Sleepless Nights
Nights are the hardest. I can get through the days just fine, as there’s always something to do, something to read, something to post. But at night… at night I just lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. It is getting easier each night, though.
Thursday night I just layed in the hospital bed, stared at the ceiling, and wept on and off all night. I may have dozed off for an hour or two, but I would wake up crying again. I turned on the TV just to have something to stare at and listen to.
Friday night, on the futon at home nestled next to Denis, my mind wouldn’t shut off. The memories and thoughts were painful…. thinking of everything we were going to miss out on, all the hopes and dreams that died with Devin. I did manage to fall asleep, but then woke up in the middle of the night, hit with a wall of grief so hard I couldn’t stop sobbing I could barely breathe. I turned to my husband, who comforted me until it subsided.
Last night I just layed there, thinking. Thinking of how I want to put together Devin’s scrapbook, of the tree that Den wants to pick out, of relatives and friends, of what I wanted to write in this blog… so many things. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but honestly it’s like I’m not tired. I’d rather get up and do something.
Well, that and my boobs hurt so fucking bad I couldn’t lay on my side… or raise my arms over my head…. or breathe, pretty much. Laying on my back was the only option, even though they still throbbed… and I really can’t sleep on my back unless I am either dead exhausted or drugged. I was neither of those things, so after three hours I finally got up to write.
I was supposed to get a prescription for Ambien before I left the hospital, but we forgot all about it. I’ll be calling to ask them to fax something in, because I really do need to sleep and I just don’t see it happening on its own anytime soon.
::
I welcome everyone who has found my journal through friends and aquaintances and forums and random bloggers. It’s amazing to see people stop in who I haven’t seen or talked to in years, who heard the news through the grapevine. It reminds us how many lives have touched ours over the years… I’m truly awestruck by it.
It’s kind of odd, in a way, to see what people say about my writing – that I’m brave for writing, for posting in a blog like I do. But that’s just how I am. I used to be a terribly socially awkward person, but through my writing I learned how to express myself – how to be myself. I am now like that in person too. I am who I am. If I’m feeling something I really FEEL it – I do not hide my emotions well at all. I’m excessively candid, and like Den says to me on occassion, it scares people sometimes – it certainly catches them off-guard.
When family comes to visit they say up front, “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.” But I don’t have an issue with it. I want to tell them about Devin’s birth. I want to tell them how beautiful he was. I want them to understand what really happened, to know and appreciate everything that Devin was and is. I want to cry with them as I tell my story… and then I want to smile and laugh as I tell them the good parts.
And there were good parts. Devin gave me so many gifts that I’m still finding. He taught me joy…. true joy. For 8 months I was the happiest I have ever been in my life. I won’t say it’s the happiest I’ll ever be, as I don’t know what the future holds, but it sure feels like it.
He taught me to love my body… to truly love it, cherish it. I’ve never had a bad body-image, but it was never particularly good either. Part of that joy was in knowing my body was doing exactly what it needed to do. I realized how much I love my curves, my skin, and all the changes my body went through. It was – is – a spectacular journey. My body is still changing, and I’m finding myself still amazed by it. My breasts are huge and full of milk right now – they hurt like a bitch, but I find myself staring at myself in the mirror, astounded by how my body knows what to do, and feeling thankful that there is hope for the future. Even my belly… I remarked to Den that it’s the grief connected with it that makes me so sad about my belly, not how it looks. I still not think my post-partum belly is ugly. Weird, yes. But amazing how it’s shrinking already.
After learning of Devin’s death I wanted to hate my body. Over and over again I kept thinking how could it do this? How could it not have kept him safe? How could this terrible thing have happened within me, in a process that is supposed to be so natural and right, when my body did everything else it was supposed to do? But the more I think about it, the less I can blame my body for an accident – though, trust me, I want to find something to blame. But I just don’t think I can. It was a horrible, horrible accident.
The strangest gift Devin has given me is labor and delivery. It was a horrible thought. If I could have jumped out of my skin and ran as far away as I could, I would have… I wanted to be far, far away from all of it. I wanted time to jump ahead a day, a week… any time but then. But you do what you have to do, there was nowhere to go, nothing to do but get an IV, get induced, get through the pain and get it over with. And I am thankful now that I missed my opportunity to get that epidural. I did not want to feel that pain on top of everything else, but somehow… somehow it helped heal me. I can’t even explain it. I am proud of what I did. I waited so long to experience labor and birth, and at least now I can say that I did. The outcome was horrible – never in a million years should it have ended with a dead baby. But at least I got to experience it. It’s one of the many things that makes me feel like I really am a mother, even though we have no baby to hold. That concept is going to take time to sink in.
That truly was his biggest gift to me: he showed me how to live in the moment and appreciate everything I have, to live with no regrets. He made me feel truly alive, he gave my life purpose. The movie we watched Friday morning was Second Hand Lions. I cannot even begin to tell you how perfect that movie was for that moment in time. Not only was it an absolutely fantastic, funny, well-written movie and the message behind it was very clear: live with no regrets. I am going to buy that movie and watch it over and over.
I’ve been thinking about how the hell I’m going to ever handle going through pregnancy again, having been through this tragedy. I think one of the biggest things I mourn the loss of – besides Devin himself, of course – is my loss of innocence… my belief that nothing would go wrong. I don’t see how I could possibly feel anywhere close to secure and safe in another pregnancy like I did with this one. And, worse, instead of feeling more and more relaxed the further I get in, I think it’s going to feel more and more terrifying as I get closer to the end. But despite all of that, I am glad that I lived this pregnancy in such joy. I would not have wanted to know how it ended, I would not choose to live in fear. Take more precautions, yes. But live in constant fear? No. I really don’t know how I’ll feel when, light willing, I get pregnant again. But I hope I can manage to find some way to enjoy it, despite the overwhelming fears.
And yes, I am living with the belief that I will get pregnant again. I have to believe that. I don’t know how, I don’t know when we’ll even be ready, but I have to believe that we will get another chance at the happy ending. No subsequent children will ever change what happened or how we feel about Devin. He will always be our firstborn. But we still ache for a child to hold, to raise. And someday we will get that chance. We have to believe that.
::
Den is dealing by working on the house. We stopped on the way home from the hospital to buy paint from the paint store in the color we had just picked out, and he immediately started painting the bedroom. Our bedroom had been completely dismantled in the days before Devin’s birth as we started the painting. Everything but the huge bed had been pulled out, and we couldn’t even use the bed because of the vapors in that room with all the painting. It was frustrating for us both to come home to a house that was in such disarray. So that’s what we’ve been doing: putting it back together. And I am honestly thankful that Den, especially, has had something to do. Yesterday, after painting a fresh coat on the wall in the bedroom and unable to do anymore more in that room until it dried, he walked into our hallway and said, “So what color were we going to paint this again? Do we still have that paint in the basement?” And he did that too. At one point everything just needed to dry and he was walking around with a paintbrush saying, “I have nothing more to paint… I need something to paint!” I did point out several other odd jobs that we have intended to do for years, but he decided he had enough projects at that point, heh. This morning he is putting the bedroom back together – he’s currently on his hands and knees scrubbing the wood floor to clean it up of all the crap that’s gotten on it during construction.
Den’s original idea was for him to take me from the hospital to a hotel room while he went home and got the house in order – or at least put away all the baby things so I wouldn’t have to see them. We decided in the end that it was better for me to come home with him… I wanted to, I thought it was best. I put all the baby things into plastic containers; most of it was already in containers to keep it clean, but I wanted to repack stuff to fit everything else in. More than that… I wanted to go through it. To pick out a couple of things to keep in a keepsake box, and to say goodbye and mourn. I packed things away in boxes, and Den took them down one by one into the basement to put them in storage.
The hardest part, by far, was after I told Den to let me know if he had any attachment to anything he wanted kept in a special place. He admitted to me that he’d taken the stroller downstairs and opened it up and had pushed it around for a while. I walked down later to find him pushing the stroller back and forth, crying. I just about lost it completely. Denis wanted this baby boy so fucking badly, more than anything in this world. He had so many dreams of playing sports and taking him for walks in his stroller. Finding out we were going to have a son was by far one of the singular best moments of his life. He was so damn proud of his boy. And as much as I hurt inside, as deep as the sorrow and loss runs within me, I think it almost hurts more to know the overwhelming grief that he feels, to watch my husband hurt so very very much.
Heartbroken with you both.
*more hugs for you both*
*big tight hugs*
*joins in on the hugs* One day at a time, one day at a time…
That image of your husband is absolutely heartbreaking. I am so sorry.
I was thinking about this earlier today. I want you to know that I’ve read your blog (and occasionally commented) and I was always amazed that you were so comfortable with your pregnancy. I probably even envied it, I have to admit. Because I had so many miscarraiges that I just couldn’t relax when I finally got my twins to stick despite how hard I tried to not worry. I’m so happy that you got to experience happiness with your pregnancy. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am for your loss, but you’ll never forget that time or how strong you were at his birth. I believe you will have more children. They won’t take Devin’s place and you won’t have that innocence again and for that I’m sorry. But Devin will always hold that special place and time in your heart.
Please take care. Again, I’m so sorry.
So many things I want to say, but everything I type is coming out wrong tonight.
I’m just going to keep it at *big bearhugs* for both you and Denis, especially Den this time who’s in the background for us, but of course equally stricken by this. Give him my love ok?
Wendy
Nat – wish I had the words to help, to take the loss away, to give you that innocence back.
I am so sorry that you and Den have to grieve like this.
I have been thinking of you both non-stop and sending you both peace and love from the other side of the state. Much love to you both.
xx
You make me cry every time you post.
The image of Den and the stroller is so extremely heartbreaking.
I too lay awake every night, thinking of you and Den, what you are doing, how you are doing, how you are feeling, How this could have been taken from you, I just don’t get it.. You deserved Devin so much.
tons of hugs.
Again, such a wonderfully written post.
What hits home the most for me is when you write about how you think you will handle it when you get pregnant again, and I’m right along on the same page. My first pregnancy (daughter will be 2 this month) was totally uneventful. No morning sickness, no pains, easy labor and delivery…I guess I was naive to think that it always worked out that way. We got pregnant with twins naturally in July of last year, I found out that one lost a heartbeat at 15 weeks, I physically passed her 3 days later, and her sister was stillborn at 22 weeks after my water broke prematurely. The thought of getting pregnant again to me is thrilling, and at the same time I’m scared shitless. Am I always going to wonder if this one is doomed too? Pregnancy is supposed to be such a momentous occasion in a woman’s life, but how are we supposed to enjoy it if we are worrying about every friggin thing that could now go wrong. It’s unfair.
I’m glad you have the memories of Devin. He was and always will be a part of you, and who you are. I just thank you for taking us as readers on this journey with you. As cheesy as this sounds, I hope that my little girls are up there playing with him as we speak.
One more thing and I promise I’m done. When I left the hospital they sent me home with Ace bandages to wrap my breasts to keep the milk from coming in. Not sure if it would help you now that your’s is already there, but it’s a way to help tell your body not to make any more. Just a thought.
I was sent to your site from another blog. I’m so glad I did. Thank you for sharing your journey with all of us–with me. One foot in front the other…
Dear Natalie, I came via Mel’s blog to offer my deepest condolences on your unbearable loss.
Since I couldn’t get onto Mlw, I thought I’d stalk you here…
I’m extremely happy that you are finding ways to help you heal through this horrible tragedy. The mental image of Den walking in the basement broke my heart more.
Devin is and always will be remembered by me. I just loved hearing how much you loved being pregnant. And watching your growing belly and seeing the happiest of smiles on your face. I think it finally hit me how beautiful you really are when I saw pictures from Devins shower.
Nobody should have to go through what you have, and it’s even more heartbreaking that it happened to such a wonderful and deserving husband and wife.
:glomp:
First of all, let me tell you how very sorry I am for your loss, of not only your son, but your hopes and dreams for him, in addition to the innocence. I have been keeping you and your husband in my prayers.
Secondly, I agree with you that writing is cathartic. Just letting the thoughts flow as they come into your mind, with nothing to interrupt your train of thought.
I came to your site from a link on someone else’s site, this past week. I will continue to come here to read what you write, as you start on your journey of healing, and push forward on through life.
I so wish that I had some comforting words during these dark days – just know that there are so many of us here to hold your hand, to listen, just to be here.
x
Dear Natalie,
I have been crying since I found out about Devin. Bless your heart, your comments about Den and the stroller made me sob out loud. When you are ready, MLW would like to help you in any way we can. There has been a donation taken that could help with the tree and memorial, whatever you want, darlin’. I will PM you there with more information.
Love,
Diane
Dearest Natalie,
*hugs*
I cannot tell you how much I think of you at this moment…that in your grief, you are also able to see the positives in your experience.
I can only hope one day that when I have children, I experience the joy and love and knowing that every moment is special like you did with Devin. When I think of following your story, that is what I always reflect back on…
You will have another child again and when they are older you can tell them all about their big brother.
The comments about Den and the stroller broke my heart all over again. I am thinking of you both as always
Lots of huge hugs. One day at a time, and I hope that each day does get a little easier. Though I’m sure it will be one step forward, two steps back. I’m thinking of you constantly.
Just wanted to let you know I’m reading, and sending enormous hugs. My heart is breaking for you and Den.
Nat — I’ve been reading all the posts on JM and following your blog.. but your last post on your blog brought me to tears and I finally had the courage to respond. You’re such a brave woman… a wonderful mother. My heart aches for you and we’ve never met.
The Den comments broke my heart. Be there for each other and you will get through this together.
I’m thinking of you,…
laura
Sending more love and thoughts and prayers from Alabama. Your strength and perspective continue to amaze me. Still crying with you…
Another stranger here, who found your blog through my own struggle with infertility. I have followed your story from your first IVF. I am so sorry for your loss, I don’t know what else to say, but felt compelled to say something. It is hard to fathom that such pain could result from an act of profound love between you and your husband, but I hope that you will remember Devin as a product of your love for one another, and that that love will continue to sustain you now. I will echo others who have said that you are an amazingly strong woman, one who dares to take on life again with gusto after experiencing such devastation. It’s inspiring. You inspire me.
Natalie,
My heart goes out to you, Den and your family. Know that you both will remain in our thoughts and prayers.
Athena
I think I would loose it if I saw my husband in that scenario too. :(
I just discovered your blog. *Hugs* I too lost my son Samuel.
I can’t even believe I’m here writing this, but here goes: Cabbage. Buy a head of cabbage, break off the leaves, and put them in your bra. It will help with let down considerably. Smells like hell, though, and walking around with salad on your boobs is a bit odd, but it works.
Grief isn’t linear, as you’ll discover. There’ll be dips and backwards motions, and times you’ll feel it’s totally fine (!) followed by times you’ll wonder how it is you’re standing. Just keep getting up, keep finding stuff to do, on the house, on the blog, wherever. Your attitude toward your body I find completely refreshing; wish I could say the same for mine. A year out, and I’d trade it in tomorrow in a heartbeat.
Thinking of you, please take great care.
The image of Den and of you packing up the baby things ….. I truly hope you both find comfrot in each day, not sure from what, but I wish comfort for you both.
I am here via Serenity’s blog.
I can’t stop thinking about you my dear… The image of your husband and the stroller is so extremely heartbreaking… I can’t help it but cry! you’re are an amazing woman and I pray to God for healing for you and your husband
Not sure if you remember me from DM but I came across this page through other old DMers pages.
I just wanted to say that my thoughts and prayers are with you. And that I think you and Den are amazing people.
You are a brave woman. Your writing will carry you through. It is easy to see how you are making sense of all that has happened to you through what you are putting on paper. I can only offer my encouragement, support and hope. I’m a stranger on the internet, but my heart knows your heart.
I have cried similar tears. My son was born still at 19 weeks, almost five years ago. You have written a story so similar to my own. I’m just so utterly sorry that you are going through losing your child. I have spoken your names aloud and lit a candle in your honor.
Xanax really helped me at night when my brain would not turn off. Ambien might not be the magic ticket, but if it helps, all the better. I found I needed it at night for about two weeks.
Praying for your family.
I too find writing/blogging therapeutic and I am glad that it is helping you some during this time. (((HUGS)))
I shared in another reply to one of your recent posts that I am carrying a baby girl with serious congential heart defects that will most likely die in utero and then be delivered stillborn. As everyone who experiences something like this, I am trying to make sense of what is happening and trying desparately to find some good in it or something to take from or learn from it… Anyway, my point being, I am inspired that one thing you have taken from your experience as Devin’s mother is living in the moment.
I have often struggled with that throughout my life and never more than during my pregnancy now, knowing that our daughter will most likely not be born alive, my husband and I have been forced to live our lives one week, one day and one hour at a time. Not knowing what will happen next and trying our best to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. What I have found most comforting and realize now, after reading this post of yours, is that one of my husband and my saving graces during this time has been the times when we have really been able to live in the moment and enjoy what we were experiencing without being so focused on what will happen next or how things might end. Anyway, sorry to ramble on so, but I feel I have had an Oprah “aha” moment reading your thoughts today and had to share.
My thoughts and prayers continue to be with you. I can only imagine what you and Den are going through. Many hugs and healing thoughts to you.
Take care and God bless,
Kathy
Here’s a nightly hug!! :hug:
I thought of you and Devin all day today as I went about my work saving babies. Saying a prayer for you.
Just found out about your sad news via Serenity’s blog. So *terribly sorry* to read everything–my sympathies.
Oh Nat…
I am so sorry. I just wish I knew what to say… Know that we love you at JM, we miss you, we miss Devin, and you’re in our hearts, all the time. I wish I could just give you a hug.
All the love in the world to you and Denis.
Jilly
Oh Nat. I am sobbing reading this story. My heart is breaking for you both.
I just wanted to tell you that my heart hurts for your family tonight. I found out about your blog on my medhelp pregnancy forum and a lady posted on your story. I know there are no words to comfort you right now during this time. I just want you to know that I too have lost several babies so I kinda know what you are going through. There is hope and light at the end of the tunnel…I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers indefinitely. I just cannot imagine the hurt and pain you are going through at this time, I am aching for you tonight
Amber
I don’t have any of my own words. I can’t put into words how sad I am. I’ll have to borrow from Sarah McLachlan,
Angel
Spend all your time waiting
for that second chance
for a break that would make it okay
there’s always one reason
to feel not good enough
and it’s hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
oh beautiful release
memory seeps from my veins
let me be empty
and weightless and maybe
I’ll find some peace tonight
in the arms of an angel
fly away from here
from this dark cold hotel room
and the endlessness that you fear
you are pulled from the wreckage
of your silent reverie
you’re in the arms of the angel
may you find some comfort there
so tired of the straight line
and everywhere you turn
there’s vultures and thieves at your back
and the storm keeps on twisting
you keep on building the lie
that you make up for all that you lack
it don’t make no difference
escaping one last time
it’s easier to believe in this sweet madness oh
this glorious sadness that brings me to my knees
in the arms of an angel
fly away from here
from this dark cold hotel room
and the endlessness that you fear
you are pulled from the wreckage
of your silent reverie
you’re in the arms of the angel
may you find some comfort there
you’re in the arms of the angel
may you find some comfort here
Dear Natalie,
you don’t know me. I just came over from Serenity. I am so very sorry for the death of your beautiful Devin, the boy with long fingers.
Today is one year anniversary of my son’s due date. He died in utero last January 30th, at almost 35 weeks. He too had long perfect fingers.
It’s a strange place, the world of dead babies. I am sorry you are here with us now. We never want to welcome new members, and yet at least some of us are up to it on any given day. And on other days it’s too hard to think of others going through those raw early days. As Tash said, it’s very nonlinear, and we all understand that any given day (and night) you do what you have to do to get through. We all get this now, and many other things we never dreamed of getting or wanted to get.
If you want to stop the milk, cabbage is good, but may be insufficient. I had to use the cabbage in the sports bra plus cold compresses over. And finally I had to resort to sage tea. It’s much less disgusting than you’d think it would be, and it worked pretty fast for me. Which was bittersweet, of course, because stopping the milk also meant the physical connection to my son was gone. In fact I had one of my most vivid nightmares ever the night before the milk stopped. I even knew it was about the milk when it was happening.
Wishing you moments of peace and light in the midst of your grief.
I have found your blog through another person’s and I just wanted to come and say I am so very sorry for your loss. My thoughts and prayers are with you both during this time.
Em
Another who found your blog through Serenity. I’m so incredibly sorry for the loss of your little boy Devin.
Nat, I’ve busted in to tears so many times reading your recent posts and my heart is going out to you both. You are a remarkably wise woman and seem to have the strength to face such a dark moment in life and feel whatever you need to feel. I am so glad that you and Den have such a strong relationship with one another.
So many hugs to you both.
Oh man, I’m sitting here at work, trying not to sob out loud at the image of your husband with the stroller in the basement. Big (((hugs))) to both of you.
Natalie –
I came here through a friend of a friend. While I don’t know you, I have cried for you many times and you have been in my thoughts frequently. I have been sitting here trying to figure out what to say, but there are no words. I’m so sorry for your loss.
I’ve also come through serenity’s blog – you don’t know me but I just wanted to tell you how very sorry I am for you and your husbands loss, words are just not enough.
I admire your strength and pray that as time goes by, the pain will get less. I hope that yopu start sleeping soon.
Much love xxx
Nat,
So sorry to hear of your lose. I always check in on Mondays to see new photos and to get an update on all things Devin. This is so sad to hear about and I can’t imagine the grief you are feeling. It sounds like you are coping well though. Hang in there. You are so strong!
Natalie, Den, I am so sorry for your loss. I am so terribly heartbroken for you.you have been in my thoughts and prayers each night and I will continue to pray for you! if you ever need anything, let me know**HUGS**
Natalie and Den,
Thank you for that wonderful post. I told my husband about you and he suffers too with you. Many of the things you are going through are similar to what I went through over 10 weeks ago. The one thing that really got me was the part about Den pushing the stroller. I cried! The image of him walking around just made me loose it. My husband didn’t get to do that as we hadn’t got around to buying those things yet, although we were going to do that the Saturday before New Year’s.
Writing helps… always! I’m glad you are writing down your thoughts and feelings in your journal. It’s therapeutic. It helps to have some outlet. Talking too, but with your husband it may only help at times. He’s too close to the situation, but he’s still there for you (no offense to you, Den). In fact, that’s how I felt about talking to my husband. Although I could talk to him about what had happened, he was still too involved with the situation to help me. Does this make sense?
About the soreness in your breasts: I had that too, oddly enough. I was told that talking a warm shower and massaging your breasts may make the pain subside. It helped me in the end. I felt like I was going to explode.
Ok, I’ll end here. If you need anything, just e-mail me. You should have the e-mail address.
Take care and hugs to you both. Devin will always be remembered.
I guess I’m one of those people who found you through the grapevine. I couldn’t believe when I heard what happened on BOLU. I had always been rooting for you from afar and my heart broke in a thousand pieces for you when I read your news.
I’m sorry. So profoundly sorry that there really aren’t any words. We never really crossed paths, but I can’t stop thinking about you and your family and sending as much good energy your way as I have to spare.
I so agree with you on the ‘innocence’ lost aspect of getting pregnant again. That part makes you very brave – because I know I won’t do it again. Not with the risks. As far as the milk – what I did – was let a little bit out and it helped with the immediate pressure – and then it subsided. Do you have a hand pump? And please send Den our love. I know how devastating it is for you. Your grief is so different from his. Dan and I had a hard time after Evie because we both experienced her near death so differently. Dan saw the action part of it – the helplessness from his end of it – and I had the ’emptiness’ part of it.
Hugs you so tight
You do write beautifully about your experience and your grief. I hope the writing helps you to heal.
My heart hurts for you and yours. Know that a complete stranger loves you.
I am so sorry for your loss. Devin will help you when you get pregnant again. He is your spirit baby and he will guide all future children safely home.
I pray for your loss but most importantly I pray for your happiness, that you will find the peace and return to that part of your life that made you happy. The kind of happy you were before all of this.
I pray for you and your husband… I just pray…
I’m crying for you and Den. I wish you both peace and comfort. (((HUGS)))
Dearest Nat and Den
I am so sorry for this heartache. I wish with all my heart I could turn back time and bring Devin back to you. You are both so strong and this pain does not seem fair or just but I want you to know that I am praying for you both
God bless and protect you and bring you some comfort
I am so sorry natalie, writing through tears as I imagine your husband with that stroller. I’m just so sorry. this is a beautiful post, flilled with sorrow and hope at the same time, just beautiful. I’m so glad you found your voice. thinking of you. ~luna
btw, have you tried cold cabbage or some form of ice pack for your boobs? it’s the only thing that helped me when my milk came in.
Found you through Mel at Stirrup Queens. I am so sorry for your loss. This was a beautiful post. I’m so sorry to welcome you to the club.
I lost twin boys at 20 weeks at the beginning of the year, and every time I think the horrible raw pain is gone, something else stirs it all up again.
For me, too, some of the worst of it is seeing how much my husband hurts, feeling like somehow I’ve caused him so much pain. After we found out they were boys, he would put his hand on my belly, look at me and smile, and say, “BOYS!” Of course he was happy with any gender combination, but just knowing his sons were there “working hard growing” as he said, brought him such joy. It kills me now to think about it.
They tell me it does get better, the searing pain of loss, and I’m trying to trust that. Perhaps it’s the old “gets worse before it gets better” thing.
Wishing you peace.