Losing My Son

A nightmare that I can’t wake from.
Grief is ugly, earth-shattering, and heartbreaking.
It is a tear-stained face. Grief is eyes full of tears and numbness.
Grief is my breasts filled with milk for a baby not here to feed.
Grief is pain.
It is the loss of hope.

Grief. Heartbreak.
It is delivering your son, and not hearing his heart beat.
It is holding him and loving his lifeless little body.
It is his perfect face.
Ten fingers. Ten toes. Toenails. Fingernails.
It is having to say goodbye to the promise of a future with him.

Grief. Heartbreak. Pain.
It is watching your sisters, friends, and cousins announce births and pregnancies, wanting to celebrate with them but instead I can’t. I’m burying my face in the pillow and crying all night, wishing.
Wishing I would wake up from this nightmare and my son would be here.

Grief. Heartbreak. Pain. Numbness.
It is losing your relationships with friends, because they don’t know what to say around you, so they stop calling and checking in.

Grief. Heartbreak. Pain. Numbness. Alone.
It is missing out on family time, because even though you love your nieces and nephews, it is too hard to be around them.

Grief. Heartbreak. Pain. Numbness. Alone. Self-hate and blame.
It is wondering if you did something wrong.
Is it my fault?
I have now lost two children.
Grief is feeling inadequate as a mother.

Grief. Heartbreak. Pain. Numbness. Alone. Self-hate and blame. Anger.
You sit alone in your house, your arms wrapped around your empty womb. Your head drops and you sob, screaming and wailing for the loss that keeps growing.

Grief. Heartbreak. Pain. Numbness. Alone. Self-hate and blame. Anger. Emptiness.
It is putting all the baby clothes away.
It is closing the nursery door and not wanting to go in.
It is hugging a teddy bear with my son’s heartbeat inside.
Knowing, I’ll never hear it again for real.

It doesn’t stop.
The pain.
The grief.
The heartbreak and heartache.
The anger.
The disbelief.
The numbness.
It just doesn’t stop.

Everyone keeps saying it will get better with time. It doesn’t. It hasn’t. It won’t.
Everyone says that God has a purpose.
What purpose?
Instead of being with his mother and father he is in heaven?

I wanted him.
I loved him.
I had plans for him.
Not just me, but my husband too.
We wanted him.
We needed him.
He was our sunshine.
But now we sit in darkness.

Grief. Heartbreak. Pain. Numbness. Alone. Self-hate and blame. Anger. Emptiness. Disbelief. Heartache.
Losing my son.
I won’t ever been the same as I was before.