Brian has been urging me to get back to blogging again. I told him I couldn't yet, because I would have to write about our loss. And he said that I did NOT in fact have to write about it, but could just move forward with something else. Write about Fletcher. Or Rowan. Or whatever. But I can't just move forward without acknowledging our baby that we just lost. I know it's not a fun topic for a blog post. I know this post won't be funny. Or witty. Or flippant. Or fun to read. It's also not going to be fun to write. But I HAVE TO WRITE IT. Because I can't move forward without pausing in my current sorrow. And the sorrow is overwhelming right now. I'm trying not to wallow in the sorrow, but to allow myself to pause in it. I don't want to become petrified by it, but just pause in it. I don't want to become lodged and paralyzed in it, but I will pause in it. I have no idea how long this pause will last, but here I am. Paused.
And the facts of the matter are that my water broke at 20 weeks pregnant, and two days later I went into labor and had a baby boy many weeks too soon to allow for his survival. And I've searched mentally for any reason that this happened, but there seems to be none. My mind keeps washing over the few days before my water broke, wearing my memories smooth. Did I feel pain? Did I feel cramping? Did I... cause this? And of course the "answer" is NO. But my heart nags at the question in such a way that I can't help but revisit the days before I lost our baby.
Our baby. Was a boy. We named him Cormac Michael. He was 7.8 ounces and 9 inches long. He was beautiful. He was tiny, a miniature of a perfectly formed baby boy. It broke our hearts to see him before it was time. It broke our hearts to say goodbye to him before it was time. We held him and kissed him before it was time.
And it happened on the first day of 2014.