Last updated on February 17, 2021
We lost the baby.
The doctor says that it was probably a cord accident – not terribly common, but not preventable or predictable. Sometimes, it just happens. He’s probably been gone for a couple of days now. Tomorrow, we’ll go in for an induction and have a chance to say our proper goodbyes. There’s no telling how long that’ll take, but I’m told that it’s a little easier than regular labor since it’s so much earlier. I don’t know.
After that… well, we’ll consider the autopsy to verify the cause of death, perhaps donate his body to science if there’s a need for it, cremation if there is not, and then plant a rose bush for him here. We will likely have a small funerary service for him over the weekend.
Please, no phone calls for the next few days. I’m not sure if I or anyone else will feel like talking, but at the same time, don’t be surprised if you get a call from us. There’s not a lot we can predict about how we’ll feel.
For me… well, I’ve often said I’m the worst person to turn to for comfort in relation to death, and this is another example of that. Yes, I’m sad, and yes, I’m disappointed and feeling weird and hurt and sorrowful, but at the same time, I’m okay. I think I felt this coming, I was expecting it, so I was, in some small way, prepared. I imagine that I’ll go through more of the grieving process tomorrow when we face that actual duty of delivering him. I know that there’s still a part that hasn’t connected with the loss, and yet… it is perfectly natural that this happened.
Death is a natural part of life. We all face it, we’re all affected by it directly or indirectly, and living in fear of it has never made sense to me. We are hurt and lost when we lose something that was a part of us – a part of our lives, a part of our families, a part of our bodies sometimes – but I have come to see it as a way for the universe to prune the hedge of our existence, to take off the parts that will let us grow bigger, stronger, faster. Almost like trimming your hair to make it grow longer, except that there is no telling which end will be trimmed.
Some people like to share their grief, and some people like to keep it to themselves. For me, I am comforted knowing that others are willing to share it with me, and that alone, before the sharing, makes it easier to handle the alone phase. I expect that this will have mostly short-term ripples because the loss of a person – known or merely potential – always affects the community that it’s a part of.
Do not be afraid to talk to me about this, do not wonder if you’re going to say the wrong thing. Any honest question is legitimate, and I don’t expect that even this will change my nature to assume the best in everyone first. I’ll probably be online tonight for a while, but I’m not sure… we’ll see.
Thank you, all of you, for everything you’ve done in being supportive through the pregnancy and during this time. It will not be forgotten.
You have my deepest and most heartfelt condolences.
God bless.
I don’t have words hon. You know that we all love you and your family. I want to write more, but can’t seem to find the words.
*hug*
My prayers are with each and every one of you, as I know Lili and Miles – and to a lesser degree, Joseph – will need all the loving support we can give them.
A candle has been lit, dedicated, and will burn until I know what the final outcome is.
I love you, Heartsmile.
Poppa
Oh, Dawn. I am so sorry.
You and your family are some of most important people in the world to me. I love you and I’m praying for a safe induction tomorrow. I understand your view on grieving, as I find it hard to be overly saddened in these situations myself, but I am still a bit shocked.
I dont know what to say to make you feel better, but you seem ok whether I stick my foot in my mouth or not. I suppose I just wanted you to know I am here if you wanna chat about anything.
Oh no, I’m so sorry Dawn. *big hugs*
I’ll be saying a prayer for you and yours tonight.
I cried last night, now I know why. You are in my prayers.
You and Joe and the kids have my deepest sympathies. I’m so sorry. 🙁
I’m afraid words can not properly express the way you feel, and the way I feel for you right now.
Just know that I care, and I’m sorry. If you need me, I’m here for you.
You know me, Sis… What else could I write?
I’m so very, very sorry for you loss, Dawn. I’m here for you and your family if you need me for anything.
*BIG HUGS*
Dawn, I hope all went well today for you and that you were able to learn more about what happened to your baby. Sure don’t understand why this happened, but then there are so many things in the universe that are beyond our comprehension for whatever reason. Don’t know what to say except extend my sincere condolences and I wish for you and your family peace and healing, in mind, body and spirit – you are in my prayers.