I'll Walk With You

I have never forgotten where I came from.  It never leaves you.  At least that has been the case for me.  Once you have put on those heavy shoes to walk with the death of a child, you never forget that weight of loss.

I know the depths of deep grief and hopelessness.  I've cried so hard and long until there seemed to be no more tears left, but more came.  I've been jealous of those who had babies so effortless while I was treated for infertility. I've played the wait game.  I've played the disappointment game. Then I became one of the lucky ones who had a healthy normal baby.  It was worth every trial I had to go through to get him.  I can say without a doubt it was the happiest day of my life.  I want that for you.  I want you to feel the ultimate joy of holding your living baby all pink and wailing away.  It burdens me that you don't have that yet.  It burdens me that some of you might not get it.

I endured two more losses after my first stillbirth.  I can honestly say that my next losses didn't drag me down to the bottom as the first did.  I know that may offend some of you, but I have to be honest here.  When I miscarried it hurt, so don't get me wrong.  However, I had two sons running around the house to divert me.  I wasn't so alone as I was when my first son was stillborn.  When my daughter was stillborn, it was bad.  After three sons, I gave birth to a daughter!  But the twist in her cord took her from me.  I didn't have another daughter running around the house, so this one took me back to the depths of grief much more.  However, I did have my two joyful sons to divert me once more.  I had live children to hold on to.  There is a difference to leave the hospital with empty arms when children are waiting for you at home.

I am not saying that the children I loss after I had my two rainbows were loved and wanted any less than the loss of my firstborn son.  I mourn them and miss them just as much as I do their brother.  It was just easier on me to come home to a house with my sons running to greet me.  Can you understand?  Did I feel guilty that I didn't fall to the emptiness of despair as I did the first time?  Yes I did!  I didn't understand it at first.  I thought something was wrong with me.  By the third time, was I getting use to loss?  No!  Maybe I just expected it in the back of my mind.  I just know that I wasn't as blindsided as I was the first time.  My first day home without James Collins, Jr, I climbed into his empty crib when I was finally alone and no one was watching.  I turned on the mobile and held on to a teddy bear and sobbed as I pretended the bear was my baby.  Crazy?  Not to me!  My first night home without Reita, I had to wait until everyone else in the house had gone to bed before I went downstairs and closed myself off in the dining room to be alone.  I crawled under the dining room table with my pillow to muffle my cries.  I had to get it together by morning so not to scare my small sons waiting for me to fix them their breakfast.  Life for me had to go on much quicker this time.  I couldn't take my time in grieving when ever I felt it sweep over me.  What I did have was the hugs and kisses of my sons to get me through it.  Those of you with out your Rainbow don't get those hugs and my heart breaks for you. 

Your heartbreak of not having your Rainbow baby is personal to me.  I've been with you over a year now.  I've watched you suffer.  I see you as you still suffer as some of you have lost your Rainbow or haven't achieved pregnancy.  I will continue to walk with you.  I will wait with you.  One day I will rejoice with you.