The Moment

 I have gone back and forth for weeks now on whether to make this post. I am not typically this open, vulnerable, or real. It is hard for me to share things that are this intimate, or personal, and I am finding it difficult to form words as I type. My thoughts are the most expressively real when I am alone, in the shower, and mentally focused on nothing at all; that's when my words come and feelings flow freely. 

This post is meant as an expression of a specific moment in my life, specifically one that lasted all of one trimester. While I had little time with my sweet number 4, the time I did have will leave an impression on my life that will never fade. When I run, my thoughts are specifically on how proud my little one would be of me getting up and getting out. Oh how easy it is to sit alone in the dark and cry my moments away. Or, to dedicate every morsel of my being to my work, husband, and other children to mask what I feel inside. Why talk about it, why bring to light what I don't want to discuss but feel others need to know. Crazy talk, right? That is a part of me being so torn on whether to post this or not. I don't want to talk about it, but I want others to know you are not alone. I see you, I feel you, I understand, I am here if you need someone. The trauma doesn't have to be what I experienced. The trauma someone lives is real and if by sharing this post can help but one person to get up, get out, and be inspired to keep going, then posting this will be worth it.  

This is me, raw, unedited, and real. The entry is long (4 pages) on my journey beginning on October 26th with the amazing news of being pregnant with our 4th bundle of joy. Then my journey's end on November 12th and/or 14th depending on if the day I thought I died is the day it ended, or the Saturday after when I felt one last crazy burst of pain. Each section is a moment in time between those dates. I still have moments, but I have not added to this journal entry for awhile now. __________________________________________________________

The Moment 

April L Broome 

 

A moment, a morsel of time that we cling to; holding tight to an instance that will leave a lasting impression of what was, or what will be; an overwhelming feeling of “I can’t believe,” or “It has to be.”  

 

A moment is powerful. It can leave you with joy, or many remembrances of sadness and heartbreak where we feed off the high of happiness in winks of an eye, clinging to the one moment of gratification. Or we experience the pain of loss, seemingly over and over again, as an endless reminder of what will never be. 

 

I have experienced many moments of joy in my life; playing a sport that I love, finding my one true love, the day we got married, the birth of my first child – making me a mother, carrying two babies at once, all their smiles, walking across the stage at graduation – three times now, hugging my family, embracing a dear friend that I haven’t seen in years, helping someone in need for no reason. I could go on and on with the many memories of joyful moments in my life.  

 

Then comes the pain, intertwined with feeling of joy for the things I have been gifted. The loss of my all my grandparents at a young age, none of them able to see me marry or have children, the loss of my brother who did get to watch me graduate one of those times, but was ripped from my life about as fast as I got him back, the loss of a job, the loss of many dear friends that I didn’t get to connect that one last time with, and the loss of a child. 

 

This last moment is my current sorrow, a moment that has lasted for several weeks now, repeatedly in pain both physically and mentally. What would have been my fourth child, and my continued question is, “What is your name?” In that question I wonder who you would have been, what you would have done, what you would have achieved. The following are small moments in time that have culminated into what I will call your moment. The time you had with me and the impact you had and will have on my life. Your story will be told, you will help others, you are still my child.  

 

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Shocked, scared, anxious, bewildered, 

They are not just feelings,  

but words that express the overwhelming feelings of what if? Who is? How did? 

The moment of excitement, fear, and what will? all wrapped in a tiny package of even smaller interworking parts to create what is, what will be. 

 

A name: letters joined to form a meaning, a symbolic reference to one’s character, a sign of legitimacy,  

Making a mark on this world to show your standing, your presence, your purpose. 

Yet a name is not given until milestones are met, characteristics confirmed,  

Societal norms solidified to authenticate the bestowing of said name on those deserving of such honor. 

 

Your name: what is your name? Who are you? Will I get to meet you? Hold you in my arms? Wisper, I love you in your ear? Call your name in confirmation of your arrival in this world? 

Or will grief, depression, and emptiness prevail in a fight for who you will be? If you will become? 

Will there be a need for a name to discuss who you would have been? Why must we conform to a label…a name? 

 

Who said we must call you anything more than mine? A piece of me, my soul, my heart that whether inside or out, was the first sound you heard. Can you hear me? Do you feel my love as my heart beats for you? Do you feel my uneasiness as I wait in anticipation of what might become, what may be? 

 

Waiting, anticipation, stay busy, focus - all I can do now is wait. 

Pain, no sleep, hot, cold - all I can do is wait. 

It’s happening, this is it, why? All I can do is wait. 

Appointment, again; fourth time in one week. I need to know; I can no longer wait. 

Cold, emotionless, distant, quiet – now I wait for validation. 

A hope for confirmation of what was felt, experienced, and seen. 

And then, there you are, hanging on, motionless, lifeless, no heartbeat. 

 

You tried. I commend your try.  

You were strong. I felt your growth. 

Something happened. I felt your pain.  

As you make your way to the inevitable, I feel your path carving out a way to leave me, alone, empty.  

 

I am surrounded by friends and family, but I feel Alone. 

I want everyone to know how I feel and for no one to talk to me at the same time. 

I am irritable, angry, tired. I feel hopeless, lost, scared, and selfish. 

I want this to be over, I am ready for it to be done. How can that be ok? How is that even right? 

 

I cry to myself in the shower. I squeeze to hold you, burying my feelings deep in myself hoping that for a moment you will feel, one last time, the love I have for you.  

I hold tight to the moment when you once heard my heart beating for you.  

I hold tight to the notion of them being wrong. Who are they anyway? They don’t know you, your strength, your desire to live.  

 

I chose to do this myself; I want to be the one there when it happens. I want to see you, one last time.  

The moment I found out you were no more, Julia named you. She talked about being thankful for you. She gave you a name, she gave you purpose.   

The pain I feel daily is real. Every movement closer to the inevitable I feel. At first, I thought it was just discomfort, small shots of pain here and there with background knots and twinges.  

 

Then, it hit me like a truck. Intense, strong pain, deep down. Excruciating pain for hours. It was a cross between being in labor and “What if this is it? What if I am dying?”  

So much loss. I am glad the body remakes blood regularly. The pain was like fire in my heart, aching for you as you left. To begin to believe it was an ounce of what you felt...what did you feel? Did you feel at all?  

 

But have you left? I cannot tell. I don’t know what I am looking for. So many questions. So many unknowns. The discomfort is still there. I am tired. My body is tired. I fake a smile. I go to work. I’m mean to my kids. Why? I didn’t lose them. Why am I being so mean now? What if I lost them? I should be nicer.  

 

My husband is on edge. He doesn’t know how to help me. I don’t know how to help me. I have schoolwork to do with no space to think. My mind wanders, lost in thought of the possibilities of what once was, what could have been. The what if of life is haunting me day by day. I suffer in my sadness, alone, yet surrounded by many.  

 

There are so many who are pregnant. Their child made it. They are so happy. I want to be happy for them. I am happy for them. I smile and swallow hard. They deserve their moment. No need to cloud the day with my misfortune. No one really needs to know, right? Why talk about it. I don’t want anyone to ask questions. I already have three children. Why am I even sad? It wasn’t like I was very far along anyway. I know some are thinking that. They will never know.  

 

I was nervous from the start, scared I was going to mess it up. Why was I so hesitant this time around? Did I somehow know it wasn’t going well? Did I somehow know something was wrong? A lot of things are starting to make sense, while nothing makes sense at the same time. Why waste my time worrying about what I cannot change.  

 

I thought it was over. I thought I passed it...you. Then, like a second round of a hurricane that just won’t leave, the pain was back. Intense, sharp, out of nowhere. I run to release and then, pop, like a balloon. What a weird feeling. What a weird, pain relieving feeling. Did it happen? Was that what was supposed to be what lets me know it happened?  

 

I feel better, but again, I am tired. Very tired. I am mean to my kids. They are driving me insane. I love them, but I want silence. I don’t want anyone to talk. I don’t want to answer questions. I really want to get this paper done, but that’s not going to happen right now. I feel useless, mean, old and cranky, distant, sad, alone.  

 

Confirmation, you are gone. I have feelings of relief that I did this myself. Feelings of dissatisfaction that I must start all over with working out, getting my body back to normal as it already prepared to carry you in a comfortable space for 9 months. How can I feel that way? Why do I have to have a baby to show that it is ok for my body to get bigger? Why do I feel that society can push me around and make me think I am not good enough, no matter my size?  

 

I guess it is easier to just blame someone else...why blame anyone at all? It is ok to start over, no matter the reason why. It is ok to have been at the height of something and fall. It is ok to be in a place of uncertainty and discomfort. What is not ok is staying there. I will come back from this. I will be me again...or maybe a new me. Maybe the whole point is not to be what I was, but instead be a better version of me.  

 

New beginnings... 

 

I hate the scale. The measuring tape is second on my list. Twenty pounds. How did I gain twenty pounds from March to November? What is wrong with my body? What am I doing wrong? I realize it is 2020, but a year did not do this to me. My doctor is baffled, he orders tests – I am fine. In fact, I am beyond fine, I’m in the best of normal. I don’t want there to be something wrong with me, but I do want to know why this happened to me.  

 

Reflecting – my world turned upside down, at home with kids for 12 weeks, working out every – single – day with no results. I turned 38. Is that really it? A magic number that determines your health. No. It is on me. It is what I am doing. Could I eat better? Yes. Could I do something different to maximize my workout results? Yes. Then do it, April! Stop complaining, push through, quit being lazy, don’t eat that, be strong...all the things I tell myself. I’m so mean to me.  

 

Starting over sucks. My body is in postpartum even though I didn’t carry full term. While I can work out sooner than a normal pregnancy, I am still in the after stages of my body changing for someone else. An occupant that left sooner than planned. Someone who still leaves marks on my heart. I started over. I haven’t been this weight in eleven years. That is before all three kids, both pregnancies. I can do this. I did it before.  

 

I have no clothes. Nothing fits. That makes me very sad. I don’t want to buy more clothes. I just want to be smaller, like before. All I have to do is start. Every day I need to start, as if it were my first day with the same energy and drive. As I hit milestones my motivation will increase, my drive will sustain, and the energy and want will increase. I am ready, I can do this. If I can motivate just one person to get up and keep going, it will all be worth it.  

 

Do you believe in yourself? I believe in you.  

Have you been through something traumatic? I will cry with you. 

Do you feel all alone, left behind, embarrassed, or insignificant? You can talk to me; I am with you. Look over your shoulder, I am behind you pushing you through. Be proud of who you are, I am proud of you. Significance is relative and depends on your comfortability with chance, I will bet on you. You have meaning, purpose, significance. You are you, and that is ok.  

 

I am me, and I am enough.