24. CONSCIOUSLY BECOMING | So many of us split our lives into a timeline of before and after our children died. Who were you before your children died? Who are you now? Who are you now in this present moment? What are you feeling? Have you been irrevocably changed by the death of your children? How are you different now? Do you love anything about the new you? Do you want and old part of you back? Who are you becoming?
Before Kayla died, I was someone who didn't ever think of having a stillborn baby in 2013. I mean, I knew it happened, and I knew miscarriages happened and I believe I was aware of how common they were. But I had no idea stillbirth was so common. Each year in the US 23,600 babies will be born still, and it affects about 1 out of 160 pregnancies. I guess when it hasn't happened to you, that doesn't seem like a whole lot, considering live births equals about 3.9 million, making stillbirth about 1%. But when you're in that 1%, when you're that 1 out 160 women, it seems like way more.
I kind of thought stillbirth was something that happened in third world countries, or back in the 1800's. I had known of people who had miscarriages...friends of friends, acquaintances, friend's parents who lost a baby before or after my friend was born...but I had never known anyone, personally or casually that had a baby born sleeping.
Before we were even trying to get pregnant, I was out one night with my husband in his plow truck, and somehow we got on the subject of stillbirth, and how he had read about this hospital that gave women dolls to take home, because going home empty handed is so horrible. He said how they are allowed to hold them in the hospital, and rock them and bathe them (they're stillborn baby, not the doll). I remember thinking and saying that I don't think I would want to, or could hold the baby and do all of that, but I understood why someone would want to. But I also remember thinking how tragic that sounded...to go through the physical and emotional pain of labor and delivery, knowing your baby is gone and that you won't have him or her when it is all over. So before we lost Kayla, I was naive, yet still empathetic to something I hadn't, and never thought I would, experience. Which really makes me insane when people say rude things to me now, under the guise of just not understanding it or not having been there themselves. Yeah, maybe you have to experience something to really know, but you can still imagine that something is horrible without having first hand experience.
After....I am more reserved, scared, angry. I always thought I wanted two kids, and at one point I thought I would have three. There is a part of me that enjoys having just one living child, especially on nights like tonight when she is every bit of a bratty two-year old....but I would say the fear of another loss, not wanting to be greedy after being so lucky to have our rainbow, is the biggest reason we're not having any more. I am sure I would still have reservations, I am sure I would still be nervous that I don't know what I am getting into, but if we hadn't gone through all the loss and heartache that we did, I am quite certain we would have tried for one more after Emily.
I am angry, because...well, because my baby isn't here. I'm not sure how someone couldn't be angry over that. I'm fiercely protective of her and her memory. I am grateful for Emily, and I am grateful to be a mom, but I do all those things while looking over my shoulder. I am definitely not the once carefree, optimistic person I once was. I often feel like, if THIS could happen, anything can, and that scares the shit out of me. But, I would also say I am more appreciative, I snuggle Emily just a little longer, I play with her a little more. I remember exactly how it felt when I was at my absolute lowest, rock bottom. So pretty much any day this side of the ravine is a good day.
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