Each day this week my mind has turned back and thought through the events that unfolded on each day.
Tuesday: That was my last prenatal appointment. The last time we heard Luke's steady heartbeat. That was the night we went to Cafe Rio in Spanish Fork to celebrate being 41 weeks pregnant. That's the night I sat there after dinner and vocally thanked my baby for being a good mover so that mommy knew everything was okay...
I know what I was doing each day until Friday night when I was induced. I know what I was wearing. I can still replay my emotions and thoughts that took place on each of those days.
Last night I couldn't help looking at the clock - at this time I had been induced for about an hour and a half. And then, in my mind, I would reconsider that, because my clock is showing me Eastern Standard Time it would be different. So I would role back the clock to what time it was in Utah. At this time last year I was calling my mom to tell her why I was going to the hospital to be induced.
In my mind it is so easy to just turn back the clock. If only we could actually turn back time, but it doesn't work that way. I can never actually go back to my time with Luke. Time only presses forward. So forward I must look.
When I remember how painful it was to swallow the reality of having to give birth to my baby even though he was no longer living, I remind myself of the glorious gift I gave him of a physical body that will be his to claim again one day. When I think of the heartbreak of having to let go so soon, I must remind myself of the joy that we will experience when we are reunited one day. When I think of the tears I couldn't contain as I put into words in a text that our baby had already returned to heaven and requested the prayers of my friends, I must remember the countless prayers that have been offered on our behalf and the endless love and support from friends, family members, and even strangers. When I think of how hard it was emotionally to labor for the birth of my baby, I must remind myself that because of Luke I am now confident in my body's ability to birth. When I remember my heartache of experiencing my own loss, I must remind myself of the empathy that I can now have for others who also experience loss in some form or another. When I think of the bitter tears shed by both myself and Trevor, I must remind myself that it is because we had and continue to have so much love for our little boy.
Today I will look at the corner of our couch and think back to sitting there feeling almost numb, still trying to wrap my head around what took place in the last 24 hours, and feeling so empty-handed coming home from the hospital with no baby to hold. All I wanted was to hold my baby, or any baby for that matter. My arms were so empty and it was overwhelming and unbearable. My emotions were drained and at that point I didn't have any tears to shed. Shock, perhaps, overpowered me. There I sat in the corner of the couch with the quilt that I had sewn for Luke as the only thing in my arms.
That is what I was doing a year ago this Saturday.
The details of everything are still so fresh in my mind. Not as if it happened a year ago. And in that moment I was afraid of forgetting the details of what was happening. I wanted to remember it all and remember it clearly. I wanted to remember every detail, every feeling, every kind thing that started to be done on our behalf. It may have been painful, but it was my reality. My story. My life. My sons life . . . and death. And that is a very momentous part of one's history.
Luke, how quickly a year can come and go but your short life will forever be a part of mine. Though it is not easy to think back to the emotions of that week I'm allowing myself to do so--allowing some of the hurt to resurface or at least be remembered. It has been a journey to live life without you here and I am sure will continue to be so for the rest of my life. I love you and am so grateful that you will forever be mine . . . ours. You will be a part of our family forever.