It was not how I imagined it would be.

I woke up pissed at the world, at God, at everything. I was even pissed I didn’t get the right amount of sugar in my morning coffee.

This is by far the hardest part of grief: the screwball emotions. Certainly feelings of anger, of jealousy, of fear, are entirely normal faces of the infinite beast of Loss, but in my personal life, I have had little experience dealing with them. Sadness? Depression? Disappointment? Regret? Sure, that’s all familiar territory. I come from a broken and dysfunctional family, and so those faces of emotion are entirely too well-known.

The others? Not so much.

I seldom feel true Rage. I tend to have a “slow fuse,” and I am grateful for that because my temper is an aspect of my personality I really don’t like. It’s ugly. It’s wild and control-resistant, like a volcano. A force of nature. Yesterday, I felt Rage with a capital R. God was a f-cking bastard. I screamed it over and over. He took my son from me. I had feared (at times) through my pregnancy that He made a mistake in choosing me and I had trusted Him to prove me wrong — and instead He b-tch slapped me and my husband. How stupid of us to even think we were capable of being parents! How naive! I had one chance to do this right and I blew it. We were deemed Unworthy. And I hated Him for it. I hated everyone who’d ever pressured us to have children, I hated everyone who had disapproved of us once I had conceived. I hated that our boy would never know his father’s kind touch, and I hated that I would never get to sing him a lullaby. Most of all, I hated the cruel, senseless theft of his perfect little soul. Damn You, God. Damn you.

See what I mean? Ugly. However, anger does serve a purpose, and mine was like popping the tab on a soda that’s been shaken too much. A massive explosion of words and emotion, that eventually fizzles out. After I had my screaming fit, I was drained. I began to cry. I felt guilty for unloading such nasty things. Mostly, there were tears…

Then the funeral home called. In a little, blue velvet bag just barely bigger than my hands was not how I imagined bringing my son home. And I cried.

This morning? Peace. Blessed, calm, peace. The tempest blew itself out, and I can see clear again. Yes, my son is gone. Nothing I do or say can change that. Yes, I am hurt and saddened by it — it is a hole in my life that words are incapable of filling. Yes, I still cry. He was my baby boy, and I so wanted the privilege of being his mother. My husband wanted and looked forward to being a father. Unfortunately, it was not meant to be… But it is not the end of things. It does not define me. It does not define my husband, nor the relationship we have with each other. We will survive this. Our love for each other is stronger than this.

And so, we move on.

My husband and I are beyond blessed at the outpouring of love and support we have received from members of our community, our friends and acquaintances both online and off. We are very grateful. Just knowing there are people who care is beneficial. Thank you all for showing us we are not alone.


18 thoughts on “Bringing my baby home

  1. You will never be alone with us in your life sweetie, weather it be in person, email, phone or just a thought. Your writing is amazing, keep it up as I am sure it is helpful.

  2. I feel your anger! I have never had to deal with your situation, but I have the same feelings of anger and rage with my disease. The episodes come out of nowhere and my husband looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. It helps! Otherwise you become overwhelmed. Let it out and revel in it when it happens, it makes things better in the long run.

  3. I can’t say I’ve experienced this, but you have every right to be angry and explode. Scream and cry as loud and as long and often as you need. Let it out. Don’t hold any of it in. Don’t allow anyone to tell you how to grieve. It is different for everyone. Hugs, prayers, and positive thoughts sent your way, Heather.

  4. We are so sorry for your loss. we care so much about You and James, We really do care & hopefully talk to you soon

  5. Heather,
    While I never experienced a loss such as yours I understand your feelings. My husband went thru years of infertility treatments. The ups and downs are something that only others who have gone thru the process can understand. We had two children with help. Then I conceived and had a miscarriage one week after seeing the baby on ultrasound. It was a difficult time. I miscarried during the time of the Oklahoma City bombing. It was a very dark time. Later we conceived again and our youngest daughter was born. We treat our children differently because of the difficulties we had. God gives us the hard times to appreciate the good times. Please know that you and James are in our thought and prayers.

    1. Thank you for sharing your story and thank you for the thoughtful prayers. It is hard to see a reason for all of this, but I do agree there must be one. I only hope that I will be privy to it someday.

  6. Heather, my thoughts and prayers have been with you through this. I can not even begin to imagine how to even begin to deal with the raw emotions that come and go. Your writing is beautiful and an expressive outlet. I do not think I could be so eloquent after going through what you have. Hugs to you.

    1. Thank you for the good wishes and for the compliment. After music, writing is always how I have sorted through difficult things. I feel very lucky to have that ability, and humbled that my words have touched so many.

  7. Heather and James, Clay and I are so sorry for your loss and heartbreak. The pain that you are going through is like nothing I could, or would want to imagine. I believe that you are, and always will be parents. Once you feel the love, and protection, and connection to a little one it is done, you can never go back. For some reason, I think knowing that is important and may bring some sort of comfort (if there is any comfort in something so painful). Our thoughts and prayers are with you two……

    1. Thank you, Rachel (and Clay). It is very hard to feel like parents at this time, but it is very nice to be reminded that we made a beautiful choice, even if it didn’t last like we had hoped. I know it is definitely a comfort to me when my arms are so empty.

      Thank you for the kind wishes. They are much appreciated.

  8. Oh, Heather. I have no words, just love for you and your small family. I think it’s only right to feel that anger for that time – like a soda, like you said. How could you not? I am glad you feel peace now, though. We continue to keep you in our prayers.


  9. Rage would be an understatement for what anyone would feel. I am glad we are all here to help you through. The roller coaster will get better in a time, but the loss will always be a part of you. You are a very strong woman. You will make it.

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