From the very beginning, even before we knew she was a she, she was
everything to me. The dream I had had for what seemed like my entire
life was
finally real-finally coming true. My family was coming full circle,
there would be
three instead of two. Never had I felt so much love, both inside
and out. Every
day I would look at my husband and wonder at how much I loved him,
how much he loved me and how that love had created her. I thanked God daily
for all of our blessings, waiting for the day when we would hold
her.
Almost from day one I was sick - really sick. All day, all night for months.
I
lost weight, even ending up in the hospital for dehydration. Every miserable
development that could crop up (infections, rashes, swelling, high blood
pressure etc....) did appear at one point or another. And then, usually
when I
was feeling my worst, she'd move! Maybe just a small swish of her hand
against my tummy or a kick that you could see clear across the room.
I'd
giggle out loud and feel better- at least for a little while. Because
I was so sick
and getting so large at first we were convinced that she was a he.
It wasn't until
our next to last ultrasound that we were told we had a 60% chance
that he
was a she.
We had the names picked out for a while but it wasn't until that ultrasound
that I began to call her Jordan. I'd play games with her, pushing
at her little limbs
when she'd move. I sang her as many songs as I could remember. Most often
it was ":You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when
skies
are grey. You'll never know dear how much I love you. Please don't take
my sunshine away."
It wouldn't be much longer, just about six weeks and I'd be able to hold
her in
my arms and sing to her. Over and over I'd tell her how much mommy and
daddy loved her- how we couldn't wait to see her. Never once in all
those
months, as sick and miserable as they had been, had it occurred to me that
something could happen to her. I had of course, worried about her
from the
moment "I" became "we" but we had made it through so much.
We were so
close to the most important day in all of our lives, it simply didn't
come to mind.
Again I was feeling generally bad - nothing too extreme after all the months
we'd been through. I laid on the couch most of the day. I noticed she wasn't
moving as much as she previously had been but all the books I'd read said
that
it was normal to have small periods of inactivity towards the end.
My husband
and I got out the stethoscope anyway and were relieved to hear her
little heart
pounding away. Before long she started moving again and I relaxed completely.
I would be seeing the doctor the next afternoon and would discuss
this with
him.
The next morning I got up feeling better. I felt her move a little after
breakfast
but not much more than that. I took a nap then met my husband at
the
doctor's office.
Our appointment progressed as usual, we told the doctor everything that
had
been going on. Nobody was too concerned. Then as usual, the doctor got
out
the heart monitor. I couldn't wait for my husband to hear that strong,
loud
heartbeat I had heard just two weeks before. But when the doctor
placed the
amplifier to my stomach, we heard nothing. We thought that she had moved
in
such a way that the machine couldn't pick it up. The more he tried to find
it and
all we heard was silence, the more I knew and the more I cried. I wanted
to
believe, I tried so hard to believe,
to will her little life back. The doctor said he
was concerned but that it might be nothing more than the way she
was laying.
We were to go right over to the hospital and have another ultrasound.
My
husband who had been my complete support during the past 8 months
tried to
convince me that the baby was okay. Again I wanted to believe - but
I knew.
At the hospital, everyone tried to be so reassuring. Silently I prayed
over and
over while they brought the ultrasound machine in. I held my husbands hand
and prayed harder as they passed over the baby in my tummy. I could tell
by the
silence of everyone in the room. They called in another doctor, this confirmed
it. I held onto my husband as we cried and told each other how sorry we
were.
Just like that, Jordan was gone. All of the dreams and hopes that been
such
a large part of our lives were crushed.
Complete devastation, utter desolation. Suddenly all the life decisions
turn
into death decisions. You must still bring forth the tiny body that you
love so
completely but it won't be like you planned. There is still the labor to
go
through, although blessedly without much of the pain. You feel your baby
come into the world but the only cries you hear are your own and
those of your
husband. For a moment you think that maybe there will be a miracle and
she'll come back to life as you hold her in your arms. She is so beautiful
and all of
it so painful. The pain is so intense that it is overwhelming, it's numbing.
You
try and push it away, there are plans to be made. As I held her, she was
baptised Jordan Catherine Danielle, the name larger than she herself. She
was born on a wednesday, just like her mother.
Family and friends surrounding us, we buried her three days later. Thank
God for our families, I don't know how we would have made through those
first
couple of weeks without them.
Then everyone left. It was just my husband and me again. It hadn't been
just
the two of us for months. With all the company, we hadn't been alone
much at
all. I needed to be with just him, it was wonderful. But it was also
horrible because simply being alone with him reminds me that Jordan is
gone. Everything reminds me that Jordan is gone. My own body
betrays me
with this fact constantly.
Gone are the kicks.. Gone is the large stomach. I can't take a bath
because when I used to get out of the tub I could see the outline
of her body.
Gone. I can't sleep because I wonder if I had noticed something earlier
(although I know the doctor says that the autopsy revealed that she died
instantly when the placenta separated from the uterus, the could find no
clear
cause). Gone. I turn on the T.V. to a myriad of shows and commercials with
babies, I hear her name constantly where before it was only hers. Gone.
I am
jealous of others though I wish this reality on no one. I am
angry at
everything but no one is to blame.
Except sometimes I think me because I was her mother- AM her mother. She
was a part of me and I failed her, not intentionally but I failed
her. Gone. Angry
at my husband because it feels as though he has moved on with his grief
and I
am stuck here. Angry at his questions of why I cry. Then my love for him
overwhelms me again and I feel guilty for having been angry. Maybe he does
still
feel the pain as deeply as I do but just can't express it to me.
Maybe he is
afraid that I'll fall apart. Maybe I will. Maybe that's what we need
to get through
all of this. I don't know. Gone. Gone. Gone.
Every emotion all balled up, colliding inside of me constantly. A few moments
of peace born out of exhaustion, then it starts all over again. I
pray for the time
when the pain will lessen if only for a little while. A little room to
breath. A
little peace. But that could be the biggest lie of all. That isn't all
I pray
for. That isn't all I want.
More than that, more than any of all that, I simply want her back. I want
to
feel her inside of me again. I want to laugh instead of cry because crying
is
all I seem capable of lately. I want to be strong, be someone that Jordan
would be proud of because I know that she is watching from heaven and
doesn't want me to be sad. When she was here she did nothing but make me
happy and I wouldn't change that for the world. Even with this outcome,
she
was worth all that we went through. She will always be our first born (hopefully
God will bless us again). She had her daddy's head and her mommy's nose.
She
is our child and we miss her so much. Even with all these words-
all these
feelings-no one can ever come close to truly telling how completely the
heart is
shattered by her death.
And only time will tell how long it will take to heal, if only just a little.
*I wrote this a couple of weeks after we lost Jordan. It was a turning
point in
our healing process. It was a way to express what I couldn't say.. I let
my
husband read it and it opened up a new line of communication between us.
As much as he wanted to talk about her with me, he was afraid that
he would
make me feel worse. I told him that was impossible. We talked about the
night
she was born and what he went through. I was so focused on what I had
experienced that I had no idea of what he had been through. We now
regularly talk about her, about how much we miss her. We still
have out private
moments of grief to deal with, but our shared moments help us through them.
We
still cry, we probably always will but we have hope for the future. We
are not the
same people we were before. I no longer trust in life the way I used
to. I know
the loss and pain that is possible and it has changed me in ways I'm still
finding
out. The anger isn't as constant but it is still there. It, like the crying,
has a way of
popping up when I least expect it. I find myself forever searching, for
what I'm
not sure but I'll know when I find it. We are trying to get pregnant
again. Not
because a new baby will take Jordan's place, that could never happen,
but
because to not try would be to give in to the hopelessness. We have
so much
love to share, as do our families and because we think Jordan would like
to have
brothers and sisters.
