You Can Never Be Taught

As a young adult I knew I didn’t want children. Life growing up was… different than what some may consider traditionally “normal”. To me, it didn’t seem fair to repeat traumas. As I grew older and learned how to heal and create boundaries it seems my belief on having children changed as well.

I met my husband John in December of 2014, right in the middle of my healing process. Several months previously I’d said that I was happy on my own and I truly meant it. He has changed my life in so many wonderful ways. As we’ve grown and changed together, it was a natural conversation to talk about children. We decided that we were going to start trying in December post IUD removal. To our surprise we conceived on my first ovulation. So there we were, so much quicker than we ever expected, with a baby on the way. I saw friends and family around me who were struggling to conceive and asked the universe how/why we were so fortunate? I’m no different than they are. Why would they need to suffer and we be so lucky?

From the very beginning of pregnancy, I was annoying myself. Had to eat all organic, grass fed, whole food, blah blah. Keep my body moving in any way possible. Every plan made for the baby had to be sustainable, low VOC’s, you get the gist. I’ve been over weight most of my life and have been working on a maintaining a healthy diet and body for years now. I considered it part of my healing process. Even before my first OBGYN appointment, every doctor had told me that I was extremely healthy other than being obese. I worried that my OBGYN may say I was high risk because I was obese, regardless of any other test.

Turns out, I was really healthy and in turn the baby was really healthy! Every sonogram, every test, heartbeat, everything, all on track and healthy. Finding out we were having a boy really overwhelmed me though. The baby’s sex didn’t matter, but I felt out of my league. I started to feel a lot of pressure to be sure he was well rounded, mannered, etc. Basically, I started to feel the pressures of past traumas. That all seems so fucking trivial now.

In the year of COVID-19, John wasn’t allowed at my doctor’s appointment but he was allowed at my 20 week sonogram. I was doing everything the doctor told me to do during my pregnancy and had only gained 1lb so far. So, at 19 weeks and 4 days we went to our sonogram. The moment the ultrasound technician touched my stomach I knew something was wrong. She excused herself for a second and grabbed the doctor. John and I bickered in those moments in between. I immediately saw that he was measuring small, but we both knew something was wrong. My doctor walked in and confirmed it was so much more than measuring small. There was no longer a heartbeat.

You’re never taught what grief feels like, or how your life can change in a split second. How the Earth gets ripped from underneath your feet and you’re floating in space where you can’t breathe. Time seems to move exceptionally fast and slow at the same time.

Next thing I know we’re at the hospital. There were things in between, but that’s the next thing I remember. The nurses were so kind and patient, repeating things multiple times since I couldn’t comprehend what they were saying. Body not in labor, cervix ripening, only get to 5 cm, could take days. Cremation, baptism, naming ceremonies, clothing. Epidural, natural, c-section, with a blur of needles, blood and tears in between. My body cooperated so labor and delivery were thankfully quick. Kellan arrived on May 14th at 10:38am with a very tight true knot in his umbilical cord, causing his death. He was 8.75″ and only 8oz.

I don’t think I’ve ever cried like I did when John and I held Kellan in our arms. Body shattering sobs of red hot tears. I didn’t think I could breathe and I didn’t know how to. I looked at my heartbroken husband and knew our lives were changed forever.

What does life look like after such a tremendous loss? We’re still figuring that out. We picked up Kellan’s ashes yesterday in an urn that’s 2.5″ tall. The smallness of the urn made the pain rear it’s head again. We are still processing all that his death means and how we mourn and grow from this loss. John and I are stronger than ever and he truly is a tremendous partner.

Dozens and dozens of women have reached out to me privately to talk about their losses, rainbow babies, and all the hope in between. To see these women’s vulnerability and courage has strengthened me. While I’m not ready to talk directly with most still, these stories have brought an immense amount of healing. I thank all of them for their candor and vulnerability.

We don’t know what the future holds for our family just yet. But we do know that we’re going to continue to heal together and we’ll take all the good energy we can get in the process.