The day it happened I remember thinking to myself; Anything– A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G , but this, never will I feel ANYTHING like this; the death of a child. I was miserable; I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, I hated every single person who smiled. I hated every single person who called, sent a card, brought food. In fact, I refused to answer the phone or the door.
Have I talked about this before? I can’t remember.
One friend, in fact, I’m not sure she was a friend, she was a work acquaintance. She was bold, loud, and dropped surprise attacks, you could be chatting nicely, and suddenly she would throw a zinger remark, and you would wonder, What the Hell?! Red hair, blood red, in that ringlet curly bob style (1993), God I wanted that hair.
Everyone was leaving these whiny, sad, droning messages on the machine, “oh how sad; I’m so sorry, please call…” To be fair, it’s nice, I know. I just was pissed, and this wasn’t supposed to happen. Her message: ” Man, your days must be Fucked Up. I’m sorry, let’s drink.”
I thought: “That’s it! Thank you Kaarin, My days are Fucked up!” Seriously, I will never forget how much better I felt. I didn’t want to talk to these other people; I ended up trying to make them feel better, It made me feel pressured to be a good Christian lady and claim God knows what He is doing, I trust Him.
I think about that time of my life and how I thought I’d never get past that pain. It’s 25 years later, and I remember the process of it all… Going in to have a baby and leaving without anything in my hand but my purse. “How could he have died? He looks so perfect”; I thought as they took his lifeless body back from me. Even though he never took a breath and was born lifeless, they hand him to me to hold and name him, encouraged me to acknowledge that I did have a baby boy, I thought that was a strange statement. I didn’t know that people just don’t know how to deal with Stillborn deaths, do I mention she had a baby, do I forget she was pregnant?
Weeks, months move forward, and although I never forget, I don’t think daily about that part of life. I had children after; life kept happening.
So why now, why this? Why can’t I get out of my head what I know, what he won’t admit, Hell… why can’t I get out of my head WHAT I DON’T KNOW that he won’t admit. Maybe that’s what I should be saying. Why now do I still think at least three or……. seven times a day do I think about this? Why does this feel the same if not worse as time goes on?
<Insert here ~ string of curse words that have I’ve become quite fluent in these past three years>