’t on the agenda every day.
I could smile without feeling guilty. I could laugh without feeling shame.
Some of the broken pieces of my heart were being glued back together.
It has been two years since I said “hello” and “goodbye” to my sweet boy, Asher.
In that time, I have learned that the saying “time heals all wounds” is completely and utterly false.
Even though pieces of my heart are gradually being put back together, the piece that is Asher will always be missing.
The pain will always be there. Nothing will ever “heal” this wound.
However, I can say that the pain has lessened with time.
Of course, there are still days where the pain is suffocating, but they are now the minority instead of the majority.
So, no, time doesn’t heal all wounds, but it does dull the sharpness of the pain.
It has allowed me to breathe again.
And with each one of those breaths, I will honor my son and his memory.
Featured Photo by Jiyeon Park on Unsplash
Amy Lied is a wife and a mother to her son, Asher, who was inexplicably born still on February 19th, 2017 and twin daughters. Before losing Asher, she suffered a miscarriage and struggled with unexplained infertility. She has documented her journey from the beginning of her infertility struggles on her blog, Doggie Bags Not Diaper Bags. She is also a co-founder of The Lucky Anchor Project , an online resource for loss families that houses an Etsy store whose profits are donated to loss family non-profit organizations. She hopes to help others by sharing her journey as she continues to navigate the bumpy road that is life after loss.