Monday, February 2, 2009

Letter to Shiloh #6

Daddy and I just got back from a visit with Dr. Collins in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He is a G-d send. This man really cares and is willing to spend all his free time talking about what happened to you and what to look for next time we have a baby. I was worried about being in such a public place, and talking for so long, because I was afraid of being too emotional. Every time I think about you, I cry uncontrollably. I haven’t yet made it to the point where I can feel bittersweet about your memory. I don’t think that this will come for a long while though.

Nevertheless, I didn’t break into tears until, in the middle of our conversation, Dr. Collins received a call from another woman who just recently lost her baby due to a UCA. He asked if I wanted to speak with her. In hearing the pain in her voice, my own came rushing back, unrelenting, unforgiving. My three-month-old wound had been torn open yet again.

The feeling of helplessness and emptiness is renewed and more palpable, and all of the sudden, it happened just yesterday. How unfortunate for my body, which has such short respite between powerful bouts of sorrow. I felt myself crawling inwards as I visualized, for what must have been the hundredth time, pushing out your lifeless body. With every memory, the edges of my agony get a tiny bit duller, but it’s still enough to rock my world.

It is so difficult for me to comfort other women, even though we’ve had the same or similar experiences, because my pain is still so raw. I am lost for words, I think because, no matter what I say, it’s not going to bring their child back. But I feel like I owe it you Shiloh, to attempt to console others. I feel this sense of entitlement to the unwanted wisdom that goes along with such an experience. It’s somewhat selfish because I want everyone to know your name, to know what you look like, to know just how much you are loved. And I want these women to reach out to me and tell me about their lost sons and daughters. You are people. You lived. You loved. You are loved.