Turns out that I’m not the only one who writes to keep sane. My fiancé wrote this last night, coincidentally while I was in the bath silently writing my own feelings down. I felt compelled to share it here on my blog because he deserves to be heard. He deserves for his feelings to be recognized just as much as mine. He feels just as much as I do and hurts just the same. This is a brief look at how this experience has effected him.
February 15, 2016. The day my life changed forever, again.
It only seems fitting to say again, given that about one month before that, my life changed forever also. January 13th, 2016 was the day we got the first positive pregnancy test, and it was the day that, as far as I’m concerned, I became a father. I can still remember the look in her eyes, the way she smiled at me. I can still remember the way it felt, how overcome I was with that weird indescribable surprise kind of happy. Standing in our bathroom looking at her, knowing she was going to be the mother of my child was, and always will be, one of the best moments of my life. Unfortunately I can also still remember the day that façade cracked. February 15th, 2016. The day that, for reasons I’m sure I will never understand, our tiny unborn baby was taken from us.
I’m not going into all the details, but I will say that I can remember one very specific feeling that stands out more than the others. One that’s very hard to put into words, but you know it without a doubt when it comes on. Kind of like the smell of the powder from the airbag exploding in a car accident, you can’t explain it, but you’d know it if you ever smelt it again. Looking back it was also probably the most surprising feeling too. I mean there are some that are a given, like sadness obviously, anger, fear, or even guilt make sense in the moments and days after you lose your baby. The one that I did not expect though was the one that I couldn’t quite name, so in my head, I just started calling it the stolen feeling. Bcause that’s exactly what it felt like to me, like something had been stolen from us.
I guess looking at it from the outside you would expect someone in our shoes to feel like that, but for me it was more than just the actual loss of the physical baby. It felt like I had been robbed of an experience, or rather a lifetime of experiences. Like there was hole in my life now. Like I had been making plans of all the things I’d do with my child for the last month, and now all of the sudden, instantly that entire piece of me was stolen. It’s an incredibly confusing moment, to go from making plans about teaching life lessons to your future 6 year old, to seeing the woman you love crying on the bathroom floor because she just got the worst phone call any expecting mother could get. It felt like being shot out of a cannon, and landing in a foreign country. One minute you’re living your life and everything is good, the next you have no idea where you’re at or how you got there and why no one can understand what your saying.
It’s hard to explain how you can miss something that you never actually had, or how you can miss the memories that you never got to make, but I guess that’s the best way I can describe it. And maybe even worse than the feeling of being robbed of the opportunity to be a parent, you get stuck with a whole new set of feelings and questions that, so far it seems, don’t ever really go away. You get to wonder if things like this are truly random events, or if there is in fact some master plan. And if there is some predestination involved, if things really do happen for a reason, you can’t help but question what sort of reason would warrant the death of your child, and the accompanying grief that goes with it. There are never any clear answers, obviously, and I can tell you now after a year of dealing with this, there is never an end to the questions that can’t be answered. I would imagine it’s sort of like being stuck on a hamster wheel, with no way out. I can’t stop wondering what he or she would have been like, what they would have looked like, and what kind of person they would have grown into. One year later and it still haunts me. I think it will probably always haunt both of us.