Nobody could have prepared me for the week that I was enduring. I found out about the affair, the STD, and then the pregnancy in a matter of days; only to learn that my baby was never to be born.
I was so numb and so alone, even though my parents and sister and friends were gathering like flies. I could not process what was happening. My world had been rocked in a way that I was not prepared for and I was not ready to cope. As I lay on the table awaiting my surgery to remove my baby, the ectopic pregnancy that would kill me if I did nothing, I knew that I would never be the same.
I was relieved that I would not have to be pregnant anymore, but at the same time, I was heartbroken over the loss. How do you let go of something that was in your life for such a short time, but meant the world to you? I loved being a mom and I would do my best no matter what, which is why I had told Husband that I was keeping the baby.
But, I knew that the baby staying in my ovary was also one of the best things that could have happened, because I couldn’t have handled being a new mom with the rest of my life falling apart. I was torn and beat down and broken. This is what I wrote:
Dear Baby That Will Never Be:
Hi baby. This is your mommy. We never officially met. I am writing you this letter to let you know that I am sorry. I never got to see your eyes. cute nose, or ringlet curls of dark brown hair. There were no chubby cheeks, midnight feedings, or first smiles. Mommy never got to cuddle with you on the couch or sing you an off-key lullaby.
I only knew you existed for twelve hours before you had to go see Him. You see Baby, you never finished your journey to safety in my womb. You stayed where you started, in my ovary, and did not move. You were making mommy very sick and you had no more room to grow. The doctors said that it was time for you to leave this world or you and mommy would need to leave together.
I heard your heart beat. I saw a picture of you on an ultrasound. You were grey and black and white and squiggly and lumpy. A blur. But you were here with me. I saw you on the screen and I heard you via a machine. A mark remains on my belly; a scar that will forever remind me of you and what could have been.
Baby, you have two brothers who are full of laughter and smiles, life and joy. C.and E. are their names. I could not leave them at this time and walk with you, so you had to walk alone. I wish you could have met them. They are full of mischief and giggles. E. loves to pull every book off of his bookshelf and every article of clothing out of his drawers. C. is enamored with any vehicle that exists and would have taught you some made up game with cars and soccer balls. You should have been by their side, but you will not know them.
I will miss your first smile and your first steps. You were a part of me for six short weeks, but you will always be in my family and in my heart. I love you, Baby. Take care.