×
Losing Your Child Is A Pain Like No Other And The Grief Never Goes Away

Losing Your Child Is A Pain Like No Other And The Grief Never Goes Away

What was then the lifeless body in my shaking hands has now taken the form of my thoughts, and it's forever going to be a part of me, one that I'll never let go. It's a reminder. Of everything I have loved and everything, my baby girl could have been. 

I've always believed that time truly does heal all wounds, but that may not be the case always. It's been five years. Five long years since the happiest day of my life also turned into my worst nightmare. Growing up, I've always been quite scared of hospitals, always avoiding it because it gave me the creeps.

But, being pregnant meant regular visits to the hospitals, and surprisingly, I did not mind at all. It meant that I could make sure my baby girl was healthy and I could whatever was in my power to keep her safe. So, when the time came for her to come out into the real world, I did not panic. In fact, I couldn't have been happier. 



 

 

I'd been preparing for this very moment! Most of it, to be honest, was quite a blur. I was wheeled into the labor room, but somehow, there was this nagging feeling I had, one I just couldn't throw off.  It's been five years since that day and I remember each minute like it was yesterday.

I was hooked up to a lot of monitors and all of them started to beep, one after the other. Doctors and nurses were just running around trying to salvage the situation, one that I had no idea about. 



 

 

Soon enough, my precious little baby was out in the real world, but I couldn't hear her cry. No one around me seemed to tell me anything and the tears of happiness turned into tears of sorrow.

My questions went unanswered and my husband stood there, holding my hand, weeping silently. The doctor came up to me, holding a lifeless lump. She said, "We tried everything we could," but that's all I heard. I really don't remember what happened after. 



 

 

I woke up later in a cold hospital bedroom. My husband was beside me, holding my hand. The pain I felt was quite inapprehensible. Wherever I looked, I was reminded of her. I felt like a piece of me was missing, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Grief consumed me in a way I never knew, and there was nothing I could do about it. A few days later, I came back home, and instead of feeling comfortable, I only felt more grief, if that was even possible. 



 

 

We'd been getting our home ready for our baby girl, child-proofing everything, and going all out and having the nursery painted a pretty pastel color and exploding with toys and clothes for her. I remember how I felt when I came home after the burial and crying into my husband's chest.

It took me around two years to clear out all her stuff and shift it all to the attic. Even though it's been five years without her, I still burst into tears when I see the boxes. I just can't get myself to give them away. 



 

 

As I said, I doubt that time does heal all wounds. Sure, I don't break down as frequently as I once used to. Even when I see moms push around their newborns in their strollers, I can manage a smile and keep my composure. Certainly, it's taken me some time, but I know I've come a long way from where I've started. Dealing with the loss of my first child was not easy, but I've made it this far.



 

 

I hope, someday, when I've given myself enough time to heal, I'll get over this pain. I know that rushing into anything won't take the pain away. I hope, with time, the loneliness and emptiness I sometimes experience at home fade away. And, oh, the grief.  It sure does come in all shapes and sizes.

What was then the lifeless body in my shaking hands has now taken the form of my thoughts, and it's forever going to be a part of me, one that I'll never let go. It's a reminder. Of everything I have loved and everything, my baby girl could have been. 



 

Disclaimer : The views expressed in this article belong to the writer and are not necessarily shared by gomcgill.com

Recommended for you