I was scared; I was bleeding out, throwing up in pain.
I knew what was happening, and I was petrified.
I was exhausted, contractions were strong, I was not prepared at all, but it was time to push.
Nurses confirmed to me it was a little girl and asked me if I would like to see her. I said, yes.
I held her, took time to memorize her, eyes full of tears. I just couldn’t stop crying, and I wanted to wake up because this couldn’t be real.
As a mother, I wanted to die with her. I wanted to hold her so tight and never let her go, never.
She was so tiny; I could felt her small feet through the blanket she was in.
I felt a part of me dying, gone.
Days passed, months, and you just don’t know what to do with all the things you won’t live with your baby.
I walk in the street, and I see other moms with their babies, and my baby is dead. It just makes me suffer more.
Getting out of bed is hard.
Every day gets harder.
I think a part of me will always wonder what she will have looked like, and the hardest is being aware that I will never have an answer.
It’s constantly painful.
Some days I wish I could have a sticker on my face saying “fragile.”
I understand that grief is like waves, and the best you can do is accepting whatever you are feeling.
Never fight it.
I’ve never believed in god, so I don’t think my baby became an angel. Please don’t call my baby an angel; her name is Regina.
I think it’s just life. You survive, or you don’t.
And it’s killing me, but the truth is my baby simply didn’t survive, and I will live with it always grieving her because I will I love her forever.
Months after, I passed a medical exam that showed I have an incompetent cervix.
Now I know it’s not my fault, and I know that it is okay not to be okay.
My name is Christelle, I’m 21, and I am a grieving mom.