I feared precisely this when I was pregnant: being one of the moms who lost, like some of the blogs I had followed prior to Ewan's birth. I followed the footsteps of others who walked a path of grief and infant loss, who knew what it was to love so fiercely and fight for a child. Moms who lost. Moms who trod through the Valley of the Shadow. However much they inspired me with their tenacity and courage, with their fierce and raw emotion, I didn't want to be one of them.
No one chooses this.
Ewan's service is on Saturday -- the day he would have been three weeks old. We had to e-mail our choices for Scriptures, prayers, and pictures to the funeral home. I sat typing away on the computer at the desk that is in Ewan's room. As I took in my surroundings, I wanted to scream: the diapers washed and folded, the clothes laundered and hanging up, the empty crib behind me. It was all for him.
I fit in my normal pre-pregnancy clothes now; it doesn't even look like I had a baby recently. This would be the cause of celebration for so many new moms but for me is a bittersweet point of mourning -- it feels like people should know, that they should just be able to see -- that he's not here, but should be. Instead, so much of the world around us goes on not knowing that a lovely boy named Ewan was here for a short while and is no longer with us.
It all makes me want to scream until my throat is raw and scarred with the screaming. And so I scream, pound my fists on the carpet, and cry until I'm just a heap on the floor. There's a part of me that feels like if I could only scream loud enough, pound hard enough, find the bottom of the place in my soul from which I could cry hard enough -- that it should bring him back healthy and whole. That God and the universe would recognize the sheer injustice of burying a baby and somehow correct the situation.
It isn't fair. I want my baby back.
I say these over and over again, as if repeating them enough, loud enough, long enough, hard enough, sad enough could bring him back. Understanding that it never will, I continue anyway. I don't know what else there is to say.