that some people have too hard a time facing the fact that babies die.  I guess they don’t want to look into the eyes of a mother who lost a baby too soon, because then they may have to actually face that reality.  I guess it’s much easier to not say anything, look away, or to say a quick hello and move on. 

I guess it’s easier to believe that these types of things happen to people we don’t know–and they would never have to deal with this painful reality face to face.  It’s much more pleasant to think that it could never happen with thier own pregnancy or their own baby.  Or their daughter, or sister.  It only happens to the other people.  It happens to the other people they don’t know and people who don’t live by them…..

Then once the “other person” IS somebody they know, or somebody who lives by them I guess they don’t know how to handle it. 

It’s really understandable.  I’ve never been in this position before either. 

Before last spring, I’d never even thought I would  hear such devastating news—that the child I was carrying would not live long, if he was born live at all.  I handled it the only way I knew how:  I cried.  and cried.  and cried. 

Before that day I’ve never had to find the strength to just make it through each day of my pregnancy, not knowing if that kick I just felt would be the last one I’d ever feel from my son. 

I’ve never had to pray for a miracle and plan for a funeral.  I never had to wonder if my baby would be born live or still.  I never had to talk to a funeral director or call a photographer to get “final” and only pictures of my child. 

I used to be the one who always felt blessed, knew that all would go well and that I’d have many sleepless nights ahead of me because of the diapers and crying……but now I would have sleepless nights coming to grips with the fact that Dekar was not with me and never would be again on this earth.  My sleepless nights were only filled with silence or the sounds of my own crying.

There was no way to practice for the position I was all of a sudden placed in.   There was no rule book to follow and no way to know how I would make it through each day.  I didn’t know what I was suppose to do or how I was to act.  So, I wrapped myself fully into the roll of being Dekar’s mother. 

After all, that part didn’t change.  I was still Dekar’s mother.

I was celebrating each movement, yet already grieving the loss that was already in the depth of my heart.

While the other pregnant ladies anticipated their baby showers and decorated their nursery, I was deciding between cremation or burial and picking out what would be Dekar’s first and final outfit.  

Instead of arranging our house for another little person, I was praying that I’d be able to bring home Dekar, even for only one day.

I’ve never had a baby die in my arms before Dekar.  I’ve never had to watch my children and husband cry for the little life that was lost before our eyes. 

And I’ve never had to face people who say nothing about the loss of my son.  

And this is one thing that I don’t know what to do with. 

I have no idea. 

All I know that I can do is bless God that these people have never had to do the things that I did last year.  I hope they never will.

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