Home, Minus One

"I promised myself I wouldn't cry today. I broke that promise." - Unknown


I left the hospital today and was received home with open arms. I could tell Scott was extremely glad to have me closer to him, back into our home setting and far away from the white sanitary hospital walls.

The first time I set foot back in our bedroom, I completely froze. I couldn't help it. I looked down at the bed, and saw that the comforter was exactly how we left it in the chaos of me leaving in the ambulance four days before. In my mind's eye, the rush of that evening's events came alive again. I saw and felt the physical pain again, the intrusion of the emergency crew, the fear of the unknown, the stress of my weakness, and the quick bustle of everyone around me to save my life. As my eyes drifted around the rest of the room, I was hit with the absoluteness of having someone missing. The inside of my stomach and my heart felt so empty. In that moment, the emotionally loss of our baby was enormous.

After relaxing at home for a few hours, and after I woke from an exhausted nap, my breasts started lactating. For an instant, I felt annoyed, but then it surprised me how quickly it actually saddened me. Like it reiterates in some of the supportive reading material sent home from the hospital, having a person's milk come in after the death of your baby can be a cruel reminder that they weren't able to bring home their baby to nurse. And it very much was.

Day-by-day. Hour-by-hour. And that can't be a bad thing.