Okay, so I don’t have an ACTUAL baby in a booksack.
No need to bash me in your mom group just yet.
By the end of this, you’ll understand. Just bear with me as I try to find the words.
Have you ever thought about how you’d react to a bad situation?
What if it started as a good situation?
I never expected to be so incredibly hurt in a situation where it started off as nothing but excitement and joy.
On November 3rd, 2018 I miscarried my daughter, Kennedi Rose Chenier. To this day it still remains as one of the most devastating things to ever happen to me. That experience started off as something so beautiful. So hopeful. “You are pregnant”, I had been home from a two week stay at a mental health institution for about four days (another story for another day) and after feeling horrible for all of those days I went to the hospital and those were the words the doctor greeted me with. It was the happiest I had felt in a long time. I also thought that maybe being pregnant is part of the reason I had a mental breakdown.
I had to wait about a month before I could get in to see my doctor and when that day finally came, I had no idea it would be the beginning of the end. The months that followed were filled with more blood tests that I ever knew my body was capable of. I know that there were steps in between but in my mind it went from being too early in the pregnancy to see anything to “you’ve miscarried”. And I heard the words, I did, but I held on to the hope that maybe I would still give birth up until the very day I knew for sure I wouldn’t be giving birth any time soon.
I still remember what I was doing when it happened. I was outside waiting for pizza to be delivered. Pizza. In one moment my mouth was watering as the Pizza Hut delivery driver was driving up and then in the next, I am fighting back tears hoping he hurries up before the blood leaking from my vagina reaches the concrete. You know, I have no idea what happened to that pizza now that I think about it. That night was, o man, it was a memorable night. So memorable that when I was at the same hospital a few days ago, I stared at the exact spot on the parking lot where I passed out and bled before Sarah could come back with help to get me up off the ground (yet another story for another day). It was a night I sometimes fight to forget but it is painfully etched into my soul. Mine forever.
I returned home after two days in the hospital. Part of me didn’t want to leave. I still have trouble wrapping my head around the fact that I went to the hospital with a baby, or the idea of a baby, and I came home with nothing. I was so EMPTY.
The hospital sent me home with so many things. There was a stuffed animal, an angel keychain, numbers to multiple organizations, etc. A couple of my friends had bought me some different things as well, things like relaxing bath salts, books that would help me through the grieving process. I don’t think they’ll ever know how thankful I am for them. Seriously, no matter how many days go by, I will forever love you. And I was thankful I really was but when I got home, I noticed something. I had what kind of looked like the box of things the hospital sends you home with once you are discharged with your brand new baby but in this story, my box only reminded me of the baby I would never meet.
It stayed in the corner of my bedroom for quite some time. A box filled with gifts, grief counselors information, a onesie I had bought, my crushed soul, among many other things and every time I looked at it, I thought about the daughter I’d never bond with. The daughter I’d never teach all the things I learned on my own. My heart broke all over again each time my eyes fell on its appearance.
Enter the pink booksack. A week had passed and I had had enough. I was home alone and I became enraged. I started crying and throwing things while searching for anything that I could make that box of things disappear into. I stuffed all the papers, books, gifts, all of it into a pink booksack. I was so angry. There was nothing anyone could tell me that could’ve helped me. I had lost my child and I started to question how many things I would have to lose in my life before the universe decided to give me a break. I was broken.
That booksack sat in the back of my closet for months. Out of sight, out of mind they say.
During these months I found out I was pregnant again with my now almost five month old beautiful rainbow baby girl. I think finding out I was pregnant again gave me an out to not have to think about the gut wrenching loss I had experienced months before. I guess I thought things were normal again until the day came where I knew for sure things were definitely NOT NORMAL.
I’m not sure what led up to this particular moment, but whatever the reason it led my son to my closet digging for some toy I’m sure. However it wasn’t a toy he dragged out of my closet five months into my pregnancy, it was the PINK BOOKSACK. That damn booksack.
I completely lost it.
All these emotions that I had no idea were still using my body as storage surfaced when I saw that booksack. I screamed at my son to stop unzipping it immediately, as if fully unzipping the booksack would destroy us all. I told him to zip it back up and put it back in the closet EXACTLY where he found it. His face, I will never forget his face. While he returned the booksack so many thoughts ran across my mind.
- I just screamed at my son for no reason, at least not a reason he has anything to do with.
- I had lost a child
- I have not dealt with this loss
- I stuffed my feelings and the memory of my child into a booksack and then stuffed the booksack in the closet
- I lost a child
- I lost a child
- I lost a child
All that time that had passed and I thought I was over it, when really all I had done was put my child in a booksack.
I ran to my room to meet my son who was quietly trying to put the booksack back where he got it. I grabbed him, I hugged him, I apologized, and then we cried together.
I still have the booksack and it still sits in the back of my closet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to unzip it.