I’m sitting here, numb. Since finding out that Nolan was no longer breathing I’ve gone through cycles of numbness, tears and deep deep pain, and then times where my kids can make me laugh and I feel like the world might be alright.
The times that I do well seem to be when my kids are awake and home from school. The times that I seem to do the worst are first thing in the morning and once the kids go to bed. I hate being left alone with my feelings. I hate feeling.
I’m famous for blocking out my pain. It’s easy and what I find most convenient. But with this, I’m not allowing myself to. Because I know that the longer I block it out, the longer and more painful it will become.
Some days I feel like I shouldn’t be as sad as I am because I was only 17 weeks ( on my watch ) and no one else seems to care. Everyone else seems to be moving on with their lives and then there is me. Stuck in a world of pain. Unable to think past tomorrow and even dress myself.
I just sit on the couch and think. Think to when I found out, think to the days and hours before I had our precious baby boy. Think to the moment I had him.
Wishing I had carried him just a little bit longer. Wishing I had held him a few more minutes.
But we can’t go back in time.
I spend hours each day thinking that maybe I had too hot of baths, or I shouldn’t of moved or stressed myself and that the deep anxiety caused him to pass. I scrutinize every.single.thing I did.
When I look down, I still see my pregnant tummy and for a bit, the world seems okay. Then I realize that my pregnant tummy no longer is the home of a baby boy. It’s only a empty womb of a mother in deep pain.
I sometimes feel that I should just get pregnant again so I can cover up this deep pain. But it wont ever work like that. Nolan will never come back. He will never be replace. I will never be okay with him dying.
As I sit here, I’m in my numb state. I don’t think I could write these words in one of my states where I actually feel and hurt. I become paralyzed and I just want to roll up into a ball and wish myself back to before. Before when he was still wrapped up inside me.
After I laboured and had our son, I had a shot of Morphine ( which I am so so thankful for ). I don’t really feel like it numbed the pain or contractions, but it numbed my brain. It allowed our time saying goodbye to him so peaceful. Gentle quiet tears streamed down my face as I looked at him, and touched his hands, tummy and face. I occasionally looked up at Glen, who also had quiet tears streaming down his face and kept asking what we should name him. We had no boy names picked out, only girl names.
He kept saying “I don’t know…” between muffled tears.
He kept holding my hand and rubbing my back. I shook in peace. It’s one of the hardest things I have ever had to go through in our life. It’s something that has and will continue to strengthen our marriage.
I finally looked up at Glen and God put a name into my head. Our little boy, the size of my hand with a chubby little belly looked like a “Nolan Daniel Morris”. Thank God for putting that name on my heart, or our little boy would still be nameless.
We just stared at him for 30 minutes. The nurses wanted us to keep him attached to his placenta for testing when we sent him away, so we couldn’t put him on our chests. I so badly wish we would of just cut the cord and snuggled him, but I can’t go back in time.
The nurses were the most amazing. My doctors were non existent, but these nurses held my hand, rubbed my back, cried with me, and took care of me. I could barely get out of bed and they literally carried me to the bathroom and cleaned my up, brushed away my tears and held me up. I will never forget the kindness of our nurses. I will someday find a way to thank them.
This is a photo of our son, Nolan Daniel. The photos are in black & white so you cannot see details like his eyes and such.. but this shows his size and his little hands and toes.
Now, the most hardest times seem to come when I’m alone and all the firsts. My very first bath having Nolan outside of my was the worst. I just cried myself to sleep that night. But time will heal.
I’m doing my best to let myself feel and let myself hurt. But I’m not a sad person, and it’s so hard for me to let myself feel. But time will heal and Gods peace will cover us daily.
Continue to pray for our little family. Our hearts still hurt. It isn’t a quick fix and it isn’t going to go away after a day or two.
Sorry if my grammar, spelling and thoughts are very “off”. Thank you for listening.
Sandra MacDonald says
November 8, 2016 at 2:52 pmMay God hold you in His arms during this difficult time. Know in your heart that it didn’t happen because you did something wrong. Wrap yourself in your family’s love and be strong. You express yourself beautifully, tears streamed down my face as I read your words.
Jessica-Sara Morris says
November 9, 2016 at 12:55 pmThank you so much for your kind words.
Tauna Elkins Miller says
November 9, 2016 at 10:25 pmOh Jess. I’m so sorry. And I know those are ridiculous words when the pain is so strong. I know the pain you are feeling from my own experiences and there is nothing that anyone can say to help the terrible lonely ache in your heart. But to hold on to my words of hope. Hold on. There is a tomorrow out there that you will feel him happy in the arms of his Heavenly Father. You will feel comfort along with sorrow. You will have the lifting arms and the nudge to smile again. You will see him again. He loves you and despite the heaviness all around you now, you will one day feel that love from him and his desire for you to be happy. You are not alone. I will be praying for administering angels to surround your sweet broken heart to help bear you up.
theruggedrooster@gmail.com says
November 10, 2016 at 2:35 pmThank you so so much for your words. You have no idea how much they mean to me. I’m just praying my openness touches another soul.
Kathiandben says
November 21, 2016 at 6:25 pmJess,
I’m so sorry. I lost my baby at 13 weeks. I’m 44 and have had 5 children since, but that little baby’s death is still close to my heart. To some, this may sound strange considering I’ve since carried and given birth to healthy babies. But to those that haven’t had a loss like this, trust me, it’s indescribable. Yes the pain subsides, but the memory of the heartbreak still finds me, even after all this time.
My experience was terribly traumatizing. I was sent home to miscarry . I went through the labor pain, the spotting,my water breaking and then, unbeknownst to me, the birth. My sister was there and decided to nonchalantly tell me 10 years later that she brought the baby to the hospital for testing. I had miscarried when I “thought” I was urinating and had sat on the toilet. I was in so much pain,both physical and emotional. I didn’t see my little baby. I never knew exactly what had happened because I had started to hemorrhage. I was then rushed to the hospital and informed that I had to then have an emergency d&c. I remember the nurses rushing around and constantly changing the bed covering pad because of all the blood. I was so sad. I was scared and cold. I remember being on the surgery take outside of the surgery room and hearing two people arguing about who was going to have to clean me up and get me ready for the procedure. I don’t know who they were. I’m guessing they were nurses. I just remember crying softly alone outside of that room and then I was out. Everything had happened so quickly. I started out with just a couple of drops of blood to an unforgettable heartbreak in just 1 day.
This is the first time I’ve actually even really described what had happened. I read about your loss and I just want to say that, “I understand and I’m so very sorry”.
Just this year I was at a fair. One of the booths that was set up was a pro-life booth. I walked over to their table and in a little basket they had little life like babies at the age of 12 weeks in-utero. They were $1. That $1 bought me a representative. A representative of that little life I lost when I was 13 weeks a long. Since I haven’t a clue what sex my baby was I chose one with a little green blanket. This little baby that I could hold in the palm of my hand is now just tucked away and now there’s more than just the horrible experience to think of. I can now see what I was, and even now still at times, mourning over.
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡Kathi
theruggedrooster@gmail.com says
November 21, 2016 at 11:44 pmOh mama…. I’m so so sorry that your sweet baby is also in heaven. but I’m so overjoyed to hear that you have so many wonderful kids to love at home. I think that is the only thing helping me get through is our beautiful babies. They make me laugh, they snuggle me and they somehow make everything okay.
I think eventually we will try for another baby.. but now my heart hurts as you know so well too. Thank you for sharing your pain and your baby with me. Something that no one can ever take away from you is your memories and the pain. Our pain attaches us to our babies that will never be forgotten.
Feel free to add me on facebook, I’d love to connect with you more 🙂 Jessica-Sara Morris