When my alarm went off this morning I was in a deep sleep. Not dreaming but in a sleep where it took me a few minutes to realize what the noise was. I leaned out of bed to hurriedly turn the alarm on my phone off so that Walt wouldn’t wake up. I forgot it was plugged into the wall so I reached a little further and then BAM the realization that my son is gone. It hit me, the realization that my life is still scattered on the floor and I need to slowly keep picking up the pieces. This time it was not the thought “I’m not pregnant anymore” or “it’s almost November when he should be arriving” it was the “holy shit I forgot I can’t stretch my torso like this anymore!”

As soon as I got up that little thought turned into bigger and deeper thoughts and “robbed” came to mind.

I was robbed that day. Robbed of my son, robbed of the hope I would have (for the most part) an easy pregnancy, robbed of the joy of seeing my husband hold his first born, robbed of my parents seeing their first grandchild, robbed of ever hearing my first born say mommy or good morning or goodbye, robbed of the ability to labor a child (I will now have to have a scheduled C-section with subsequent pregnancies), robbed of who I once was before I had to experience the death of my child.

Robbed: to take property unlawfully. He was mine. I made him and I would have taken the best care of him but he was taken away from me. Robbed.

I will never be the same person. I can carry on with my life but I am different. There is sadness in my heart that will never go away and a weakness in my bones that will never fully heal. I am me but a new kind of me. I was robbed of my identity.

It’s hard for me to understand that there are ups and downs in this cycle. It’s hard for me to predict my emotions from one hour to the next. It’s hard for me to accept all of this. And while I can be strong sometimes I don’t want to be.

The next month is going to be really hard because I had my property unlawfully taken away from me. 

I feel like that title makes it sound like I’m an abused girlfriend crawling back to her asshole boyfriend. I guess I can be thankful that I’m not.

Work. 

I’ve taught 4 classes this week. I decided that it would be good for me to start with teaching psychology for about a week before picking up the high school seminar course 1st period. So Monday morning I woke up at 5, went on a run, put my big girl panties on, and went to school. I had so much anxiety about looking out at a sea of faces. Faces that KNEW something had gone on. Faces that were aware I lost my son. Faces that KNOW I am vulnerable. I thought to myself “there is no way I can be in charge of 32 students for 90 minutes! I can’t even control my emotions for more than a few minutes!" 

I. Was. Wrong.

I was amazed at how quickly it all came back to me. It was really as though I never had an absence at all. I felt right at home in front of them. Thank God. 

I was humbled by the amount of former students that came to say hello and chat yesterday. I literally had 15 students in my classroom for over an hour after school! It was so nice to just see their adorable faces, reminisce about past years, and smile. I made it through the entire day without crying. Small goals Jennifer, small goals.

And then this morning it came…..the tears that is. A teacher stopped by my classroom. I have always been friendly with this teacher but have never had more than a few minute conversations with him in the workroom. He was nervous and awkward as to be expected but he wanted to let me know how many of my students cared about me and how many of them were praying for me in our FCA meetings. He said "I mean, Jennifer, they care about you a lot and more than ‘in a teacher kind of a way.’” And that’s when I lost it. My students will never know how much I care for them, how proud I am of their accomplishments, and how much they will have helped me during this difficult time. 

In the perinatal loss support group last month a woman who lost her baby 7 months ago said that she had to quit work because it was too hard. Before that meeting I thought there was a chance that would be me. I looked at her as she stated that and I thought to myself “I do not want that to be me. I DO NOT want this to define me in THAT way.” So far so good. 

I am now a new kind of exhausted. That “putting on a show” kind of exhausted. The “my feet and back hurt from standing and walking around a classroom/school” kind of tired. Not the “I cried all day kind of tired.” Not the “I looked out the window and wondered WHY” kind of tired. I know I’ll experience that exhaustion again but for now I’m welcoming all kinds of tired.

Every day I am saddened to hear about another baby loss. And every day I hope that I can be of help to people who go through this. I am going to ask that you continue to pray for us. Pray that God will allow us to parent a living child. Pray that we will never have to go through a loss like this again. Pray that we will be okay.

I am strong. I am (not) invincible. I am woman .