I remember sitting in the hospital, empty handed, waiting on the balcony as my husband got me released from the hospital. I sat there completely numb and the world around me felt so surreal. Every color was sharper, every sound seemed so loud. I was acutely aware of everything happening around me; the patients walking around in the ward, the crashing of the breakfast trays, and stray silverware falling in the cafeteria. The smells too, ever since that day I cannot tolerate the smell of disinfectant floor cleaner used in the ward. That morning, before I was released to go home, my friend who was pregnant at the same time as me came to visit. I burst into tears when she bravely walked into my room. I could not see her belly full of life where my deflated and empty one was devoid.
The nursing shift had already come through that morning. They stood at the foot of my bed talking amongst themselves about my story. Some made brief eye contact and muttered a “sorry” to me. Most avoided my eyes, choosing instead to stare at the charge nurse or their notes.
My doctor and midwife spent a least an hour with me that morning going over the pregnancy and birth trying to see what could have gone wrong. There were theories but no answers.
The night before I could not sleep, my dreams were terrifying and I was not ready to feel the reality of what had happened, that my little girl was dead. My mind was not over the shock and I just couldn’t go there. I asked my mother to read to me, something, anything. She obliged and chose an old National Geographic which she read to me till I fell asleep.
Each part of losing my baby was an new wave of the loss. Finding out, giving birth, holding my baby and now going home. In the Jewish tradition one does not buy baby clothes or set up a nursery, yet we all do some small thing. You need diapers and clothes for the baby to wear, people give you things, a stroller from the U.S., a crib, a car seat. I had a small shelf at home ready for my baby. I had just the first few outfits someone gave me, a pack of diapers and all the small early day things I would need before I could go to a store. I knew they were home all washed and folded in small baskets by my bed.
Up until this point I had been completely focused on surviving the labor and birth. Coming home was an entirely different experience. What would people think of me? Would I be judged? I was not so sure myself what had happened. How would I explain it? There is no shiva mourning period for a baby who did not live thirty days. At first I felt angry and left out of my own religion. Here was my child, my first-born baby, my whole world buried in the ground, her neshama with Hashem. My emunah (faith) told me she was cradled in G-D’s arms and safe, but my heart wanted her here with me. I felt fear like I had never experienced. At the same time I felt tremendous calm and focus. This experience is hard to explain but I will try.
Losing a baby, coming in touch with death, and almost losing my own life are three intense and life changing experiences that I had all together at once. Each one changes you forever. I felt raw and new and old all at the same time. Every blade of grass, every experience of my life past and present was sitting before my eyes. I felt I was just experiencing my eyes and senses for the first time, yet the me looking out from them was aged well beyond the woman of 22 that I was. I was a newly-wed, still in my first year of marriage when this happened to me. In just the short 24 hours from preparing for a new baby and instead experiencing the tragedy of her death, I had aged at least a century. Everything was the same, I later realized, I had changed. I had changed so dramatically (even then I had no idea) that the entire world seemed new to me. I was looking with new eyes at it.
Losing a baby is so personal. When you lose a grandmother the experience is different. During her eulogy you list her accomplishments in this world, the lives she touched, the children and grandchildren, perhaps even great grandchildren she brought into this world. During her shiva people come up to you and tell you about what she was to them. You learn amazing things about your grandmother you would have never known.
A little baby is different. The pain is so deep and affects each person differently. I believe this is one reason why there is no shiva, because each person reacts differently. This baby is personal. Every hope, belief, and potential they dreamed for their child is lost. A mother’s grief is so deep inside of her. I grew this baby inside of me. This baby was a part of me. I carried her egg inside since I was born. When other little girls dreamed of their wedding day and dress, I dreamt of her. I have known what kind of mother I wanted to be since I was eight. No shiva could hold that for me.
Walking into my quiet empty home with empty arms was excruciating. I remember falling to my knees by the basket of baby clothes. Crying harder than I had ever done before, I gently refolded each outfit and put them in box in storage, for future children? I was not sure I could ever use those clothes, but to throw them away seemed criminal.
I had still just given birth, and I needed to recover physically as well. I put a sign on my door to not be disturbed and I just watched movie after movie with my husband. We were too raw and sad to talk. The second one film ended, the feeling of drowning would overtake me and I could barely make it till the next one started to play. Eating chicken and rice brought by neighbors day after day this is how my first week went. The few visitors that came were a blur, I remember acting normal, from the look on people’s faces I needed to seem strong, none could hold the pain I had inside. I could hardly hold it, how could I expect anyone else? The next weeks were filled with thousands of emotions and experiences. This however was just week one of the rest of my life….my new life. My life without her.
Every year that goes by, my feelings and grief evolves and settles within me. Those first few days are in your face, the first few weeks feel like you are choking, drowning, and you will be consumed by the pain and sadness. As the seconds turn to minutes, the minutes to hours, the hours to days, days to weeks, weeks to months, and eventually months to years, my grief settled in my heart. The heart never forgets, it is there my sweet child sits with me. Her birth was really mine. I am a different person as a mother and wife because of her short time with me.