Boogers on the Wall

I wouldn’t wish the loss of a child on my worst enemy. And yet, during the past couple of months I have seen three friends forced to face that loss. I am seriously starting to worry that I am jinxing those around me.

I don’t know if I just wasn’t as sensitive to it before, but it seems like pregnancy loss is all around me now.

Ever since Luca died I have been terrified of pregnant women. I worry for them. I stress over them. I feel awkward and nervous around them. I know first-hand that a positive pregnancy test doesn’t necessarily guarantee a healthy bundle of joy at the end of 9-month’s time.

So I’m starting to think I should steer clear of expecting women just in case my bad luck may be rubbing off on them.

The most recent loss impacted me more than I ever imagined it could. My friend delivered her tiny baby girl stillborn at 22 weeks. I went to see my friend and practically cried through the entire visit. I hate that someone I care about will have to face similar sorrows as I did as she works toward healing her broken heart.

Not only did her loss conjure up memories and emotions of when we laid little Luca to rest, but it brought back all of the raw feelings of true sorrow I have experienced off and on during the past 15 months.

The worst part is that even though I have survived the death of a child I am no resident expert on how to live through that loss. Everyone is so different and will have different ways to heal.

You could say that people are being placed in my path because I will be able to relate to what they are going through, but I still don’t know what to say to those who share a similar fate. I have no words of wisdom to help ease others’ pain. There were no words to comfort me when my arms were empty and my heart crushed into pieces. Nothing anyone said or did would ever bring breath back to my baby’s lips and so it did nothing to help.

I wish I were a stronger person. That people could come to me and I could help them understand and work through their losses. But honestly usually all I do is cry as I tell them what they already know – that losing a child stinks. And it stinks forever. There’s no magic solution to remove the pain.

After Luca died, I wanted to be around other women who had experienced a loss. I knew they couldn’t take away my pain, but I still wanted to know how they felt, what caused their child’s death, what they did to remember their baby, and so on. I wanted to hear that they had reacted like I had and that I was “normal” in my loss.

They were the only ones who could relate to what I was going through. The only ones who knew how it felt to bury a baby.

I guess that even though I have no inspirational advice on how to get rid of the pain, I still may have something else to offer. The fact that I survived. Survived all of the lonely nights of self-pity, worry and guilt. Survived the shock, horror and grief. Survived the hardest thing I could ever imagine experiencing.

Maybe the fact that I could keep living in spite of my grief will be inspiration enough. I just hope and pray that my friends who will need that inspiration will be few and far between. Like I said before, I wouldn’t wish the loss of a child on my worst enemy.