I picked up the phone to hear my co-worker say, “do you mind coming down here and talking to the mom that just lost her baby?” I sighed. It wasn’t what I had in mind for a Sunday morning.
I so badly wanted to say, NO. I just can’t do it. I’m too fragile, too tired, too frustrated, too desensitized and plus, I don’t want to chat with a new mom who is now welcomed onto our planet called Empty Arms, Broken Heart.
I took a deep breath and looked around desperately for an excuse as to why I couldn’t do it. There was nothing. Then she said, “could you just come talk to her, please? Another deep breath. I nodded, then realized she couldn’t see my nod and I managed to say, “yeah, I’ll come down there as soon as I can.”
I didn’t want to have to tell her that she should hold her baby now because she’ll never get the chance to again and one day she will regret not holding him more.
I didn’t want to tell her that she should know that someday it will all make sense, even though now it does not.
I didn’t want to have to tell her that she should have an autopsy so her mind will be at ease many months down the line, even though now she can not imagine having his little body incised.
I didn’t want to have to tell her that she might want a hundred pictures of him because tomorrow it will be all she has left.
I didn’t want to have to tell her that in the next week when she goes to put her clothes on and they don’t fit because she is no longer pregnant, yet not into her regular clothes that she will burst into tears in her closet.
I didn’t want to have to tell her that she may want to tattoo her baby’s little handprints on her ribs where he once kicked and danced inside.
I didn’t want to have to tell her that her husband may never understand.
Or that her family will tell her it’s for the best.
Or that the holidays will haunt her.
I didn’t want to tell her that her insurance company may bill her for something they coded as an abortion, even though she labored and delivered a baby.
I didn’t want to tell her that she will never be the same.
That she will never look at a pregnant belly the same way again.
That her breath will be taken away when she hears the name she chose for her son, yelled on a playground.
I didn’t want to tell her, I was in her position almost 4 years ago and I still ache with empty arms and a broken heart.