6 months

Half of a YEAR. How could that be? This is definitely a difficult one, as the tears roll down my face. The anxiety has been building, and now it's here, and it hurts like hell. The pain is just as raw and fresh as it was on November 6th. Waking up today was like waking up in the hospital and those first few days at home. Confusion. Disbelief. Denial. Empty and aching. But, it's just another day. Another day that you are still gone. Another day that living without our first baby is our reality. Another day our daughter is still dead. Another day the world just keeps going on around us. I cannot comprehend how so much time has passed. So much time, since we first laid eyes on your beautiful face. Since your daddy held you up to me in the operating room. Since we met you for the first time. Our dead baby girl. How? You were here and then you were gone. But how? How am I expected to live the rest of my life on this earth without you? I miss you so much, it hurts. Everything hurts.

Unfortunately, I've been playing the events of November 5th and 6th over and over in my head again, like I did in the early weeks and months. It's like a terrible train wreck that I can't look away from. It plays and plays, on repeat. And it's miserable. I've often wondered if writing the "story" that is my nightmare might help. Might help it stop playing in my broken mind. So, here goes nothing. The story of 6 months ago...

"There's no heartbeat…"

On Tuesday, November 5th we had an ultrasound and a doctors appointment. We were 38 weeks and 2 days. We saw your little heart beating on the ultrasound. You weren't moving as much as usual, but we were told that was normal later in the pregnancy because you run out of room and save your energy for birth. I should have known something was wrong. Looking back, I did know something was wrong. Your heartbeat was lower than normal and you just weren't moving as much. When we went home that evening I tried to concentrate on feeling your movements. It wasn't like normal, but I tried to not freak myself out, knowing we were just at the doctors and you were fine (supposedly).  The doctor had told me to drink something cold, lay on my side, and count your movements if I was worried. Your daddy and I talked back and forth and decided we were probably overreacting and chose to just go to bed. I don't blame myself for you dying, but I will wonder for the rest of my life if I could have saved you that Tuesday.

Wednesday, November 6th. The day that will go down in history, as the day my entire world and all that I knew came crashing down. The worst day of my life. That has led to the worst months of my life. That will undoubtedly lead to the worst years of my life. Because life on this earth without my first daughter, simply cannot be good. The first 28 years of my life were great, but the rest will not be so great. You will be missing. From my life and my heart. Forever.

Wednesday morning I went to work, but I still wasn't sure I was feeling you move. Or definitely not like usual. By noon, I couldn't remember having definitely felt you move. So, I went home drank some cold juice, laid down, and waited. I grew impatient in about 20 minutes, knowing something wasn't right. I called your daddy and he came right home from work. The doctors office had told me to go to the hospital for a non-stress test, to confirm things were fine. So, in our world, things were still fine. Your daddy and I collected our packed hospital bag, your carseat, pillows (in anticipation for a possibly long labor), and everything we could think we might need… as our baby girl might be born today! We remember saying, best case scenario everything is fine and I've just been overreacting about your movements. Worst case scenario, you weren't doing well in there and it was time for you to make your appearance into the world.

Our conversation on the way to the hospital is one I'll never forget. Your daddy and I went on and on about how perfect and exciting our life was. We had just celebrated meeting on a blind date 5 years ago, we had an unbelievable wedding and an amazing honeymoon in Bora Bora. We had already traveled the world together and bought two houses. My job was great and your daddy was about to embark on another career owning his own business…and best of all, we were probably about to meet our baby girl!! We were blessed. We were lucky. We were unstoppable and life was damn good. Little did we know how drastically it was all about to change, within minutes of getting to the hospital.

They got us right in to a triage room, where I changed into a hospital gown. The nurse came in and starting looking for your heartbeat with just a little handheld device. After about a minute, she said sometimes it just takes a while to find. She was moving all around my belly, not finding it. We showed her where the doctor usually found it. Where the doctor had found it just yesterday. After about 3 minutes, she said the thing wasn't working, but it was ok, she would just go get an ultrasound machine and we would check it that way. I looked at your daddy and said she was making me nervous. A doctor came in with the ultrasound machine. Within about 2 seconds of her putting the wand on my belly, there you were on the screen. But something was very wrong. I immediately said, "there's no heartbeat." The doctor looked at me and said "you know what you're looking at?" I repeated, with disbelief in my voice, "there's no heartbeat!" I remember the next part so clearly and like it was yesterday… the doctor looked back at me again and said, "I'm so sorry." So sorry?! Sorry for what?! As the walls slowly starting caving in around us, everything became blurry. The panic, horror, and denial started to set in. What in the world was happening? It's like I had closed my eyes and woken up in someone else's life. In another world. This could not possibly be happening. I'm 38 weeks and 3 days pregnant. Stella is full term. She is alive and about to be born. She has a heartbeat, I saw and heard it yesterday. YESTERDAY. Less than 24 hours ago.

The minutes, hours, and decisions that followed are nothing but a blur to me. I don't remember our discussions with each other or with our families. I don't remember much of anything, except the feeling that we were alone. Completely alone. That we must to be the only people in the world that this had ever happened to. This didn't happen. Perfectly healthy, full term babies don't just die. The brain has a strange way of allowing you to process unbelievable tragedy. I'm certain my brain is still working on it. Because it makes as little sense today as it did then.

So, here we are… 6 months without you and somehow we are still alive. I attribute my being alive to your daddy. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. And although, I would have loved to go with you baby girl and I would have given my life in a second, if it could have saved you... I could never leave your daddy behind on this earth. The unconditional love and care he has given me since we sat in that triage room on November 6th, is beyond my understanding and far greater than I deserve.

Help us survive today, sweet baby Stella St. Clair. Help us. We love you more than life itself and our hearts will ache for you until the day we die.