October 8th

October 8th, 2017
Today was too hard to write about. When I'm feeling up to it, I will come back and fill in today's entry. To put it in short, I lost the baby.

Here's my entry from my baby blog;

"Oh my sweet, little one. My heart hurts. It hurts so much. 

I’ve put off writing this for awhile, and it is finally time I finish your story. 

I won’t go into detail, because honestly it’s a blur. From the time I got the phone call with my lab results, to the proceeding days after you passed from my body, I felt broken and empty. My sweet little babe was gone. My plans and dreams of the future, shattered. It felt as if my heart had been torn from my body, leaving a hungry, gaping hole. Intent on stealing the words I tried to speak. My baby is gone. Your father and i felt so strongly you were a girl. My sweet little girl. I miss you. I miss you when I look at your brother. I miss you when I see what could have been. I miss you as I pack away the things i bought for you. 

The hardest part is knowing you were real, that you were there, but not having anything tangible. I saw you on the screen. That tiny little bean. I saw you. You were there. You are real. 

      The day I got the news destroyed me. So many feelings and emotions all fought for attention in a body that you were no longer present in. Your grandma came over and watched Jones until your dad could get off work. All I could think of, as I lay in bed, was that I needed to create. This burning desire to create something out of something that had been taken away from me. Something that i could see, and feel, and know was real. 

Down to the studio i went. Grabbing paints and brushes and canvas. I painted. It was painful. Pushing my feelings out on to canvas, out into the real world, where words had failed me. Having no real direction in which it went. But I was creating something from my pain. And I felt better. The grief that had been choking me and pulling me into a pit of sorrow and hurt had lessened. Instead of binding and pricking it was displayed on the canvas, paint still wet. The chaos and inner hurt i felt in my soul portrayed itself in the deep, dark colors. But I wasn’t done. A new canvas replaced the abstract on my easel. A sense of peace I hadn’t felt in days settled over me. I began to paint again. This time, soft, smooth strokes emerged from my brush. Calm. Though still consisting of deep, dark colors, hope began to bud.  

     The pain eased slightly. You were there. You are in my paintings. And i can see it. And touch it. And feel it. 

     Though the days have passed since you have, I still have moments where I am overcome with grief. Where it feels like my heart is elsewhere. Leaving me with a hole. I feel the prick of sorrow whenever I see reminders, and i can’t help but wonder if you were really there. Did i dream you? No one else but me saw you. And in these moments of question, i am so thankful for that urge i had to paint. Although painful to see, your paintings bring me comfort in knowing you were there. I felt you. I held you while I held my brush. 

The longing and the missing will never go away, but the intensity eases with age. It brings me happiness and peace knowing that you are being well taken care of, my sweet little girl. For as much family as you have on this side, you have so much more where you are. I feel especially comforted in knowing the special bond you have with Grammy. Even from the start of the pregnancy I have felt my grandma through it all. Grammy loved having granddaughters and I know she loves you and is watching over you until I can see you again. 

     I love you little one. I miss you.