It was seven o’clock in the morning. I got up, put my bath rope on, and walked to the next room, my baby Kevin’s. I shut the door, kneeled down, opened the keepsake box and took out his engravings and pictures.
Slowly, I ran the edges of the engravings of his little foot and tiny hands through my fingers, over and over, as if I was touching them for the first time. I could feel the warmth lingered. They were his last memory and something I could hold on to. Looking at them, tears started to fill up my eyes but I did not bother to wipe them. I picked up one of his pictures, held close to me. Then, I move my eyes millimeter-by-millimeter, studying every details of his face and linking them to the last memory of him in my arms. I wanted to say something but there was a big lump in my throat and I could not open my mouth. I talked to myself in my head, instead.
“Your mama is here. Please talk to me. Why do you leave me? How dare you! I have wanted you for 5 years! Why do you have to leave me? Why? Am I a bad mother?”
The tear came down like a mad faucet and accumulated to a puddle of water on the chair. I did not want to leave. I let it all out, anger, guilt and sadness. I exposed them in the open air, in his room, with no one around.
Finally, when I had no more tears to shed, I picked up his things back into the keepsake box, wiped my face dry, and walked downstairs to pour myself a cup of coffee.
This is how it was for me, for the first two months, after losing Kevin. It became a ritual for me to do this everyday in the morning and first thing in the morning. So, when I went on for the rest of the day, little things did not have to trigger my tears as much as I thought it would. I already shed them when I was with my child in the morning, said my things and he heard it. After the first two months, I found myself not having to do this as often. I already had his face, foot, and hands, engraved in my heart. I was longing for something else, more memories that I could not have. However, the morning ritual helped me at the initial stage. I was grateful that I had the special moments with him. In my own way, I had him in my arms every morning.
What activity helped you, in the first few weeks after you faced unthinkable?
Journey in the Woods 
Beautiful written and heartbreaking all at the same time.
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Thank you!!
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Hugs sweetie. I did the same thing for a really long time after we lost Holdon too. I would sit in his room in the rocking chair with his keepsake box, smelling the little packet of his hair, and the little hats that he wore. To this day, his smell still lingers there. I really found it helped me keep it together the rest of the day too. Thinking about you. Big, big hug ❤
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Thank you! I hope to use this folder, self help, to share the learning from my grieving, what helped and what did not. Thank you for stopping by and sharing yours!
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Hi jasmine, I would write, like you. I wrote to myself of my sorrow and heartbreak, I wrote down my anger and confusion of my Ivf failures, I wrote of my fears of being pregnant and miscarrying again and my fears of not being pregnant again at all, I wrote of my disintegration, my unravelling, my desperation, I wrote of my longing, my hope, my wish… I never let anyone read anything I wrote though. I would destroy my last journal entry after writing each new one. I was afraid of myself sometimes!- how angry I was, how sad I was. Now I wish I kept those journal pieces. Such a significant part of my life. Of my growth. Of my journey. I admire you jasmine…
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I did not write anything until 10 months after the loss. I felt lonely when I was wrapped in my own thoughts. So, I decided to blog. To my surprise, writing and sharing helps me heal! I hope you will find that helpful too.
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oh those first few weeks….. I looked at photos every day. and wrote. my birth story, my feelings. I also scoured the internet for babyloss blogs, websites, anything that would guide me in my grief- show me how to do it all! I”m so thankful for all the blogs I found 🙂
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Wow, bless you all. Thank you for sharing some of those memories, it fills my eyes with tears. So much pain. I just sigh. It helps me keep doing what I do. And when people wonder why we help you make keepsakes of your precious baby, I can be reminded that yeah, it helps on your journey. And I only know this because you have shared this with me. Thank you.
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You made it all possible for me! Thank you, Aggie!
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I made a photo album and I told the story of how my husband and I met, got married, and went through the pregnancy, all the way to the time when we had the car accident (at 9 months pregnant) that led to my baby’s birth and death. I wrote captions for all the pictures and spoke in them to my NEXT child, who I was sure would read it someday and understand the story of her brother. She did. I still have the album. It is not something I enjoy looking at, but I am glad I made it.
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I didn’t make that clear–my 2nd child was not born yet at the time I made the album, but I refused to believe that there would not be a child someday who would live to read it.
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