The loss of our Baby B

Two weeks ago my husband and I lived our worst nightmare.  We lost our baby.  Our Baby B.  We never found out the gender, but I envisioned a baby girl.  We went for our second doctor’s appointment, and everything seemed normal.  I hadn’t experienced anything unusual.  I lay on the table and watched our doctor searching for Baby B’s heartbeat.  She got very quiet, and it seemed as if hours had gone by, and she finally said “There’s no heartbeat.” This is the moment that I relive every single day.  This is the moment that I can’t seem to get past. Every single day my mind wanders and I find myself repeating “There is no heartbeat” over and over again as if I’m in a trance.  Those words will haunt me for the rest of my life.  They have been burned into my memory forever.  I remember looking over to my husband and watching his hands tremble in fear, his face was in shock, and his eyes were empty.  It was as if his face confirmed that we were not dreaming.

The doctor was kind, and understanding, and explained to us that none of this was our fault.  She explained that there was nothing we could or could not have done, and that nature can be cruel, but it also has its reasons.  She explained to us that Baby B’s heart had stopped a week ago.  A week of talking to our baby that had already passed on.  She then talked about our options, how it would be several days before we could put her to rest.  Several days of carrying my baby that we could no longer talk to.

Then the visit was over.  We went home- half numb, half raw.  This house that hours earlier was exploding with excitement about new pictures to share and parties to plan suddenly felt unbearably hollow.  It felt like a dream, like any moment we would wake up and start the day over.  That everything would be ok if we could just wake up again, but we never do.  As the reality of the day began to set in, the sadness floods the void of disbelief.  Neither of us could sleep, and neither of us could breath, and neither of us could be consoled.

The morning after we found out I remember waking up to the sun shining brightly through our window.  I looked at my husband and I said “Why is the sun shining? Don’t they know? Don’t they know…”  When something tragic happens in your life you expect the rest of the world to stop with you.  Each day the sun shines and then the night falls, and it almost feels like a cruel joke.  You want the world to stop and feel what you’re feeling, but it doesn’t.  Everything that seemed familiar now felt unnatural.  Our house feels smaller.  Baby B’s room feels lonely and strange.  Songs don’t sound the same.  I don’t feel the same.

We had so many hopes and dreams for you, Baby B.  I’m sad we will never get to hold you. I’m sad we never got to feel you kick.  We will never get to know what color your eyes would have been.  I was hoping you’d have your dad’s blue eyes.  We will never be able to help you fall back to sleep after a bad dream.  We will never get to help you with your first heartbreak.  We will never get to watch you grow up.

We write this not only for closure, but for the chance to maybe help someone else feel not alone.  It’s hard to not blame yourself.  It’s hard to not play the “What If” game. Even though it feels so cruel, everything happens for a reason.  We don’t know what that reason is now, but we are confident that one day we will know.  We feel lucky to have the support system that we do, because we would have fallen apart without our family.  We wouldn’t have been able to get through this if it wasn’t for each other.  I have never loved Brian more than I do at this moment.  He has been my light through all of the darkness.  Hold on to every ounce of love you can get, because it makes every day that goes by seem a little less hard.

I will forever be thankful that I got to carry you for 10 beautiful weeks, Baby B.  You have taught us how to be strong.  Stronger than we ever thought we could be.  I will miss our private conversations we used to have, with my hand lovingly rested on my belly.  I will miss telling you about how amazing your dad is.  We will miss you more than anything in this world.  You are our angel baby, and we feel so lucky to have you watch over us.  We love you so, so much.

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