By Deborah Hansen
In the months, and even years, after the moment those dreaded words were spoken, “I am so sorry, there is no heartbeat”. (And, yes, it took the doctor multiple tries for me to understand my baby was dead.) We wonder, ask and even beg for “normalcy” to return to our lives. Out of desperation to lessen the pain, we do everything imaginable to make life better. We crave normalcy, yet everything reminds us of what we will never have. Then we spiral back into the depths of despair.
As baby loss moms, we claim the earth stops at the moment our child dies. Does it? Does the earth really stop spinning at that moment?
I always felt that, for me, the earth did stop spinning that day. But I didn’t have proof yet.
I am writing this on my eighth anniversary. Over the last eight years, I have made numerous attempts to restart my life. (I have also made countless attempts to dull the pain.) I often try to convince myself the earth didn’t stop that day. I try to force myself to see what has happened around me. I notice my tiny stick of a tree grew around the light in my front yard. I notice all the streets that are not on my vehicle’s GPS. (My vehicle was purchased before my loss.) I notice how many times the houses near me have changed owners.
Each attempt to restart my life, positive or negative, always ends with me in bed or on the couch sobbing, remembering “if all I did today was take a shower, I did something”. In attempts to heal my heart, I have done it all. Scheduled my sobbing time so I could get through work. Made a list of 6, five-minute, must-do things for each day. Paid or tricked someone to go grocery shopping for me. Wore dirty clothes because it took too much to do laundry. Lied. Made excuses. Just didn’t show up. I did it all.
But I couldn’t escape the fact that the earth stopped spinning the moment I found out my last attempt to have a child failed. You see, when I get to heaven, there will be 9 littles who will call me mom! Until recently, I had no proof the earth stopped the moment the doctor declared there was not a heartbeat and continued to explain my pregnancy was not viable.
Then, about 2 months ago, in another attempt to start living “normal” again, I went to replace the water filter in my refrigerator. I used to be so good about it, changing it every 3 months like clockwork. About two months ago, I carefully took the things out of the refrigerator on the shelf under the water filter, removed the shelf, and unscrewed the filter catching the excess water in a bowl. Just like I had done so many times in the past. Then I looked for the part number. My eyes accidentally caught sight of the replace date sticker that I so carefully applied so many years ago. It read, September 2011.
September 2011.
September 2011 was the month that started with a positive pregnancy test and ended with those dreadful words. September 2011 was the month that my dreams of mothering a living child ended. September 2011 was the end of life as I knew it.
You see, this was just the proof I needed to see the earth really did stop turning that day. I really was sucked into some kind of timeless vortex that day. Everyone lived the last 8 years. Yet I, like my water filter, just had things run through me. I was numbly stuck in one place. I didn’t experience life. I just existed. I got up, did the bare requirements, sobbed and then went back to bed. I yelled, screamed, was socially unacceptable and politically incorrect. I lost my job, family, and friends.
For eight years, just like my water filter, tight against the shelf in the back corner of my refrigerator, I was just there. People and things went around me. Everyone tried not to disturb me, as they feared I would break.
Eight years. For the majority of the last eight years, I was numb and barely functioning. I was angry, full of rage and hate. I was unpredictable, emotional and merely existing.
When I saw September 2011 on the water filter I realized this year wasn’t as bad as last year. I am starting to have more friends. I am starting to have more social opportunities. I am financially more stable. In my case, it seems like eight was the anniversary that marked the point between unbearable pain, and the fact I might make it on this path that I didn’t want and would have never chosen for myself.
Eight seems to be my number. Yes, I absolutely still have days where the best I can do is take a shower. I still try to bribe myself to wait 30 more minutes to cry. Yet, now I can go days in a row without crying. I can go weeks without running out of work to cry in my car. I can go to the grocery store, and actually buy groceries and get home without a meltdown.
Please, if you are days or weeks out from your loss, try to understand that everyone’s journey is unique. I know you are probably sick and angry at hearing that. In my early days, I know I could not comprehend or remember anything. The last thing I want is anyone to feel “doomed” to eight years of pain. Healing a shattered heart takes time. Be gentle with yourself. Know some days, some weeks and some months will be easier than others.
What I do know is grief, like infertility, is not logical or fair. When you find your “water filter expiration date”, you will know and understand things are moving in a forward direction. New friends will come. Social opportunities will reappear. You will once again have a sense of peace with life.
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Deborah Hansen has lost 9 children to miscarriage. After 20 years in elementary education, she became the owner of several successful feline grooming businesses. Deborah teaches, speaks, and writes on the topics of all things feline, including grooming, environment, behavior, and creative grooming. Additionally, she teaches business and online
presence for groomers.
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Thank you. You have no idea how much reading this means to me.
I am so glad it helped your heart. Hugs!