One Month

It has been one month since we have lost our John Aaron. Sometimes it seems like I was never pregnant in the first place. Most times, however, it feels like it was just yesterday.

Today, one of my students asked me when my baby was coming out. He is the first to have mentioned anything about my baby. I haven't told them, it was hard enough to tell my own children. Luckily, the majority of my students haven't even said the word "baby" until he said it today. It was on the way into school and I quickly told him, "Not anytime soon" (because what else do you say without having a complete meltdown?) and then I switched gears and started talking about the caterpillers that just came in the mail. Meltdown avoided successfully.

That was until we had the firemen show up today for a show and tell. Part of it included a show of the ambulance, or "the rescue" as I learned that they are really called by the fire guys. My last encounter with a rescue was exactly four weeks ago when they took me from the doctor's office to the hospital. Too soon for me to be oohhing and ahhing over a truck. I remained composed, but seeing the rescue brought back painful memories of that horrific day.

On the way home from school, random things about that day hit me. Like how, the ER doc *thought* she saw a heartbeat. This, of course, was wishful thinking on my part and quite erroneous on hers. She didn't know how to work the machine properly. My John Aaron had been gone for weeks at that point. I kept holding on to the thought that people had heavy bleeding and somehow made it through with a healthy baby. Not true for us, but still, when the ER doc thought she had found the heartbeat, my only thought was "Ok, now we have to stop the bleeding".

Then, I thought about the sonogram lady at the ER, who didn't quite hurry back to the hospital when we needed her. No doubt, she figured it was a lost cause but she took two hours to get back to do the ultrasound.

Her face was somber. You can never tell with those guys. Bad news, good news. Though, as the exam went on.... nothing. Not one peep, not one utterance. Just sick, deathly silence.

This is where on my drive home today, I started crying (thankfully this moment hit while I was stopped at a red light). I flashed back on my husband's face during the exam. The monitor was turned away from me, I could not see anything at all. I just held his hand and watched his face. Half of me was praying that it would be like any other time we've had an ultrasound. Gleeful tears as we see a heartbeat and I listen to my husband rattle off the anatomy that he can recognize in fuzzy black and white. Nurses will do that.

His eyes said everything. Terror and sorrow filled them. He kept squeezing my hands, but not saying a word. I didn't want it to be true, but you can tell alot from a person's eyes especially if you have known them for 13 years.

I realize now that the promised visit from the radiologist never did happen. I never did get an explanation of what was seen on the screen. I did get a promise from the nurse that the pictures could be duplicated for me. I still do not have them.

So here we are, one month after losing our baby. I get through every Tuesday knowing that I can feed the plants in his butterfly garden. My body can no longer nourish him, bring him to fruitation, but I can at least give his memory life. I am thankful for that.