Rocking My Way Into a New Reality

When I first got pregnant,

it was so hard to believe it.  I have wanted children since

I was a child myself, so when I first saw the two pink lines I laughed!

I couldn’t comprehend that I had, after all these years of yearning to carry life inside

of me, that I was going to be a mother.  Finally, my body was doing what it was supposed to do.

I spent my entire pregnancy

perfecting his nursery.  At first, the room was the spare room

storing the left over boxes I had never gone through when we first moved in.

(We found out  I was pregnant about 1.5 weeks after moving into our new place)

It was a chaotic mess of miscellaneous things.  Slowly though, I began to clean it up,

organize it and recruited Torry to carry out the heavy items.  Aside from what I asked him to do,

Torry had no part in putting Brecken’s nursery together. Torry recognized it as my own thing

that I needed to do by myself.  And he was right to assume that.  I was in my own little world in there.

Once I had the nursery set up

for the most part, I began to spend a lot of quiet time in there.

When I had the urge, I’d walk in and sit in the rocker with the boppy pillow

adjusted around me.  (It sort of felt like I was holding a baby)

I’d sit and rock in complete silence, taking in his room.  I stared at everything

 from the bouncer on my right, to the night stand placed at my left with the “Our Little One” frame

decorated with elephants waiting to hold a 4×6 image of Brecken.  What I mostly stared at though, was

his closet full of his tiny clothes.  Looking at that made it seem more real that our little boy would

be occupying that room and would be wearing those clothes.  I was so excited to be in there.  I was so excited

to be having a baby.  The more put together his room was, the more real it felt.  (You’d think my growing belly

would be plenty of reality to comprehend)  I always had the best feeling sitting in his room.

I always had the biggest smile when I would leave it.  Each visit had my heart filled with even more joy and

excitement.  These feelings intensified when my water broke and I knew I was going to be having our baby

within a day or so.

But now,

everything has changed.  The way I feel about his nursery has changed.

The way I feel when I rock myself has completely changed.

My mind, now, has to try and comprehend a different

future that doesn’t include my baby boy. That is the absolute worst feeling.

 I now have to wrap my mind around a completely different reality then the one I

had spent nearly 10 months planning on. Instead of sitting in anticipation with a huge smile on my face, I now sit

feeling slightly confused, my eyes stare out into nothingness and my heart just sinks into what feels like this deep,

dark hole that it will never crawl back out of.

The day I finally decided to clean

up his room after he had died, I played upbeat music to keep my spirits high because I knew it was going

to be emotional.  But the be-bops of the newest music playing on Pandora couldn’t stop the flood of

tears that fell as I worked my way around his room.  I had to stop at one point to finish my crying.  I sat

in the rocker, held the stuffed elephant we bought Brecken on the first day we arrived at the NICU and

cried.

The pain of losing a child is indescribable.

Torry had told me last night that it’s so frustratingly frustrating.  It totally makes sense to me.

We’re so beyond frustrated that Brecken is no longer with us that it’s frustrating.  We also just still don’t

understand how oxygen deprivation isn’t something that can be fixed.  We can clone something, but we

can’t fix brain damage caused by lack of oxygen. Our technology is so great these days that we’re hearing about

cases of people being cured of HIV.  So where’s the technology for the innocent babies who did no wrong

that suffered oxygen deprivation?

Our days are getting better to get through,

but going to bed at night is the worst.  He’s all we think about and when we are no longer

distracted by our everyday activities, we think and talk about him.  Sometimes we just stare off.  Out of habit

we ask each other what’s wrong, but it’s nearly stupid to do so because we pretty much know why

the other is staring off.  Our minds are engulfed with all of these “What if’s?”

For some reason, I have created a memory

inside of my head that has never and will never happen with Brecken.

 I can’t seem to let go of this image that plays through my mind over and over again.

It’s a short clip that plays and it’s just of Brecken at around 1-1.5.  he’s wearing foottie pajamas and

holding onto a sippy cup.  My view is from a 3rd person perspective and I watch Brecken jibber jabber

as he runs up to me in the kitchen while shaking his cup.  He says his name a few times in a row and it comes out

sounding like “Bekin”  I can see how his face has matured a bit and I can imagine what he would have looked

like at that age.

It makes me sad that I’ll never know.  I’ll never know anything about him.  I’m still

trying to comprehend that he’s gone.  I spent so long trying to grasp on to the fact that I was pregnant

and going to have a baby.  Now I’m spending my time trying to grasp on to the fact that I don’t have a baby.

Everything happened so fast and he was only with us for such a short amount of time, that his actual birth

is still something that I’m trying to accept. It’s like, “Oh hey I’m pregnant.  Oh hey I gave birth.  Oh hey, my

child died 3 weeks post birth”  All one right after another.  How does ANYONE comprehend that?

Until we have a new baby to rock in that chair, I will occupy it with

my tears and excruciating pain of the sweet boy I had lost.

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