Locked in my bathroom I feel the safest. This is three days after learning the baby I’m carrying will eventually die. I can fully release hiding in here, away from my husband and son.
She is growing and thriving inside me, yet she will eventually deteriorate and die outside of me—a tragic dichotomy.
How can I face others for my last two months of pregnancy? How can I hear ALL of the cheerful, seemingly innocent comments without shocking every stranger I meet with our truth? I want desperately to celebrate my child, but I feel like I’m grieving her more. Mourning a baby that is growing inside you is so utterly mind bending that we probably should stay locked away. No one wants to be around a grieving pregnant woman except the grim reaper.
Somehow I slowly come out. First a trip across town to my sister-in-law’s to know I can be among others. Then eventually back to work I go, saving my leave for Eva’s arrival and the great unknown.
I grew up an only child who used to say I don’t like to be alone. Now I crave it, not to wail and cry, but in the quiet stillness of isolation is when I can hear and feel her the most.