There’s something that happens to a person when they survive trauma. For me, it was like someone snapped my neck and now I’m a quadriplegic. Suddenly I had an entire new perspective on the world I never asked for. It became even darker than before.
Losing my daughter was, unfortunately, not my first experience with the kind of hurt that breaks a person. I’ve struggled with PTSD as long as I’ve been alive from past abuse and childhood neglect coupled with a violent rape at the beginning of that year; so when Addison was diagnosed, I felt the universe had finally proven to me after all my fighting, that it wanted me gone. Everyone you love will always leave, everything you’ve ever wanted will be so close you can taste it and be ripped away.
To say I’ve struggled to find myself through this mess is the understatement of the century; it’s been messy.
I wish I could meet the me that first entered this world. The woman with the trembling hands, who could hardly breathe between sobs, and hold her as she dropped to the floor when the voice on the other end of the line told her, “I’m sorry, these babies just don’t survive”. I have so much to tell her.
Sweet girl, I know you’re scared. You’re so petrified you can hardly move. I need you to breathe Momma, she’s kicking, she’s still here. You’re going to make some phone calls, first to her father, he won’t answer at first, you’re going to panic even more. You’ll call your Mom next, you don’t know how to make the words, she can’t understand what you’re saying, “Tri-So-May 13? I don’t understand Jessica”, “The baby is going to die Mom…”, You’ll finally blurt out, saying it out loud for the first time punches you in the heart, “I can’t get a hold of Dave…”. Your Mother starts to make calls for you, like all good Moms do, she’s helping the only way she knows how. You don’t know it now, but this very moment washes away years of turmoil with her, when you’ve needed her most she’s blossomed into your support system. Remind her that you love her more, even when she doesn’t say it first.
I need you to stay off Google, it’s horrifying, cold, the things you’ll find here are so far from the experience you’re about to endure. I promise there’s beauty, even peace to come, but for now these images just hurt rather than help. You’re clutching your round stomach, rocking in place, “I’m so sorry”, “Not my baby”, “I can’t even protect you”, “My girl, I’m sorry my little girl”. I need you to know this isn’t you’re fault. You we’re the best Mom to her, look how strong you made her to get this far. She shouldn’t have, but she did, that’s all because of you. All the precautions you took, the expensive supplements, the care with your diet and lifestyle, the eye rolls and passing comments you took with a smile because you knew you were giving you baby the best start… you carried on love, it was not in vain. You’re going to feel like a failure for a very long time, but I promise you’re not.
David finally calls, he doesn’t know anything except something is wrong with the baby, you tell him what you know and he rushes home. You’ve composed yourself for now, it always seems easier to break down alone. When he’s there he just holds you, you’ll make it through this, he swears you will. You’ll discuss your options, you’ve always read about the fabled, “late term abortion”, it never entered your mind you’d be in these women’s shoes someday. It’s expensive, it’s not easy to access, and it won’t spare you anything at this point. David just wants you to do whatever you won’t regret, ah, if only it were so simple.
You want to meet your baby, but you don’t want her to suffer needlessly though, so you make an appointment to learn more about her condition. You’ll learn about Trisomy, how your womb is safe and painless for her, it’s once she leaves things get hard. You can’t schedule her death so you decide to carry her to birth, despite everything you thought you believed about these subjects, how everything seems to change when it’s your baby dancing in your belly. You’ll have a very deep conflict about this for years to come, you made the right choices for you, it’s not for everyone, and that’s ok. You’ll grow to be ok with that, but you’ll still get angry every time a stranger thanks you for choosing life, like this was a choice you wanted to make. You’ll name her today, your baby, our baby deserves a name.
The next 2 months are a blur, you cry every night for what feels like eternity. Only getting sleep with the help of medication. You go back to work, people don’t know what to say, they just look at you with big sad eyes and hug you. You’re a hallow vessel, just working and talking, but your mind is on the impossible. How are you supposed to say goodbye? You will, and it will damn near kill you, but it will also be the best, most profound day of your life. Everything becomes a reminder of what your baby won’t do. She will never sled ride with the other nieces and nephews, she will never rip open presents on Christmas day. Even if she survived, everything you envisioned for her will be unreachable. The fear will stop you from enjoying what is left of your pregnancy, I wish I had the advice to help you take this with grace and wisdom, I don’t. I’m still angry. I’m so upset we were robbed of the happiest times of our life, our innocence, our Motherhood, forever altered.
Some things are about to happen, and they happen very quickly. No one takes your complaints seriously at first, but you just feel strange. Your Mom has a growing concern about the swelling in your feet, we are very very sick. In a whirlwind week you will be getting asked to push when you don’t know how, it’s too soon, any chance she had has been dashed, but we have to do this now. You feel like you’ve picked your life over hers, chase this guilt from your mind, you didn’t have a choice. You’re doing the best you can with what you’ve been dealt, you’re only 22, your first baby, cut some slack, you’ve earned that much. When they put her on your chest you will be in shock. All the shaking will stop, you will see her and the terror will wash away, you can’t even believe you were once scared of what she might look like. She smells so good, you’re instantly protective. David cuts the cord and at some point the placenta is delivered but you won’t even notice. Everything fades into the background, voices muffled, lights buzzing into white noise. It’s just you and her, she is breathtakingly silent and still, her little fists scrunched up by her face. Slow down, inhale these moments, they have to last us forever. You’ll make some decisions you’ll wrestle with for years to come, be gentle with your heart. More time with her was never meant to come at her expense, that was the plan. You stuck to your convictions, that takes strength beyond measure. You will whisper to her it’s ok to go, you love her, she doesn’t have to hold on anymore.
You learned selfless love today, the kind of love that lets go, the kind that rips your soul to bits.
She’s passed around the people who love her most, you’ve never seen your parents more devastated, she was a ray of hope in a dark time for them. David finally gets what you’ve been saying for months, you’ll wish you took more photos of them together but the image of him holding her will forever be etched in your heart. His father has the sweetest smile holding her in his hands, his mother sits and rocks her like she’s done all of her grandchildren, there wasn’t a hand that touched her that didn’t love her her entire life, on the hard days remember that.
They will tell you her heart has stopped, everything will crash around you and you will beg to trade places with her. It’s a moment in time that is frozen in our brain, the day our life was split into the before, and after. The wails that came from you should have been unfamiliar, the stuff of horror films, but they’re not now. You will have times you still make these sounds, the cries of the deepest kind of sorrow, someday they won’t shock you like they are now. Someday more time will pass between the days you can’t move and you’ll find some form of normal again. Don’t rush it, this isn’t something that can be forced. There is hope for happiness again, but it’s not the same as before, you’ll have to get used to it.
Your body will be scared. You will be mean to it, deny it things we love, talk terribly about it. You sacrificed everything including superficial beauty to walk away empty handed and that’s really hard to swallow but you’ll find your confidence again. It’s different than before, but you’ll do just fine. This is our temple, our baby’s only home, that is so powerful. It will take time, but you will learn to let go of the shame, to appreciate your new curves and Tiger stripes. We are still learning to love this new land, don’t be afraid to explore it, give it pampers and pleasures. She’s been through a lot, be kind to her.
There will be victories and set backs in your path to peace. Triggers and judgment galore. You’ll lose a lot of people, you’ll gain even more. You won’t believe who steps up to help, the outpouring of love will overwhelm you.
Her services fall on her baby shower, it’s going to be a nightmare. There’s no way to get around the bitter irony of a her funereal on the day of her party. It’s disgusting really, what a terrible turn of events. Shopping for an urn instead of a crib, this will always sting. Knowing us, we will probably always be a little more pissed off than all the books say is healthy, but that’s ok too. You’ll soon find there is no one size fits all way to do this thing called grieving. You’ll surprise yourself with your courage and bravery. You’ll realize what it really means to do more than survive, to flourish and thrive when you’ve had every reason to give up. You will eventually feel as strong as people say you are, not everyday, but enough. It will take time, but you’ll learn to rock it. Badass has always been the best color on us anyways love.
In Greek mythology a Phoenix is a long-lived bird that is cyclically regenerated or reborn. Associated with the Sun, a phoenix obtains new life by arising from the ashes of its predecessor. You won’t realize it for a very long time, but this is exactly who we are. I can’t think of a better symbol for us, fire and all.
To learn more about Jessica or inquire about free photography and retouching services, reach out to: https://www.facebook.com/armyaddisonquinn
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