The alarm buzzes.
I struggle to wake.
My eyes are stinging; begging to go back to sleep.
I want this day to be over.
I’m not ready.
It’s not fair; This can’t be happening.
I feel a hand on my back; rubbing for comfort.
My husband is awake.
My body goes through the motions of getting dressed; putting on whatever is on the floor.
I slowly open the door to my kids rooms; give them each a gentle kiss on the forehead.
They are peacefully sleeping.
The car ride is quiet; there is nothing to say.
My husband grabs my hand; we walk through the doors.
That stale smell hits you; the hospital.
I find myself holding my stomach; trying to hold on to him longer.
He’s gone though.
The nurses start talking to me; asking me questions.
I’m in a fog; going through the motions.
Conflicting emotions; wanting this all to be over yet wanting none of this to happen at all.
They take me back; I feel the IV going into my arm.
The mask on my face; drifting off to sleep.
They are taking him.
I feel the sting of my eyes again; for the second time today they don’t want to wake up.
The lights are bright; disoriented.
The pain; the cramps.
I quickly remember; He’s gone.
My husband finds me; His eyes have tears.
Mine have none; I’m numb.
No longer holding my stomach; there’s nothing left.
The world goes on; no one can see.
My invisible pain for an ‘invisible’ baby; No one knew him like I did.
& now my invisible grief.
Today marks the 3rd ‘birth’ day of my son Triton who i lost at 13+ weeks gestation. This is his birth story & the most difficult post i’ve written to date.
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