For this month’s Motherhood post (see the first post here and the second one here), my sister-in-law is writing about her experience with Motherhood. Tara is one of the strongest women and mothers that I know (and I’m blessed to have many strong women and mothers in my life) and to say that the last year and a half have been hard for her and her husband would be a serious understatement. Although this isn’t my story, it is very near and dear to my heart, my husband’s heart, the hearts of those in our family, and anyone who knows Tara. I hope that when you read this story, it will not just leave you sad but also hopeful and uplifted and will serve as an inspiration for those going through something similar or even for those who have not experienced this, to take time to be grateful for what you have and to be the best person you can be, if not for yourself, then for those who are special to you.
Motherhood…the word that means many things to many different people. For me, it was the only thing I ever dreamed of becoming for as long as I can remember. I played with baby dolls till it was it was almost uncool; I played house with my cousins and stuck the round couch pillows under my shirt to pretend I was having a baby more times than I can count. I couldn’t wait for the day when I was older, married the man on my dreams, starting a family and becoming a mom. My friends in college used to make fun of me because while all of them were busy planning their high level careers I was telling them all I really wanted to be was a mom. I wanted everything that came along with MOM… the little fingers wrapped around mine, the messy play days, the snuggles, the sleepless nights, the worry, the boo boos, and the creation of unconditional love for another person. I actually started to believe that day would never come, until finally, after many broken hearts later, I truly met my soulmate. Mike shared the same thoughts about being a dad as I did a mom. I knew the two of us were in store for something very special and from the moment we returned from our honeymoon our and those bright words PREGNANT appeared, our journey to starting a family had begun. We couldn’t have been happier, more ecstatic, scared and all the other emotions parents to be have. I finally felt like I was getting my lifelong wish, I remember looking at my husband one night and thanking him for giving me everything I had ever wanted. Little did I know that the next year and half of my life would not be the fairy tale I expected and I would learn more about life and love and the meanings of motherhood than I could have ever imagined.
I loved being pregnant, the morning sickness, the changes in my body, the stretching of my round belly, the feeling of our little person doing flips and rolls inside my stomach. It made me feel whole and complete, like it was what I was meant to do. I day dreamed about our growing baby constantly; was it a he or she, who would they look like, what kind of mom would I be, how would I handle all the things life was about to hand me. Working in the medical field at the time, I had a plan for every illness and accident that could possibly come our way, I just knew I could handle it all. I was ready. Every day my excitement grew with my belly as we got one more day closer to meeting our beautiful baby. We decided not to find out what we were having in order to make our experience of wonder and excitement last until the minute our sweet little baby was born. But after 8 wonderful months of a very healthy, happy and uneventful pregnancy, my life and dreams of motherhood as I knew them came crashing to a halt. I was not ready nor had I planned for what happened next and there was no guide book on how to handle it.
We were told at 3 am, January 10, that our baby no longer had a heartbeat and I would have to deliver immediately. I remember knowing exactly what they were going to tell me as the heart beat monitor rolled silently across my belly for what felt like an hour of torture. I remember sobbing knowing there was nothing I could do and seeing the look of confusion and disbelief on my husbands face. All the questions of how we were going to tell our parents, how are we going to get through this, and is this really happening to us all raced through our brains all the while being scooted down the hallway to a delivery room that would not bring us the joy that we were so eagerly expecting. The next 24 hours were more painful and tragic than sometimes I can even remember. After 12 long hours of issues, and medications that we never knew were possible, our beautiful angel Lucas Michael was born still at 36 1/2 weeks.
I remember feeling everything and nothing at the same time, feeling anger and numb and guilt and pain. Pain so immense and engulfing that it swallowed me whole and I had no strength or control to fight it. My husband and I held our sweet, silent baby in our arms for as long as we could. Surrounded by our families’ tear stained faces, we baptized our son, made hand prints and footprints to remember him, read to him about heaven and cried tears of love that washed over his little body, begging his forgiveness for letting this happen to him. I felt as though I was watching my motherhood die with him; everything I had planned for, all the sleepless nights, the swaddling and feedings , watching him grow and flourish, his first words, first steps, kissing boo boos, hugs for no reason, and the peacefulness of cradling him in my arms, rocking him to sleep and tucking him in at night. I saw each one of these things disappear into thin air and it made it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to talk and even harder to face the world around me. Not only did we lose our son in the blink of an eye, I lost my very happy pregnancy, the future of our little boy, and I lost myself. I didn’t realize that surrounded by all the loss, my journey as a mother was not over. It actually had only just begun.
The weeks to months following Lucas’s death up until now have literally been the hardest of my life (I hope). Trying to make decisions of how to honor his memory on special occasions and everyday, How to answer questions about what happened to him. How to answer the questions about if my husband and I have any children. How to kindly remind people that he existed even though most people around us have forgotten. How to try and explain to people how hard it is to be around newborns and pregnant people and see social media flooded pregnancy announcements, “bump-dates,” and gender reveals from others getting my very coveted dream. How to deal with the potent venom I have coursing through my veins each time a friend or family member tells me they are pregnant or deliver a healthy breathing baby. How to listen to other parents complain about how much their children drive them crazy, or how their favorite times throughout their days were without their children crying and pulling at them or fighting; when I would beg, borrow, or steal to have Lucas doing anything right next to me. Restraining myself from wanting to shake those same parents and scream at them to be grateful for what they have because they don’t know how lucky they are. Their houses could be silent, their arms could be empty, and they could truly be alone with no options to see their children ever again.
I have cried more often and in more amounts than I ever thought possible, at home by myself, in Lucas’ nursery or with my husband and my dog. Rarely letting anyone on the outside see the true depth of sorrow that I carried in my chest instead of the baby in my arms or in my belly. It was hard to trust people with that pain. I didn’t want to, nor did I feel most of my family or friends could handle or deserved to be privy to the most fragile and desperate pieces of my heart and emotions. I wanted to surround myself with these pieces, cling to them and wallow in the unfairness of life and the injustice that had been bestowed on me and my husband. I went though every action I had ever done to rationalize why I was being punished in such a cruel way and always came up empty. I wanted people to just “get” my grief. Not many people did and still don’t as I continue to carry it with me and it washes over me during certain situations. I raged against anyone who questioned the way my grief manifested itself or if I felt they were pushing me to get through the grief at a pace I wasn’t comfortable with. The words “its only been…” months, since the worst tragedy of my life happened, came out of my mouth more times that I can count and I found myself having to defend my grief on many occasions. From all these experiences, I learned to to listen to myself, probably more than I ever have and only did social things I knew I could handle. In most cases, without newborns or babies or pregnant people. I stayed away from these situations in fear that I would fall apart or spew the poison I had brewing in my body all over others to make them feel as awful and as cheated as I did. My husband and I fought hard to keep some semblance of a loving, happy, marriage even though both of us were separately coming apart at the seams. We tried to comfort each other, tried to support each other and tried not to take our grief out on each other, which inevitably happened. We also tried to plan our future and not let this loss stop our dream to be parents to a living baby. We continued to survive, though not well at first, both together and individually, because we had each other and loved each other more selflessly than I even knew.
This is where all those things about learning the real meaning of love and motherhood and life came into play. Being the mother to an angel baby might not look like motherhood to many people who haven’t experienced it, but you are a mother nonetheless. I am a mother to a memory that I fight to protect and keep alive in my heart and my mind everyday. I have begun to live my life to honor Lucas, living as the person I would want him to be proud of, setting an example of what I would have wanted to teach him. I often lose myself in my own head when I am around other moms talking about their child’s milestones or struggles because all I think about is what Lucas would have been like at that time or how I would handle those same situations. I try not to give motherly advice, which anyone who knows me is very hard for me to do, because I don’t want people to look at me and judge me, or feel pity for me, or ask me anything about my situation if they don’t already know. I usually just sit quietly and take it in, feeling that pull on the pieces of my heart that still haven’t healed. I plan for my angel baby to have siblings, and how we as a family are going to make sure that he is as much a part of their hearts as he is mine and my husbands even though he is not here. I buy things for him, for his grave site at holidays or just because, a Christmas stocking for him that hangs in our house with ours. I sign his name to cards and gifts even if others think it’s weird or painful. We visit him often with balloons or other things that float to send him notes to heaven. I try to find time, even though it feels impossible sometimes, to be grateful. Grateful for the opportunity to carry his little body, to have had the time to spend with him that night in the hospital, that I have a husband who is 100% supportive of whatever I have needed to heal myself through this process, that I can still smile and find joy even in the darkest of moments. I find grace in knowing that even with all the what if’s that surround Lucas’ death, I did everything I could have possible to bring him safely into this world. That I loved him in ways I don’t understand even before he was born. That I prepared for him in every way as a mom should. I have learned what having a broken heart and missing someone with every fiber of your being really feels like and I would never wish that feeling on anyone. Your heart aches in ways that are unimaginable and that ache never really goes away, you just learn to live with it. I look for Lucas on days when I am struggling, or really happy, or need some encouragement and I find him all around me. I find him in the beautiful colors of the sunset or the light shining through the clouds or the smile of my niece’s face when she sees me come into a room and it is in those moments that I know even though he may not be here with us physically, he is with us nonetheless moving me through everyday.
It would have been very easy to throw in the towel and let my grief swallow everything in its path, my family, my relationships, my marriage, my life. At points it would have been even easier to lash out at everyone that got the wishes and dreams that I didn’t get come true to make them feel as horrible and empty as I feel, but something restrained me. Something inside kept telling me to hold back for my own good or the well being of the other people. That something was Lucas. And although I am still not back together and I know there will always be pieces of myself missing, the very deep, very special love that I have for my son which encompasses every part of my being has continued to propel me through everyday since the day he has been gone. Even on the days when it has seemed too difficult, he was always there, as the little voice in my mind and in my heart, pushing me forward, telling me that I will someday be able to accept my life as it is. That is motherhood, selflessly and completely loving someone else and doing what is best for them. Loving so unconditionally and completely that it supersedes all other things. What is best for my angel Lucas is my living, my healing, not giving up, never forgetting, sharing his story, and being the mom and the person I was meant to be, even with my arms empty. What is best for him is giving him siblings and telling them all about how lucky they are to have a very special angel watching out for them always. It is also not losing Faith in myself, in God, in the world, and in my motherhood, even though it does not look like everyone else’s. I didn’t get the fingers wrapped around mine, the late night feedings, the sleepless nights, kissing boo boos, and tucking in good nights with Lucas. And as hard as that struggle is every single moment of every single day because I am missing out on all those motherly things that I dreamed of, I find peace in knowing that he is okay, he is safe, he is at peace and he will never have to feel all the wicked the world has to offer. He was born perfect, still, silent, loved more than anything, cherished everyday, missed more than words. He will forever be my angel baby and I will always be his mommy…
More in the Motherhood series:
A Day in the Life of a Stay-at-Home Mom
A Feeding Journey
Have a great weekend, guys, and thank you so much for reading and following along with this Motherhood series!
❤Britt
