Mommy Loves You, Mason

When I saw those two pink lines show up clear as day, I started squealing to my toddler that he was going to be a big brother (he was 16 months old and I don’t think he cared quite as much as I did). My husband and I had decided to forgo charting when our first turned a year old and “let it happen when it happens,” so after taking a test a week for several months, suddenly seeing a positive one was a welcome surprise!
I scheduled my first ultrasound and we were able to see our new addition a few weeks later. I was just seven weeks at that point, but the heartbeat was strong and steady. I had already begun couponing for diapers and running through a list of possible names.Not long after, I started to experience light bleeding. The same thing had happened with my first, and we discovered the cause had been a UTI- nothing some antibiotics didn’t clear up quickly. Although it made me nervous, I tried reassure myself that it was just another UTI.
When my bleeding went from dark-colored and infrequent, to bright red and constant with clots, I decided I didn’t wait until my upcoming doctor appointment. At this point I was almost eleven weeks pregnant and felt I was close enough to the so-called “safe zone” of pregnancy that it couldn’t be anything too concerning, but I needed to know for sure. I called my husband and told him we should go to go to the ER, because the sudden change in bleeding was worrying me a little bit. When we got to the ER, an ultrasound showed us a bouncy, wiggly baby with a good heartbeat. I was also told that unless I passed clots larger than a golf ball (instead of dime size like mine were), I shouldn’t worry, and bleeding was common in the first trimester. I felt a little silly for my worry after that.
Two days later, I felt feverish. My bleeding was continuing. I tried to take a nap when my toddler did, but instead I found myself suddenly having waves of dull, achy cramps in my abdomen. Rocking on my hands and knees brought a little relief, but the aches kept coming every minute or two. It felt like “period pains” more than anything.I refused to let the thought of a miscarriage cross my mind. I had just seen my baby, alive and well. This had to be something else. I was going to try to use the bathroom, because it could be constipation related. I told myself that’s probably what was causing my cramps.
The moment I sat down on the toilet, I felt something fall out of me. I looked between my legs. I’m not sure how long I stared into the toilet before it finally hit me- my tiny baby was in there. Just my baby, nothing else. No blood, no other tissue, nothing. My son was in there. My son was in my toilet.
I crawled down off the toilet, knelt in front if it and said “no, no, God no” probably a hundred times. I reached my hand into the toilet and pulled my baby boy out. Hot tears started pouring down my face and I started shouting “no,” getting louder and louder. I fumbled for my phone and called my husband again, screaming “You have to come home. The baby’s out. Come home.” My words sounded so slurred together that he couldn’t understand me at first. I took a deep breath and screamed “the baby came out!” And he was immediately in the car coming home.
The 25 minutes I sat on my bathroom floor alone felt like an eternity. It felt as though I was watching a bad movie. I kept telling my son “I’m sorry baby. Oh, you are so perfect and beautiful. I am so sorry. You’re perfect. Mommy loves you. I’m so sorry.” Over and over and over. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
I eventually sat back on the toilet and that’s when everything else passed. If I hadn’t been staring at my baby in my hand, in utter shock, I probably would’ve fainted seeing how much came out of me afterward. I just flushed it away and stayed on the toilet.
I heard my husband come running in and I walked out of the bathroom, our baby in my palm. I just heaved and held our son up to my husband, who also started to cry. I sat back down on the bathroom floor as my husband grabbed our toddler, who I realized had woken up from his nap after I started screaming. I sat there, looking at the tiniest fingernails and toenails I had ever seen. His skin was transparent and I could see all of his beautiful, delicate little organs, some within a perfect, tiny rib cage. It was obvious he was a boy.
I don’t know how much more time went by before my husband finally held me and said “we can’t keep him out here like this, sweetheart.” I knew he meant our baby would begin to decompose quickly.  More hot tears burned down my face. We had to preserve our son’s body until we could bury him.
I found a small box that once held the necklace I wore at our wedding. It still had the soft lining of cotton inside. Sobbing, I gently placed my baby boy inside that box, and handed him to my husband. My baby boy had to go into a freezer, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I cleared our freezer out as much as I could, as if somehow giving him his own shelf away from the ice cream was more dignified than placing him on top of it. My mind was blurry.
My parents came in to stay with us that night, and we decided to bury our son on some of their land. Talking about my own son’s funeral was surreal after having seen him on an ultrasound, moving around with a strong heartbeat, just two days prior. That night when I tried to sleep, I placed my hand on my abdomen out of habit, and immediately realized I had never felt so physically, emotionally, or spiritually empty before. My son, who had just been safe and warm and alive in my womb, was now in a box in my freezer.
Several good friends of mine pitched in for a headstone and a tiny casket for our baby boy. I couldn’t be more thankful for those women. I am grateful for the closure I was able to receive in providing my son a proper burial, surrounded by all of our immediate families (some of whom drove from hours away last minute to mourn with us) and a local priest.
Immediately after the miscarriage, I was physically fine. I bled for a few weeks, but aside from that, I had absolutely no complications or problems at all. Emotionally and spiritually, I was, and sometimes still am, a complete wreck. My faith waivers easily, held together by the idea that if there is no God, my son is just buried under dirt and that’s the end. I cannot bear to think that he is anywhere other than a perfect place, even if that place isn’t in my arms.
The struggle was trying to maintain the significance of my son’s life despite how short and quiet it was to the world. Some days are tougher than others, but overall, I found myself feeling better day by day, slowly, while reminding myself that does not equate to forgetting my baby. I learning to accept life without him.
You learn little ways to memorialize the baby you loved but never knew. They will always be your baby.
Mommy loves you, Mason.
 
Today’s guest post is written by a twenty-six year old mother of three and Guiding Star Project Supporter.