No Happy Ending

EVERYTIME we have gone to church since our baby died, I have teared up over everything. Songs, verses. EVERY OTHER PREGNANT PERSON or their baby. After the sermon the pastor called everyone to the back in prayer groups to pray for things they need or are struggling with... A stillborn is not something that you can just bring up with someone you don’t know. (This is a new church). So we went with the more general “we want to be better Christians.” I hate that it isn’t something people talk about, death. Especially a baby’s. I want to shout it out when I meet new people, wear it on a shirt. Open up conversations with “hello, my son died last month.” I haven’t figured out how I am going to answer “how many children do you have” or “do you have children?” Saying no or none feels like an insult to the very real part of our life he was. But people don’t actually ask because they care about the answer, they are being polite and a dead child is kind of a killjoy.  I think I’ll still add him in anyway.

My period started for the first time again last week. I would have been 34 weeks pregnant. Instead I have to go and find wherever I left my supplies 8 months ago. Having the extra hormones is dangerous when I already have emotional instability. It keeps hitting me, I don’t get a happy ending, and I don’t get a baby. Instead I have a flat stomach, cramps, and a memory box with pictures and footprints. Especially hard is my sister-in-law is pregnant too. She is due three months after I would have been. And she has a son. Whenever I see her child, I am going to be reminded, for the rest of my life, what I am missing. How old my son would have been and at every milestone that he should be there too. I haven’t seen her and her bump yet. Frankly I don’t want to. It’s painful. She has what I want more than anything.  I can’t face it yet.