Grief Articles

Mommy Loved You
By Barbara D. Morning

This can’t be happening! I kept saying to myself. I was in the delivery room where I was hearing many unfamiliar words like “prematurity” and “intensive care nursery.” Those words are more familiar to me now, but I was totally helpless then, a victim of my own innocence, just as my child was a victim of her prematurity.

My heart broke as they whisked my baby away from me. I didn’t get to hold her until many days later. That was the first and last time. When she was born, my husband followed her, and the many people that were gathered around her, to the intensive care nursery. She would need care that only the doctors and nurses who specialize in premature infants could give.

Days later, as I wheeled over to my baby’s bedside, it was the first time I had been able to visit her in the nursery. She was connected to so many wires and tubes that I could hardly see her little face and body. She was perfectly formed, but she was so small that the doctors couldn’t give us much hope that she would ever come home from the hospital.

Every day, I sat by her bedside for hours. My husband held my hand and the tears stained our faces as we kept our vigil. This was the child that we had waited so many months to hold and love, but I wasn’t above to hold her while she was so critically ill. I remember being so afraid that I wouldn’t be able to hold or touch her until it was too late. It was a bad dream that came true.

I kept thinking that there must be something that I could do besides watch her chest rise and fall with each breath that the ventilator gave her. The doctors told me that I could pump my breast milk because when she was able to be fed, it would be the most easily digested milk. I made that my job. It would be the only thing that I could do to help her.

It was even harder after I was discharged from the hospital. I wasn’t able to go and see her whenever I felt like it. It was especially difficult during the middle of the night. I would call the hospital to check on her and then sit for hours in the rocking chair that was meant for us to share. I felt sad and lonely with my empty arms, like a part of me was missing.

I took my older son shopping so that he could give his new baby sister a gift. We found a little pink unicorn in one of the gift shops and took it to the hospital. My son was only able to look through the nursery window, so we watched while the nurse put the unicorn in her bed. He didn’t really understand what was happening, but it was just as well. He must have sensed the sadness and fear, though, because he started to wake up during the night with me. We would rock until he fell back to sleep.

I had many questions for the doctors. I kept asking, “What had I done to cause her to be born early?” They assured me that this happens sometimes without a reason. I was losing my perfect and healthy child, and I felt guilty. What if I had taken better care of myself? What if I had rested more, drunk less coffee, eaten from all of the food groups at every meal? What if I hadn’t drunk that half of a glass of wine last month?

I remember the panic I felt when the phone rang. I feared that it would be the hospital, and the pain would begin inside of me at the thought that it was over. I was preparing myself for a day that would come sooner than I had expected. But even with all my preparation, I wasn’t ready when the phone rang and it was the doctor who was taking care of my baby. He told me that my husband and I should come right away. My hands were shaking as I dialed my husband’s work phone number.

We were at the hospital in a matter of minutes. The doctor told us that he was trying to keep her alive so we could hold her while she was still warm and her heart was still beating. She was almost gone. The nurse lifted her frail little body and placed her on my chest. She was disconnected from the ventilator and she was warm; but her color was kind of bluish.

The nurse placed a blanket over us, and my baby took her last breath while lying on my chest. Her heart was so close to my own. Why was my broken heart still beating while hers was not? I would have gladly given up my own life at that moment in order to save hers, but my family needed me now. I would have to be strong for them and try to rebuild my life into some normalcy.

“Mommy loves you,” I whispered to my baby for the last time. The nurse told me to let her know when I was ready. I didn’t understand what she meant. Ready for what? How could I ever be ready to say goodbye to my child? All the months that she had been inside of me were not enough. I was angry then. What had I ever done to deserve this?

I kept a picture of her in my pocket. The nurse made her footprints in plaster as a remembrance for us. They drew a silhouette of her little body and gave me the blanket that she had been wrapped in. I was given a birth remembrance card with her date of birth, weight and length and her little handprints on it. I went home with all of my treasures.

The footprints sit on her dresser along with the birth remembrance card that I have had framed. The blanket is in the crib. I hold the silhouette sometimes while I’m in the rocking chair. My arms don’t seem so empty then. I have all of these things to prove that she existed. Even though she was only here for a short time, she was my baby.

“Time heals all wounds.” That is a very old saying, but it is still the truth. I may go for a day or so without feeling the loss or pain. The hospital sends me a card every few months to let me know that she isn’t forgotten.

It was very difficult to explain to my son that his sister wouldn’t be coming home. “She is with God,” I tell him. That seems to satisfy him for now.

“Where is the pink unicorn?” he asks me.

It was buried with her, but I tell him that it is with her in Heaven. Just like the unicorn, she would never be a reality on this earth again.

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