Term Date

So today is my term date. For those who don't know what that means, it means the day that your baby is ready to enter the world, healthy enough to be born without problems, fully cooked. For those who know me, you know that this is always the date I look forward to. I'm usually huge and so uncomfortable at this point and so impatient to have my baby in my arms, and part of what adds to this is the excitement that it could be any moment before that baby arrives. Any day between this and the due date could be my baby's birthday and that anticipation is so fun. I usually have a really cool date in mind-one that would be the perfect day to have a birthday. Oh, I love the term date. But not this one. This one is an awful reminder that I don't have that baby coming any day, that my delivery date is long gone, and so is my baby. I'm pretty much a horrible miserable wreck today. This is worse than I expected it to be. It's just so hard to be here and my heart is breaking all over again. I don't understand why this had to be so hard.

It doesn't help that it's that time of year. You know, the most "wonderful time of the year". I've read enough to know that the due date and the holidays are hard for any one who has experienced a baby loss. It's known that the holidays are horrible for any one grieving anyway. But I got a double whammy with this one. The due date & holidays mixed right in together. I've always been such a big fan of all holidays, but my favorites are Easter and Christmas. I love that Easter has always been about the rebirth of our Savior and Christmas has always been about birth of our Savior. The greatest thing, that birth, is what is so hard. This holiday, Christmas, is all about one thing....a baby. There's not another holiday all about a baby. I've always tried to really make an effort to remember that the true meaning of Christmas is about that birth. This year, thinking about a birth is the hardest thing for me to do. I can barely make it through the nativity story without breaking down in tears (sorry for all that had to witness that at the RS party). I wanted so badly to have a Christmas baby, to feel the humbleness of the greatest gift the Lord could give us, besides His son, at this time of year and instead I just feel this incredible ache for what I thought I'd have. While I've tried to remember the birth of a baby boy that changed the entire world, I can't help but think of the stillbirth of my baby boy that has changed my entire world.

Maybe this would be a little easier to go through if I didn't know so many people having babies right now. It's like the biggest baby boom I've seen in years. I want so badly to be the person I was before and be able to hold their babies, gush over them, or even be able to look at them, but I can't. It hurts. It's awful. It's a huge visible reminder of what I don't have and what I won't have in my arms in this lifetime. There's so many really pregnant women and newborn babies right now, everywhere I go. Maybe I notice it more than most because of my loss, but it seems like I can't go anywhere without a belly in my face. I've been trying so badly to get my Christmas shopping done quickly because I can't bear the thought of running into one more belly in the stores. I entered one store last week with my kids and there was no one in there, but within minutes there were two very pregnant ladies and one with a newborn. I lost it. I left the store bawling...and the people probably wondering what the heck was wrong with me and my kids knowing and having no way to help me. Everywhere I turn, there's another reminder, without even mentioning the friends and acquaintances, and many members from my ward that just had or are about to have their babies. It shocks me still, takes my breath away, and brings tears to my eyes. Pregnancy is just such a visible thing. Not many other trials are so in your face. I see all of these shining moms-to-be, full of joy and hope, and I can't help but ache to be one of them. I've even seen those moms that look so uncomfortable with their bellies so heavy and I long for that. I just want to stay home and not go anywhere right now so I don't have to be hit with the pain so much and that's not like me. I'm having such a hard time adjusting to this new me.

That's another thing, I'm a new me. I'm not the same as I used to be and don't expect to ever be that person again. I hope that eventually I'll return to my happy go lucky self and be able to enjoy things again. I know it's not likely to happen soon, the way I feel now, but maybe someday. I know I'll always be changed by this though. I know that my husband misses his fun wife and that my kids miss the mom that took them to fun places instead of cooping herself up in the house so I don't have to be confronted with more pain. I have tried so badly to go through the motions of getting myself back out there, celebrating their favorite traditions, putting a smile on my face, and trying to be the mom they know, but I know I'm faking it. I ache that they have to see me so miserable, that they are the ones that have to comfort their mother, when that's my job, and I'm failing so badly at it.

I ache for their loss of Gabriel too. I didn't just lose a baby, so did my husband. My kids lost a brother. His death leaves a gaping spot in our family and we all miss him. It's hard to see kids struggling with grief. It doesn't always come out as sadness and we've had more than our share of some pretty angry meltdowns in response to the slightest of disappointments. We get the tears too at times. It's so hard to see my kids talk about this baby brother that they don't get to have now, to see their eyes fill with tears as they ask to listen to his song, because it brings them comfort. It's the only thing they have of him. He was so greatly anticipated around here by his brothers and sisters. All Alexis wants for Christmas is a baby and the other day she said, "Mom, I want a baby, a real baby." Kade talks about Gabriel the most, always telling me how much he misses him, and asking to hear his song the second we get in the car. Nick told me last night that he wished Gabriel was here so he could just give him one hug. Skylar told me that she sometimes gets so overwhelmed that she doesn't know what to do. I told her she could talk about Gabriel and cry about him too. I think sometimes the attention is so on me, that they get forgotten and feel that they aren't allowed to feel the pain too.

I hate when people make comments to them and me that we should just feel blessed that we still have four kids, like Gabriel's life and the loss of him didn't matter because we still have each other to be grateful for. We are grateful for each other, but we miss Gabriel at the same time. I get a lot of those comments and they don't help at all. It makes me feel as if people think that just because we grieve over one that we've forgotten how much we still have. I am thankful for every single moment I have with those four but none of my children are dispensable. Gabriel was just as much our child, just as much my kids' brother, and we all ache for him.

I get the idea that many people think it's high time that I move on and get "over this." Well, I'm not, not even close, and I'm fine with that. I don't want to be depressed and miserable about Gabriel's loss forever, but I think I'm okay to be where I am. It's still new. I haven't even made it to the due date yet. I haven't made it through my first Christmas with his loss. I have yet to make it through a day without crying about him. Yep, I haven't made it one day, not one single day, in these last four months, without breaking down at least once. Maybe people think I'm wallowing in it and choosing to be this way, but I'm not. I am grieving and I should be. I lost a child, one of the greatest losses any one ever has to go through. Just because no one else knew him, doesn't mean that his life does not deserve to be grieved over. I knew him and I talked to him and I felt his body move inside mine, I held him in my arms and I love him, so very, very much. I have felt him watching over our family even now. He will always be my son and I will never get over him.

I'm so thankful for the people that allow me to feel pain still and even especially those that feel it with me. I'm thankful for those that tolerate and still love me, even the new me. I am thankful for those that give me the only gift that really matters right now, remembering and loving my Gabriel right along with me.

"If you know someone who has lost a child, and you're afraid to mention them because you think you might make them sad by reminding them that they died-you're not reminding them. They didn't forget they died. What you're reminding them of is that you remember that they lived, and that is a great gift." ~ Elizabeth Edwards July 3, 1949-December 7, 2010