Day 7: Memory

Capture Your Grief Day 7: Memory

Some memories escape us, some memories fondly stick with us and then there are the memories that haunt us. When I think about my first son, I have some of all of these memories. I'm actually glad I wrote a lot down the first year after Nolan's death because with my second pregnancy, lots of what I experienced during my time as a pregnant woman has become muddled. I don't entirely know what I felt when and with what pregnancy anymore. I do remember enjoying a time of ethereal bliss during my pregnancy with Nolan which I never experienced with Ronan and will never experience again with any subsequent pregnancies I may experience. It was a time after we surpassed the delicate first trimester and before I went to the hospital that fateful night. For 20 weeks, between weeks 14 and 35 gestation, we lived happily ever after. We put together the most amazingly zen nursery, we had baby showers, we picked out a name, we nested, we took baby classes and we dreamed of the very near future. We took weekly pregnancy photos, went to ultrasounds every 3 weeks and by the end of my pregnancy I waddled every where I went. I had gained 30 pounds with Nolan. My feet were swollen, I couldn't tie my shoes myself with any ease, my back ached and I felt swollen everywhere. I had stopped wearing my wedding bands the week prior as my fingers were just too swollen to allow me to get them on. I counted carbs my entire pregnancy and took my blood sugar 3 times a day. It certainly wasn't the fun pregnancy I had romanticized it to be, but I only had one bout of morning sickness my entire pregnancy and I was more than excited to welcome my baby boy into this world. It was all going to be worth it. But then it wasn't.

Nolan moved a lot early one but as the weeks passed and he got taller and taller he moved less frequently. I assumed he was running out of room. At 21" long, he was quite curled up in my short torso. I remember nearly every ultrasound the technician commenting on Nolan's height - his long legs, specifically. Then they would look at my 5'3" stature and ask if my husband was especially tall. Nope he was pretty average height for a man. No idea where our son was getting his height. I had heartburn like crazy nearly my entire second and third trimester. Old wives tales will tell you that means your baby has a lot of hair. Ultrasounds confirmed all the hair and sure enough when Nolan was born with a thick head of brown hair I knew there might actually be something to the old wives tale after all. 

There were some major difference between my pregnancies with my sons. My husband and I actually clung to the differences as a sign of hope that things would be different the second time around. I was never diagnosed with gestational diabetes with my second pregnancy, despite the three different glucose tests they gave me just to be sure.  I also didn't gain as much weight the second time around, although I didn't lose all the weight from the first pregnancy before I got pregnant again 3 months later. I never got bloated, my feet never swelled and I was still wearing my wedding bands when they made me take them off in the hospital before my c-section. They never did figure out what happened. There are no answers as to why Nolan passed away, although there is some speculation. Obviously, the most clear images and memories I have are the few short hours we spent in the hospital with Nolan after he was born.

I remember how delicate his skin was. I remember being afraid to really touch him for fear he would fall apart like a china doll. I remember being so afraid to bathe him and dress him and so thankful the nurse was there to help. I remember thinking it was silly they put a diaper on him, but then realizing they had to to preserve his body. I remember his perfect little lips and how quickly they changed as his body withered away by the hour. I remember his long, skinny fingers and perfectly manicured nails and how Marshall thought those were perfect pianist hands. I remember putting the little hat I had knitted him on his head for the only family photo we would ever have. I remember his ears and wondering if he would have been able to hear. I remember never seeing his eyes open. And then I remember him in his bassinet as the nurse wheeled him out of my room for the last time. That was the last time I would see my son's body. The next time I would see him would be when the funeral home handed me a box full of his ashes.