Nights are difficult. At night, the stray thoughts that are so easy to dismiss during the day begin to settle and make themselves at home. Guilt which seems irrational any other time burrows into your heart and tries to convince you of the many reasons you are responsible for what is ultimately no more than a cruel twist of fate.
The questions all grievers must wrestle with begin. The what-ifs find space and unravel in a hundred different directions. And of course, that one question we all have, which no one can answer, eats at me.
Why did this happen to us?
I have tossed and turned every night over this question. There are a million answers I land on, and though I know none of them are real, it doesn’t stop them from boring into my brain and making me feel like a terrible mother.
In the dark of the night, I hear the whispered answers…
This happened because you didn’t deserve him. You should never have been a mother.
I hear this whisper, and I think of the years and years we spent trying to conceive. The signs from the universe that it simply wasn’t meant to be. We tried to defy fate, and it kicked us in the ass, laughing and saying how dare you try to fool me.
This happened because you didn’t want him enough.
I hear this whisper, and my mind flutters back to the day he was born. It was three weeks before he was due when they sent me to the hospital “just for further monitoring.” No need to worry, they said. They just wanted to take a closer look. I called my husband and told him, “I think we’re having a baby today.” My tone wasn’t excited, not full of jubilation. It was reserved. I wasn’t ready for it to no longer just be the two of us. I am ready now.
This happened because you made a mistake. You didn’t take care of him well enough.
I hear this whisper, and my mind races back over a million daily decisions throughout my pregnancy. I have no answers over when his injury happened, or even what exactly it was, and so I am left to question and wonder and never truly know. I think of the flight I took in August. The boat trip on rough waters. I think of the temperatures of my showers, always so hot. I obsess over the extreme anxiety I felt in my last month of pregnancy, and I wonder if I waited too long to begin taking anxiety medication. I waited so long because I didn’t want to hurt the baby...but maybe I did more damage that way.
This happened because you failed as a mother before you were even a mother.
I hear this whisper, and I think of every single OB appointment, especially during my third trimester. Every time, I told them I could hardly feel the baby. Every time, they looked at me in disbelief and made me second guess myself. After all, I was a first time mother - what do I know about how it is supposed to feel? They told me it was normal not to feel much movement with the placement of my placenta. I believed them. They told me I shouldn't worry. When did that stop being true?
This happened for no other reason than the fact that terrible things happen.
I hear this whisper, and am momentarily put at ease. My guilt dissipates. My heart aches. And then the cycle starts over. Yes, terrible things happen to everyone. But this terrible? No, this special version of hell is reserved only for a few. So why us?
And the whispers begin again.
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