things i've learned

• pregnancy is a miracle.

• God's creation is miraculous.

• a growing child within your womb is unexplainable to anyone who has never experienced it.

• the magnitude of changes that occur when you're pregnant is crazy. some conditions lessen, some increase.

• pregnancy is frightening.

• the moment you become pregnant, you become a mother or a father.

• the moment you become a mother or a father, dreams, hopes and a love you can't put to words come to fruition.

• each new day brings more anticipation.

• each pain, discharge or strange feeling becomes frightening.

• the first movement is exhilarating.

• the first ultrasound picture is unexplainable. to see your child within you, within your wife, is utterly amazing. relish in these first images.
  

• each new pain or condition is manageable because as you look down at your belly you know that your baby is growing in there. that's all that matters.

• the minute you think you've lost your growing child, your world stops.

• laying, waiting to hear your doctor find a heart beat is excruciating.

• seeing a still heart on the ultrasound screen is devastating.

• walking the back hall in labor and delivery and being placed in the last room is indescribable. is this meant to be comforting? it's not.

• being asked to decide about burial, cremation and autopsy within an hour of learning your child is gone, is plain and simply wrong. but these questions need answers, how else do they get answered?

• laying on a bed weeping, while a doctor inserts seaweed sticks into your cervix and then stuffing your vagina with wet gauze to start the thinning process is wrong.

• laying on a bed for 17 hours waiting to deliver your child, a child you dreamt about raising and loving but now know that she will come out lifeless is beyond words.

• wanting to feel every last pain because that will be the last time you'll ever feel your little girl, is death.

• delivering your lifeless daughter, cutting the cord, holding her as she gets colder and colder and seeing a trickle of blood roll out her nose is deafening.

• handing your baby girl to the nurse and knowing you'll never see her again is gut wrenching. where did she go?
  

• walking into your house 4 hours after delivering your daughter, walking past her room, seeing pregnancy books and shower gifts is death.

• lying awake, wanting to sleep, but only seeing the face of your baby girl and realizing that she'll never sleep in between you and your husband, she will never feed from your breasts, you'll never hear her cries or laughter, you'll never be able to teach her or learn from her, laugh with her, cry with her. you're dreams of her are blackened. they're empty. they we're ripped from you in vain. this is a hell i can't explain.

• seeing your flattened belly, feeling it's softness and emptiness. seeing your breasts getting bigger and bigger until they look as if they'll burst. feeling their cement like composition. seeing trickles of milk run down. and knowing that this nourishing supply will go wasted is despair.

• feeling like you want to tear out your insides is ok. that's grief. that's despair. that's emptiness.

• bleeding every day reminds you of your loss and it's cruel that women have to go through all of this after their loss.
  

• feeling like this was all you fault is ok, that's grief. but it's not your fault.
  

• love is the most important thing this world has.
  

• family and friends are invaluable. hold to them and love them and appreciate them everyday of your lives.

• loss sucks.

• the stillness of death is haunting and excruciating.

• love heals. love wins.
  

• my husband rocks and i love him more today and i ever have and that's amazing because i didn't think i could ever love him more. but i do.

• laughter creates fissures in the darkness that surrounds you. everyday conversations and hearing how your family and friends are doing is refreshing. let the laughter break away the darkness.

• the sound of children laughing, crying and playing with Jorai's toys is heartbreaking yet so very healing and lovely and filled with light that i can't express enough. let children into your house. let them into your lives. don't let your grief block you from the healing nature of children.

• the sight of neighbors riding bikes with their toddlers or pushing strollers is painful yet healing. to see the miracle of birth and the gentle nature of parents fills me with hope.

• learning to let go of my dreams of Jorai is excruciating and at times impossible.
  

• learning to be a mother without a child is indescribable.

• learning to be a better person gives me hope.

• knowing that Jorai's death has to have reason gives me hope.

• thinking of becoming pregnant again fills me with joy yet anguish at the same time.

• finding a way to memorialize Jorai and other children keeps me walking.

• feeling all of the out pour of love and support from our family and friends is life saving, it's amazing and wonderfully beautiful.

• seeing old friendships growing stronger and making new friendships is beautiful.
  

• learning to open my heart again is more difficult than i ever expected.
  

• Jorai will be with us every day of our lives. we have been changed forever. and although at times it's hard to know that we'll always have this loss, i realize now, that even though we have to walk through the valley and it's dark and cold and vast and empty, we got to have this amazing little girl in our lives for 7 months. we only got to hold her after she passed, we'll never know the girl and woman she would have become, but we got to feel her and love her and dream about a life with her for 7 months. she was a part of us and us a part of her. she was our little girl and i will always cherish her and our time together. she will always be with me. i will love her for all time. she was my daughter and i her mother. nothing can take that away from me. not even death.