A Mother's Loss

The date is June 14, 1994. You’re lying on the dreaded sofa. You don’t know why you actually came to one of these god-for-saken places. All you know is that you need someone to talk to. Someone that isn’t your husband.

Suddenly, all the memories are flashing through your mind. All the times you prayed and prayed for an answer.. All the times you wished you could be the one to bear a child, just like your sisters. You remember the feeling of longing in your heart; carving out your insides. You can still feel the pain pouring around you as you cry in front of a stranger.

You finally got your chance to be a mother and just like that, it was gone. Your unborn child had just been moving a few hours before you decided to call and make an appointment. You knew something was wrong. You can still hear the nurse telling you, “I will be right back,” as she hurried to get your doctor. You could feel the tension in the room. “I’m so sorry,” he said to you. The room turned dark and your breaths became slowed while your lungs felt thick in your body, suddenly taking up all the room you had to offer.

The next day on January 3, 1994, they set you up in the hospital to deliver your dead baby. The baby you tried to conceive for ten years. The baby you knew would have been your world. You delivered the baby and learned it was a beautiful girl. She was fully formed with a head full of hair. She was a thirty-six weeker who could have survived had you gained your motherly instincts just a few hours before. She looked just like your husband, who was sitting on your hospital bed next to you sniffling between the stories you told of who you thought she would be.

You find strength in your faith and you tell yourself that everything happens for a reason when you’re with your husband. But, then you’re alone when he goes off to work and you notice how unbelievably empty you feel. You blame God and wonder why He would allow something like that to happen to you.

You leave the stranger and his sofa to get some air, but really you just need to leave and get away. You have to try and think of something else. Anything else.

Back home, your room is still filled with ultrasounds and cards and condolences. You know that when you return, they will still be there, watching you. Seeing the way you cry yourself to sleep at night when your husband has drifted off to a sweet slumber.

Bitterness is the only thing left in your heart next to the never ending pain you feel day after day. You hate that he sleeps so soundly just six months after your dead baby was ripped from you. And you’re left with the physical pain from having a child, without the child.

You see her in everything you do and you hear her cries that never exited her body. At night, you wake up thinking she is right next to you, but it’s only your husband, asleep and unaware of the unending anguish you can’t seem to get over.

*****

The date is February 22, 1999. You lie awake in your hospital bed at four in the morning. The past nine months have been nothing but agony. Every day, you knew the outcome you were to face one day. Every day, the pain steadily got worse and worse.

As the nurses trickle in to check on you and your unborn child, you try to keep your composure. Heartbeat is 152. They ask if there is anything they can get you and you say, “No,” but you want to say, “please let me keep my baby.” The pain seeps deeper inside your veins as you wait for your body to be ready to rid yourself of the blessing you will never enjoy.

1…2..3..push! Five rounds of pushing what seems like an elephant out of your body and the little baby girl is born. You ask to see her. To hold her just for an hour until her new family takes her away. Looking into her innocent eyes, you suddenly see all the reasons why you are doing what you hate to do.

You want this sweet child to have all the things in life that you could never give her. Though the thought of not having her to hold on your toughest of days, the image of her never going hungry puts your mind at ease. Such a sweet baby that has the world at her feet, thanks to her capable mom and dad who can give her all the things she deserves.

You blame yourself. You hate yourself for not doing things right like your parents warned you. Fifteen-years-old and you thought it was just a party. A party that your friends said would be just a few people. A few turned to multiple and then that number doubled. You were nervous because you never got out of the house. It was a miracle your mother even let you go to the party in the first place. But, you did.

And you just had to drink the drink your friend’s older brother got for you. You knew something wasn’t right. He has never even given you the time of day. But, he did that night and you reveled in it. He asked you to go to the nearest bedroom and “talk.” Of course, you did.

And that is where he raped you. Your fifteen-year-old body lying lifeless beneath his. Your screams were left unheard. Toby told you to be calm. That he wasn’t hurting you. He said it would only take a minute. And a minute of torture turned into months of regret. Regret for ever ignoring your intuition.

Your mother told you that no baby conceived by rape would be in her family. Especially for a fifteen-year-old. She said that no one would ever invite her to anything if some rape child was a part of the family. You hate her, but you needed a place to stay. Now, you’re about to give her away. You’re about to sign away any rights you could ever have to her.

Your mother never contacted any adoption agency. She said that she could find your baby a home on her own. She said she didn’t want to hear another word about it as you screamed at her for not giving you the option. Your mother told you that a fifteen-year-old has no rights. She said to be happy she didn’t order an abortion as your eyes welled up with tears. The way she looked standing over you that day is etched in your broken mind. Your body was balled up. Lying on the cold, hardwood floor. Your cries echoed through the halls of the picture-perfect family home. Begging your mother for mercy, she let out a sigh as she walked away leaving you with just seven words you will never forget, “I wasn’t the one who got raped.”

Lying helplessly in the foreign hospital bed your mom refuses to visit, you wish you would have known what options you had. You wish you could have convinced your mother that you were capable of taking care of your baby; more than that, you wanted to. You ache inside from the thought of going through this unending pain alone. Then again, you’re glad no one is here to witness the worst day of your life. The day a part of you dies forever.

Suddenly, you feel the walls caving in and you want to hold her forever. The tears streaming down your face are no match for the ache inside your body. Physical pain from birthing a child. You know it was all worth it. You just hope that one day your baby girl will know why you had to give her away. You hope she will understand and forgive you.

“Miss, Gracie. It’s time.” Goodbye, little one. You watch as they take her away. Your eyes never leaving her body. Your insides twinge a little as you watch her new parents hold her for the first time. The happiness in their faces guides you to an unknown place. A place you refuse to taint with your inevitable unworthiness. You know she is safe and will grow up in a happy home with two able parents. Not one fifteen-year-old with a child conceived from rape.

The family leaves and you are left alone to grieve. Your body wants to nurse a child as your mind tries to shut off. You’ve been through a lot today and now you just want to rest.

*****

The date is February 21, 1999. “It’s crazy how things work out,” you say to your new friend, and therapist. You talk about that unbelievably miserable time in your life when all you felt was pain. All you saw from everyone you encountered was your baby you lost; after all the years of praying for a child of your own. You were in the darkest place in your life..

You tell Dr. Rogers about how you almost lost a marriage you should have cherished more. Your husband made many efforts to talk to you and understand your roller coaster of emotions. You did a great job at pushing him away. There were many nights when your husband would sit you down and plead with you to talk to him. All you could see when you looked into his blue eyes were the eyes of your dead child. Your child who should have been learning to crawl and smiling at the silly things. You could only see the confirmation of a life you thought you would never have.

But, a call came from your mother who knew someone in her church who had a daughter who wanted to give her baby up for adoption. Of course, you thought it was crazy how someone could give away such a blessing that you had stolen from you, but you didn’t care as long as you got to be a mother.

Your husband was just as happy and suddenly the two of you had something to smile about again. He hugged you and kissed you and told you he loved you. For the first time in over five years, you felt alive again. You saw a reason to get up in the morning. You no longer looked for death in every aspect of your day.

You tell your therapist, Dr. Rogers, thank you for all he has done as you walk outside. You’re eager to see your husband and tell him about your session.

It’s eleven o’clock at night and your mother calls to tell you to come to the hospital as soon as possible. “It’s baby time,” she says. Your eyes widen as your heart begins to dance around in your chest. You grab everything you packed weeks earlier and wake your husband.

When you arrive at the hospital with your car seat installed in the new car you got that was family approved, butterflies float around in your stomach. You are so excited to hold a baby again, only this time it will be a breathing, living baby.

Hours go by, and you finally get the call to go to the room and get your new baby. Your husband holds your hand on the way and his clammy hands mask the anxiousness in the pit of your stomach. “She’s beautiful, you two. Congratulations.” Those words echo in your mind. You cannot believe this day has finally arrived. She is so tiny in your arms.

Stroking her soft skin, you notice the tiniest smile wipe across her face as she dreams of all things babies dream of. You’re in a dream yourself. Just as you pass her to your husband, you look in the hospital room.

The young mother that can’t be more than sixteen is laying on her side with her back to you. Hearing sniffling and seeing her arm reach up to her face every few seconds, you recognize the pain. Loss is something that never leaves a mother no matter how much happiness is gained. Nothing can compare to the never ending cycle of grief and mourning of losing a child.

You walk towards the door, but immediately the nurse reminds you that it is a closed adoption and that the mother wants nothing to do with you or her baby. You sense there is a mistake.

The thought is pushed back in your mind until you make it home. As you’re dealing with the night feedings and screaming every two hours, you think of the young girl in the hospital who is alone. Alone like you felt just four years ago. And suddenly, you appreciate the lack of sleep and the opportunity to be a mother.

A few weeks later, you decide to take little Bethany to church the following Sunday and show her off with your mother. You see the young girl in the pews and you decide to go sit next to her. Without even saying a word, she looks at you and tears fill her tired eyes.

“Would you like to hold her?” you say, and she accepts. Her hands are shaky, but you know she’s capable of holding her own baby. You watch as peace washes over her face. She looks up to you and says, “She looks just like you,” as she smiles. You and her both know who she really looks like.

You invite her over to lunch after church and she insists that she has homework, but you know that’s a lie. You look to her and say, “Anytime you wanna come over and see her, just give me a holler.” She smiles as she passes Bethany back, sleeping soundly in your arms. “Okay,” she says,. “I will.”

That is the last time you will see her because she stops going to church. You ask about her to her mother and she just says some nonsense that you don’t buy. You decide to let it go. After all, she gave her up and probably doesn’t want to be reminded of it every day. You count your lucky stars and pray for the young girl every night.

Over the years, you tell Bethany of all the blessings in life and her birth mother. You assure her that she did the best she could and that sometimes loss can make room for something else that is just as beautiful in a very different way. You know that one day she will seek out her mother, for closure, so you make sure to keep up with where she is so when the day comes you can be there for her. Until then, you enjoy the great feeling of being a mother to the prettiest baby who your little one would have been the best big sister.

*****

The date is December 24, 2011. It’s been almost twelve years and you still feel the pain every day. You wonder what she looks like now and who she is. You wish you would have taken her home with you that night instead of giving her away. She is with such a beautiful family, but they aren’t her blood like you are. You ache every day from the memory of her little body in your arms.

You could never forget that day. The day she let you hold her. You looked into her sweet eyes as they permanently pierced your brain. You looked up to her mother and saw her future. It was bright and full of possibilities. You could have been in her life. You could have watched her grow, but you knew that wouldn’t be right to her new family. You wanted to give her the best life she could have. A life that wasn’t filled with confusion.

You’ve had two other kids since then and they have no idea about their big sister. You hate to talk about her. You hate to think about her. All you know to do is wait for the day that maybe she will begin to ask questions and seek you out. Until then, you will make memories with your little ones and be the mother you could have been to your sweet baby girl.