Feeling Alone

I've gotten to this point where I just feel so alone. I don't feel like I really fit anywhere now. I really don't feel like I have anyone out there that honestly knows how I feel, even Ben, who readily admits that he doesn't. He is so supportive and helpful but our grief over Gabriel is different, and that's okay, but at the same time, it's lonely being where I am. I know that the Savior is with me, but right now it feels like it's that part in the Footprints poem where there's just one set of footprints and I can't always feel Him, as much as I know He wouldn't abandon me. I have never felt so alone and it's not just emotionally, it's physically too. I miss my baby being here-the weight of my growing belly, and his little flutters. It is the emptiest feeling.

I've been reading a lot about miscarriage and losing a child since Gabriel died. I guess some of it has been helpful but at times it just makes me feel more alone. I most definitely know I'm not alone in infant loss, and loss in general, and I ache for every one that has had to go through it. However, I feel like I'm in this weird category without anybody in it-late miscarriage. It just isn't very common. I don't know anyone else personally that has ever been here. Early miscarriages sadly happen all of the time-1 in 4 pregnancies. Cord accidents happen only 1 in 1000. They are considered a "freak accident". When I went into my 2 wk. checkup, after finding out how far along I had been when the baby died, the nurse said, "Wow. That never happens." It just made me feel awful, like some horribly weird person, and completely alone.

One of the books I've read shares others' feelings about miscarriages. Not many people that have a miscarriage get to see their baby at all, often left wondering what the gender was, and even sometimes if their baby was real. That thought just makes me feel so badly for them. Of course their babies are real! Last year Ben and I had the opportunity to go to the Body Worlds exhibit and they had these tiny babies that had died at different gestations. I was so in awe of these tiny little bodies, so perfectly formed, even early on. They are very real babies, even from the beginning. I feel grateful that I was able to hold Gabriel in my arms, to look at his little fingers and toes, and marvel over how perfectly formed he was. Sometimes I feel like the term miscarriage just doesn't give weight to our experience with Gabriel, as silly as that sounds, because I labored with him, gave birth, and held him. I don't know what to call it, because he doesn't qualify as a stillborn, but yet he was born. He doesn't even qualify to be on a family record sheet listed as a stillborn, but yet I felt his little body move in mine and I held that little body in my hands. He's my son and part of our eternal family. I almost feel like I have to explain to others because they won't understand the gravity of his birth and death, why it is so hard for me, and why I am grieving so much.

In the gospel, there aren't many answers about the death of infants. There are some, but even especially fewer when it comes to miscarriages. Joseph Smith said, "The Lord takes many away, even in infancy, that they may escape the envy of man, and the sorrows and evils of this present world; they were too pure, too lovely, to live on earth." We know that babies are perfect, having never sinned, and it's been promised that they will be raised from infancy after the resurrection, but I still have many questions. Skylar and I were talking about this the other day and she showed me in her illustrated Doctrine and Covenants about the promises of that day that she had recently read about. It will be such a joy to raise Gabriel then, when I don't have to worry about him ever being in pain or feeling sadness. Knowing these things does help, but it doesn't take away the sense of emptiness that I have right now. I still have to face the rest of my mortality without my little Gabriel. Sometimes the hardest moments for me are watching my children play happily together. I know I'll get to raise Gabriel, but he doesn't get to be a part of my other kid's childhood. They will never get to play together and have that sibling bond on this earth. I understand that because I have always felt that with my sister who died and I feel this incredible loss for them because of that. I have done my best to talk about him as much as they are comfortable, so that they do feel that he is their brother, and that he will always be a part of our lives.

Over the last year or so I've come to just hate death and all the people it leaves hurting. There is comfort in the gospel but sometimes the pain just overrides that and there's no stopping it, as strong as my testimony is about the plan of salvation. Before this I've never really had a fear of death and actually thought it was a good thing. I've always seen it as a release for whomever had died and always thought how happy and peaceful they must be. About 6 years ago now, both of my grandpas, whom I've always felt close to and love very much, died within 6 months of each other and I really, honestly felt joy for them. I miss them incredibly but I know that they lived long lives and are now with loved ones. When my Grandpa Jensen died, the family members that knew the gospel, were actually happy for him. He was 102 and had lived a good life and had a ton of posterity around him, but when he died, we knew he had so many more waiting for him on the other side, including my grandma, who died 25 years before. His funeral was kind of a celebration and the only ones that were sad were those without the gospel. When my Grandpa Henricksen died a few months later, I felt so relieved for him to be out of his pain, and the pain I felt was actually for my grandma, because I knew she would miss him. I feel so grateful that I had two wonderful grandpas and such great memories of having them throughout my life. I miss my grandpas all of the time, but I'm happy for them.

I feel the same about Gabriel. I know he is where he's supposed to be, and he's happy and I really am happy for him. His life on this earth was just a short one, but it was what he needed to do. Ben and I have talked about what an amazing boy he must be and we can't wait to meet him. I hate that I don't know anything about him. I hate that I have few concrete memories of his life. I remember feeling him kick and move for a few weeks, but that's really all I have. The rest of the memories I have of him are painful and sad. I can't even begin to describe how much it hurts to hold your baby in your arms and have to say goodbye before you've even had a chance to say hello.

I have been trying to be strong. I'm trying to get back to normal and do the things that will help me to move through this. It's hard. It's still minute to minute. I will have a good day and then something will happen. It could be a comment someone makes, or just seeing someone who is as pregnant as I should be, or hearing a song that has nothing to do with anything but one line sticks out to me. Then the whole world seems to crash in again. I keep thinking that maybe it will get easier, but this week was definitely harder than last, and I can only imagine how awful it is going to feel when my due date approaches. Another thing is that I feel like everyone feels I should be better now or that I don't want to talk about it so they don't say anything. I know at first that I didn't want to talk, but it wasn't that I didn't want to talk about it, it was that I couldn't then. I know it probably makes others uncomfortable to talk about it too, so I understand that. It's a part of every moment of my life now and I know it's probably just a brief thought for everyone else. But it's just another thing that adds to my loneliness. What a horrible feeling this is.