Wednesday, June 12, 2013

One month

One month ago today Oliver was stillborn.

I can't stop thinking about a one month old baby. What he would be doing. All the things he would be learning.

And at the same time I should still be pregnant. He wasn't due until July. I should be hugely uncomfortable, spending my days getting ready for him, re washing the cloth diapers to make them soft, preparing freezer meals, putting the finishing touches on his room.

And instead my days are just empty. I am empty. They say I need to heal, and work on myself but I don't even know what that means. How do you heal when all you can think about is your baby, and how you would give anything in the world to just hold him for a moment.

It is true that every day gets a little better. But better just means I am more able to distract myself. It means fewer hours crying in bed, but not none. I can walk into his perfect finished bedroom without crying sometimes, but then out of nowhere it hits me, that he will never wear all the clothes, or hear the stories or sleep in the crib.

And it isn't fair. Sometimes it feels like the more I want something the harder it is to get, and the more I see it everywhere.

It doesn't help that I live on a pedestrian route 2 blocks away from an ice cream store. So many moms with strollers, and happy families walk past my house every day. It doesn't help that I'm 28 and at my age so many of my friends have kids. It's so hard to see all the babies and pregnant ladies.

We tried for 2 years to get pregnant. For 2 years I would look at friends and strangers with babies and feel like it was a club I was not part of. Feeling like you are supposed to be a mommy is horrible. Listening to moms at work complain about their kids, and you just want to tell them you would give anything to have their problem.

And then I got pregnant. I felt like things were finally going right. Finally I would get to shop for diapers, and read stories and check under the bed for monsters. I would fall asleep at night imaging feeding my baby, and trying to imagine how much I would miss sleep, but knowing that I didn't care.

And then all of a sudden it was over. All of a sudden my future and my plans and dreams were just over. With no warning or reason. Now the nursery that I walk past every day is just waiting for a baby who will never come. The pregnant friends whose babies were going to be friends with Oliver just make me think of how much I lost. The pregnant strangers who still feel the baby kicking, who give me strange looks when I stare, probably just think I am some crazy lady.

The last month has been a string of impossible days, interrupted by some wonderful distractions. I thought reaching a milestone would feel like I had accomplished something. I survived a month in the world without Oliver. But instead it just feels empty, just like any other day.


  1. Sweet Tova, you *are* a mommy. You are Oliver's mommy and you will always be Oliver's mommy.

  2. I want to thank you for writing. I want to thank you for putting yourself out here. I want to hold you and let you cry and then cry with you. Because? None of this is fair. It sucks. It’s awful.

    I don’t know what it feels like to be you. I don’t know what it’s like to have a stillborn. But, I do know what it’s like to wonder about a baby. There were two almost babies for me. One I lost 12 weeks in and had to have a D&C and another that was early at about 6 weeks. Those were hard times. I still think about the would-be birthdays of those babies. It felt like I was down such a deep well during those times and I didn’t really talk about it much. Not talking about it did me no favours.

    Anyway, what I want to say to you is that I admire you. I think you and David are so very strong and brave. I think of you two often and of Oliver. Time doesn’t heal all wounds and really shouldn’t. But, it does help ease some pain.

  3. I think of you often, pls consider that I give you a virtual hug several times a day. You are incredibly strong, which is probably going to make this loss harder for you. We all heal in our own way, and you need to let that happen. Don't use someone else's standards for when you should be better. You will know when you are ready for acceptance.

    Oliver, so sweet and so very sad, I so wish I could understand the plan here. So difficult, and so harsh.

    You are a mommy. You were a wonderful mommy for the time you were given. I just wish it had been for longer.


  4. I so wish there was something I could say to help. But you are an inspiration to me of courage, love, hope, and kindness. Oliver has the best mama in the world.


  5. You are such a brave and inspirational young lady. I think about you often, and Oliver. You are a mother, always will be. It will get "easier" as they say, but that never means it will hurt less. Keep taking care of yourself. You have more supporters than you know.