I will never forget the day. February 24,2015. That day will forever be carved into my memory.
As time approached to go to the doctor’s appointment, my husband and I could not help but be excited. We were going to hear the heartbeat of the little soul, growing inside my womb. Smiling and laughing, enjoying conversation along the ride, I never spoke of my uneasiness, nor did I mention a negative feeling hovering over.
We arrive at the plain building, on that sunny cool day.
Filling out paperwork, I observe each woman in the waiting room, noticing their expecting bellies; nervously and anxiously awaiting the growth of my own. “Ms. Williams” the nurse calls. My husband and I follow her to our temporary room, and asks me to undress.
Minutes later, enters the doctor. She is friendly, funny and very relaxing. She is excited about our little bundle of joy. Assuring me we were in good hands of course because they were hers. the lightened mood made me forget mostly about the worry. I could feel within me that something was not right, though I did not know why.
Before I can continue I must make it known that I had stated, before in my frustration and anger, and still dealing with PPD (post-partum depression) after my 2nd child, for this child to be taken from me if it be the will of God. I didnt feel I was emotionally stable nor ready to start fresh again.
My husband and I were having problems, we were living with my mother-in-law, which definitely didn’t help our situation, and it just was not good for a new baby to be brought into our family. We already had our two boys, and were financially stuck in a rut. There was lots of tension and arguing was becoming the only thing we could do together. I didn’t feel like a great mother, or wife and I didn’t want to let another human being that was depending on me, down. I loved my child, and I never thought the very words I spoke would come to be my reality.
On that February day, as we are preparing to reveal the heartbeat of the little one for the first time, the cold gel was put on my belly and the small listening device to hear the heartbeat is pulled from the pocket of the doctor.
NO SOUND. We listen more intently……NOTHING.
“Maybe he or she is hiding and don’t want to be found.” says the doctor jokingly.
we chuckle as she continues the search. From being a mother, I know how the heartbeat of my child is supposed to sound. And I heard NOTHING.
The only heart beat that was thumping through the machine was my own.
Tears welled up in my eyes, a look of worry grew across my husbands face. I knew then, our baby was gone. The doctor knew it too. But in hope, assured us that everything was ok and that we could opt to have a sonogram to ensure things are ok; which we did.
Avoiding eye contact with my husband, so I wouldn’t drop a tear; he questioned if I was ok. I assured him I was and continued redressing. We were escorted into the room across the hall. Sadness growing inside and tears about the breach the corners of my eyes, I silently unbutton my pants and prepare for the sonogram.
The lights are turned down and I lie back. Again, cold gel applied to my belly and the hand apparatus rubbing, in search of a baby to appear on-screen.
Then, there he or she was.
lifeless. dead. gone.
On February 24, 2015 I lost apart of me that I never knew was even there. I accepted the fate of a daunting fear that had plagued me before I ever had children. The fear of losing one. It felt unreal. I kept asking myself what did I do.
The doctor continued trying to explain miscarriage and still-born statistics; expressing her condolences, but I heard nothing but the overpowering echo of silence. The silence of no heartbeat, filled my ears. I fell into my husbands arms and we cried for our child. He cried for our loss and I cried because I knew I had asked God time and time again to remove this child. I never wanted my baby to die. I never wanted to lose my child. I never wanted to feel what we felt that day. But that day, I felt like I had killed my baby.
To my Rylie,
Mommy is sorry. I am so sorry that you didn’t get to come into this world. I am sorry that you will never meet your wonderful brothers or fall in love with your amazing father. I like to think you are a little girl who we would call Rylie Symone Williams one day. But I will never know. I’m sorry I killed you with the words from my mouth. I didn’t know any better and I was in a bad place, I can never forgive myself but I know you are in a better place. I don’t have to worry about you down here in this crazy world. But I also don’t get to know you, raise you or watch you grow up. I have never felt a loss such as this and I keep the memory of you locked away because it hurts just to think about you. You would be almost 18 months now, smiling, learning to walk and talk. I can only imagine what you are like since I never got the chance to meet you.
I love you my child. From the depths of my soul. You will always be the love I never had a chance to experience. And for that again I am so sorry.
The mother you never got to meet.
If you know a woman that recently gave birth, check on her frequently to make sure she is not a victim of PPD. I didnt know I was one until it was too late. If you need more info about PPD and how to know whether or not your loved one is suffering, find out more here.
PPD is real and it is more common than most realize.