Tears for what might have been

December 16, 2009 was hard. Really hard. It was the day that all of my idealistic, giddy pregnancy notions were wiped away, forever. It was a day that I learned how heart wrenching parenthood can be. It was a day that I remember in snippets, almost as if it didn't really happen to me and I was watching it through a piece of foggy glass.

One year ago I went into preterm labor with Owen. We knew things weren't right and were ready to deal with a cerclage and possible limitations - we weren't ready to see contractions 3 minutes apart on the monitor.

I remember the long tape of waves that my doctor pulled up and then canceled our procedure.

I don't remember how I got to my room in the prenatal intensive care unit.

I remember Jeremy watching the monitor with his very scared almost-doctor-face, willing the contractions to stop.

I remember asking him how big a baby is at 27 weeks.

I remember he said, "Not big enough."

I don't remember what I ate, or if I ate. 

I remember signing the papers that the nurse brought, the papers that gave my permission for my baby to be taken away immediately and given all means necessary to save his life. I looked down at my signature -- it was barely legible.

I remember a conversation that Jeremy and I had to have. A conversation that hurts just thinking about. We decided that if I were to give birth to our tiny son, no matter what happened, that Jeremy would stay with him. Go with him. Anywhere. No matter what. Because if he only had a short time in this big wide world - he would never be alone and he would know that he was loved.

I remember wishing away that lullaby. 

And I don't remember much after that. That's enough isn't it? Enough to rip your heart out? I couldn't talk about it or write about it. All I did was pray to myself and listen to his tiny heartbeat.

I met a new part of my husband that day. The part who returned all of the phone calls on our behalf and wrote a blog and slept in a chair holding my hand all night long. I met Owen's Daddy that day.

We were reminded that we have friends, lots of really wonderful friends spread out across the country. We had family hugging us from afar and we had strangers praying for us in churches and temples.

While it was an awful day, it turned into another day, and another, and another. Jeremy wrote, "we hope that this period is measured in months and not days." -- and it was. 

I'm scared out of my mind to see two pink lines again. My happy pregnancy whims have turned to fear and all I can see is an exhausting, cautious 36 week countdown. I hope time will heal those wounds. I hope one day I am brave enough to try again. Because it was all worth it.

And that heart wrenching feeling... it never went away. I discovered it is a part of me now. He is a part of me now. And while having a child has made my heart soar to places I've never imagined, the visceral worry lingers in the background. And when he falls or crys out or won't eat -- it pounces.

And today, as all those memories come flooding back, I look at my beautiful, healthy son and pray for those Mama's who aren't as lucky as I was. Because I am lucky and thankful and blessed.

To be his Mama.