Worst Day.

Warning - this post may be hard to read: 

My dear friend who has been down this same road of suffering emailed yesterday and said "But, I know you can close your eyes and 2 years ago is just a few seconds ago in your memory."

Yep. I can. It is right there. I try not do that too often. I don't think it's healthy to really dwell on the worst day of my life over and over. But I also don't think it's healthy to suppress it or pretend it didn't happen. So I spent time writing what I recall from the worst day of our lives...

I remember the feeling calling the nurse that morning: nervousness mixed with excitement. I remember us assuming we were overreacting and feeling a bit silly for it. I remember feeling bad Greg would have to miss the first few hours of work that Monday. I remember looking up as we crossed over the bridge at the green sign to Downtown Columbia. I remember the pink shirt, black pants I was wearing sitting directly in front of the reception area with Greg in his khaki's and green shirt. I remember the lighted hallway, cream walls as we walked back to the ultrasound room and the smiling technician reassuring us that baby was just sleeping and everything was fine. I remember the blue walls and stupid border wallpaper in the small room. I remember her words. Her devastating words. And that still... oh so still and motionless screen.

Then the hug...no, the clinging we did as husband and wife. The grasping for air as we cried out, as we prayed for a Lazarus miracle. I remember my angry doubting. Then the shock hitting. The feeling of being slapped and completely drained of every ounce of being. I don't remember walking down the hall to the doctor's office but I remember sitting there, half-listening to her suggestions regarding delivery. I remember wanting baby out. I remember staring down at the street from the 5th floor, watching the people, the traffic and wishing this would all just fade away.

I don't remember the drive home but I know I was crying. I remember walking into the house and falling on the floor in the living room next to the couch, full of blankets from my weeks of bed rest. I remember Greg talking. I remember not wanting to say anything then realizing he was talking to my mom and feeling like I should. I remember I told her "the baby didn't make it, she didn't make it" then the need to reassure her of the hope that we'll be okay. I remember screaming out at her room as I went to get our bag. I remember feeling so overwhelmed that the bag we had packed had nothing in it I really needed.

I remember hating the memories of our stupid birthing class as we headed into the hospital parking garage. I remember it felt like a really long time to find our way to the right area. I remember talking to the nurses, telling them who we were and patting my belly when I said "she died" and seeing the looks of pity on their faces. I remember knowing we got the room at the end of the hallway. I remember emotionally crawling into a hole and with no desire to come out, minus to be with Greg. I remember seeing him alone on the dark hospital floor bawling his eyes out when he thought I was asleep. I don't remember when April 5th officially ended and the next day started... but it did.

And the next day, Maelee's birthday, is better somehow in my memory because we got to name her, see her and hold her, hard as that was. But this day, this day-we-found-out-our-baby-didn't-make-it... that day has no redeeming quality. It just hurts.


-Heather