I was still very heavily medicated, but I remember that moment with great clarity. It was just like the movies, just like TV. I don't know if I had asked already, and was being ignored, or if I thought I was asking multiple times, and was in fact to drugged to speak, however it felt like I had asked 100 times; "How's my Baby?"
Dianne's face came into my view above my face, just like the movies, the space around her face was still blurry, the noises around us were faded, I heard her voice clearly though; "Your baby didn't make it, hunny." Dianne is my Midwife. She is in pain.
I remember feeling her pain more than my own. I couldn't feel anything quite yet, but I remember hearing the pain in her voice. I remember thinking that she was speaking to me like I was a child. Not in a condescending way, instead like she was approaching a child who was scared. A gentle, calm, "It's going to be okay" kind of voice. Nothing was okay, but I hadn't quite processed that future yet. I then have a faint memory of Dianne telling me, that my baby was with her Dad.
The next thing I clearly remember was seeing my grandmother, and my cousin crying, as they wheeled me into the elevator. My cousin had lost her daughter shortly after her birth at 22 weeks. Now she was watching me feel that pain.
Vaguely I hear my Moms voice, I can't see her yet, or hear what she's saying, but I later find out that they tried to tell her she couldn't follow me up in the elevator. Her baby just lost her baby, if they think they can stop her from coming with me, then their plans will soon change. Suddenly I can feel her hand holding mine, she's rubbing my arm. I start to cry. I'm starting to understand what's happening. My baby is not coming home. I ask her to call my photographer, Zelli. "I need Zelli, call Zelli... I need Born To Fly." I'm starting to fall back asleep, and everything is getting foggy again.
"Born To Fly is a non profit organization that provides bereavement photography for families who's baby's get there wings too soon" That is how Zelli defines her services, it is an extension of her business "Zi Photography". Born To Fly, I'd later find out, is so so much more than that. While I was in that elevator I didn't know much, what I did know, is I needed a picture of my daughter. I wanted a photo.
A lot of my other memories haven't returned to me, they likely never will. I kick myself all the time, because I don't remember the first time I saw her. I don't remember the first time I held her. How does someone not remember that? Even with everything going on, even with all the meds in my system, if I can remember hearing about her death, if I can remember seeing my gram in passing, or begging for a photographer on the elevator, why can't I picture the first time I held her. Why is that a memory that never stuck out? What kind of parent can't visualize that. The only thing I remember from that moment was being surprised that she was still warm. I was holding her lifeless body, but she was still warm.
She is perfect, other then the fact that she is not breathing. She is the most beautiful baby I have ever seen, she looks like Matthew, she looks like my mom. I created this perfect child, and my body failed her, her heart was beating when we got to the hospital. Now, it's not. She was so close. 39 weeks and 5 days. If I could have kept her going for more hours my world would be perfect. Instead my baby is dead, and it's all my fault.
I thought denial was the first stage of grief, I couldn't deny what was in front of me, I never denied it for a second. I accepted it the moment that Dianne told me. Guilt however, I'm mastering this stage.
Right now, we are home. It's been 18 days, I have survived this horror for 18 days. Her Dad is cooking me dinner, we are watching Sunday night football. From the outside looking in, everything is just as it always was. We are different though. So different. I should be endlessly trying to put my baby to sleep. Our lives seriously, are quite the same as they always were, but we are so, so, different.
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