It was supposed to be this....
But instead it's this....
July 24th 2017 was my due date. But I know he would have been born today, actually right about now. As I was putting the kids to bed I had insane cramping, but my period wasn't supposed to be here for another three or four days. I went to the bathroom and wiped; bright red blood was staring back at me from the fresh white paper.
It was supposed to be my bloody show. It was supposed to sound the alarm to call our family in, to fill my birth pool, to order some food, and to meet our baby that we weren't supposed to know the sex of yet. I was not supposed to be reaching for my menstrual cup and dreading the next few days. I was supposed to be enjoying the next few days; the first few days of my baby's life. We were supposed to be snuggled in bed, surrounded by love and family. I was supposed to be taking in his scent, sniffing his vernix caked head, touching every inch of his little body, getting to know his soul by staring deep into his dark blue newborn eyes. His cries were supposed to cue my milk to flow, he coos were meant to make us fall deeply in love; the kind of love people search a thousand moons for. I was going to get to watch the kids fall head over heels for their new baby; I would die to watch them flood his little body in kisses and love.
But it wont be and it might never be. The last four months were spent focusing on Nicole. I was happy, or so I thought. Then today came, and it feels like the world is crashing down around me. Like the progress I thought I had made didn't exist at all. Like I was picked up in a tornado and thrown right back down into a mess of hell. Now my body cramps, and its not the kind of cramps that put a baby in your arms, just the kind that leaves a bloody mess in the toilet and is a nice smack in the face reminder that your womb is empty. My womb, the place I used to love and cherish and appreciate for growing me three wonderful children has become a place of darkness for me now. I didn't make the mistake, did you? Why did you fuck it all up and kill my son. Who do I get to blame for this? No one. There's no one to blame but me.
There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of him or that someone doesn't bring him up. He is basically everywhere which is comforting but unfair in the same breath. Did you ever want something so bad and you just can't have it? Theres nothing to put effort in to, no place to channel energy, no work to be done. You. Just. Can't. Have. It. Ever. Its torturous and it feels like theres a small corner of hell inside of me when I think about it. I feel like I'm trapped in a burning room and when I peer through the keyhole I can see him, he is beautiful. He is so happy. He is purely amazing. He carries this light with him and it shines so bright. But I can't get to him and I'll never get to him so I cozy up in the corner of hell and remain. Remain in this place where I see the most beautiful creature that I created and can't ever see him or hold him.
It's so unfair right? It's unfair to my children, it's unfair to my husband, my friends, my family, everyone; that I take up space and my mind is putting energy into something I should probably just get over. There is Nicole wallowing in her miscarriage, after all doesn't almost everyone experience this at some point in their lives? I mean 1 in 4 pregnancies end in loss. So I can look around and basically assume that almost everyone, of childbearing age, on this earth has experienced a loss themselves or supported their partner through one. Knowing this does not minimize my pain, it does however minimize my son, but it doesn't minimize the hole left in my being.
You cannot' receive grace without putting in the work first.
I asked Maxine to come over the other day and take some photos. She would have likely been taking maternity photos for me on this day but we cant really call them maternity photos I guess. I told her about a few things I used to do in the early days to cope with the loss of Porter. One of them was listen to music. I turned on the sonos when we started and as she went to leave to check on our kids who were playing in the other room, Vance Joy came on the radio, and I lost it. I laid there on my bed hysterically crying. It was the biggest release I had experienced in a while. I cry often, but usually alone. This time I cried the uglies in front of Max, multiple times in one hour. I showed her the cotton I had purchased to go up on a wall with Porters star registry certificate that a very special friend in Australia had sent me along with the blue porter blanket. The wall was supposed to be where his ashes rested, the cotton hung, and the certificate adorned but it hasn't felt right to put it all up yet. So his ashes rest either next to my bed or across from my bed; wherever I feel like they should be.
Photos by Max Grey