Written by Alicia Gatto

 

Never in my life had I expected to endure pain so deep.  Never had I expected to hear that my baby had died.  As I left the doctor's office, my world was upside down and my mind was frantic.  My heart and my body ached.  A piece of me was gone and my fears were overwhelming.  How would I ever birthe a lifeless baby?  How does someone bury a child?  What do we tell our living children? 

We took it one step at a time.  We decided to be induced immediately since the cause of Addie's death was unknown.  I was so afraid that there was a problem that would affect my health.  I had to do this quickly and safely so I could get home to my two little girls. 

I birthed my daughter the only way I knew how...calmly, naturally and with overwhelming love.  I progressed through labor using Hypno-Birthing with the help of my husband and two doulas.  We were also so very fortunate to have the support of our families during the process.  As the minutes and hours passed, we were faced with many decisions.  Decisions that I have never imagined.  The staff at the hospital was also supportive and caring...helping us to understand the process and preparing us for the moments ahead. 

Do we want to hold our baby?  Do we want to baptize her?  Do we want to dress her?  Where do we want to bury her?  Do we want to take pictures?  So many questions, so little time.  It all so happened fast, there wasn't any time for it all to settle.

When our beautiful Addie made her way into our world, she was as precious as they come.  For a brief moment, I felt excitement and relief as I birthed her.  I couldn’t wait to see her, to hear her.  Then suddenly that happy moment was gone.  Reality struck and my heart broke all over again.  She was not going to cry or take her first breath.  Her life was over before it began.    For us, there was no other choice than to cradle her with unconditional love.  I continued to think there would be a miracle….that the staff would suddenly say she was alive.  In my mind, I was turning a nightmare into a dream.   And then it hit me again.  I watched as my husband held her close.  He rocked her and stared at her with tear filled eyes.  My heart kept breaking….over and over.

He gently handed Addie to me.  I did not want to let her go.  I couldn’t give up on her.  I couldn’t let her down.  “Is there something I can do?”  We chose to spend as much time with her as we could and although the pain was worsened by the reality…I will never regret it.  Those few short hours are forever in my memory and in deep in my heart.  She deserved to be held and honored. 

The events of the morning unfolded quickly and with great emotion.  We examined every feature on her body.  Her toes and fingers were long and beautiful.  I swear they curled around mine.  I intently watched her closed eyes…it appeared as she was blinking. 

The nurses took Addie to bathe her and dress her in preparation of the baptism we planned on a whim.  Our parents and my brother were called in to see her and to participate in the blessing.  Afterward, my husband and I continued to hold her and tried to comprehend this tragedy.  How will we ever say goodbye?  Shortly after, we did.  The nurses whisked Addie away and we were left to rest.  The nightmare continued.  I would soon be released from the hospital with nothing to take home.  My arms ached and a piece of me was gone. 

As we returned to our home, our minds were spinning and our world was in shambles.  We were forced to make funeral arrangements and to choose our final resting place.  I remember standing at the cemetery after the service, talking with my closest friends and telling them I finally felt hungry for the first time in 3 days.  It felt as if a huge weight was lifted off my chest.  I was able to breathe and crack a smile.  It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm.  Friends and family distracted me, at least for a little while.  Then it hit me all over again.  They were surrounding us because we just buried our daughter. 

For weeks I was in a different world.  It was difficult to focus on any one thing.  I could barely carry on a conversation with any individual.  I remember talking to people and in the middle of a sentence I would stop and forget what I was even saying.  I was having trouble focusing on my children.  I had to rely on our families to care for them until I was capable of fulfilling my motherly duties.  I felt so guilty for being this way, but there was nothing to pull me out of it.  At times, I couldn’t breathe.  My chest felt as if it caved in.  I would sigh, heavy and deep.

The most challenging part of my loss and grieving was personifying my daughter.  I would refer to her as “the baby”, regardless of who I spoke to or if I was journaling my thoughts.  I was blessed with a social worker who was assigned to me by the hospital.  When she visited with me for the first time, I felt comforted, reassured and even hopeful that days would get better.  She made me realize that I was unable to use my daughter’s name.  I refused to make this tragedy real....I did not want this to be "me".  As soon as I referred to my baby girl as Addie, everything began to change.  I even noticed that my husband was having the same trouble coming to terms with our loss.  We worked through this together with patience and understanding.  I was determined to take it head on and get through the deepest pain as quick as I could.  The sooner I could tackle the grief, the sooner I would be able to move forward. 

I have begun to move forward, but the grieving is far from over.  I will forever feel the pain of my precious loss and my heart will always have a scar.

 

Written by Alicia Gatto

 

Never in my life had I expected to endure pain so deep.  Never had I expected to hear that my baby had died.  As I left the doctor's office, my world was upside down and my mind was frantic.  My heart and my body ached.  A piece of me was gone and my fears were overwhelming.  How would I ever birthe a lifeless baby?  How does someone bury a child?  What do we tell our living children? 

We took it one step at a time.  We decided to be induced immediately since the cause of Addie's death was unknown.  I was so afraid that there was a problem that would affect my health.  I had to do this quickly and safely so I could get home to my two little girls. 

I birthed my daughter the only way I knew how...calmly, naturally and with overwhelming love.  I progressed through labor using Hypno-Birthing with the help of my husband and two doulas.  We were also so very fortunate to have the support of our families during the process.  As the minutes and hours passed, we were faced with many decisions.  Decisions that I have never imagined.  The staff at the hospital was also supportive and caring...helping us to understand the process and preparing us for the moments ahead. 

Do we want to hold our baby?  Do we want to baptize her?  Do we want to dress her?  Where do we want to bury her?  Do we want to take pictures?  So many questions, so little time.  It all so happened fast, there wasn't any time for it all to settle.

When our beautiful Addie made her way into our world, she was as precious as they come.  For a brief moment, I felt excitement and relief as I birthed her.  I couldn’t wait to see her, to hear her.  Then suddenly that happy moment was gone.  Reality struck and my heart broke all over again.  She was not going to cry or take her first breath.  Her life was over before it began.    For us, there was no other choice than to cradle her with unconditional love.  I continued to think there would be a miracle….that the staff would suddenly say she was alive.  In my mind, I was turning a nightmare into a dream.   And then it hit me again.  I watched as my husband held her close.  He rocked her and stared at her with tear filled eyes.  My heart kept breaking….over and over.

He gently handed Addie to me.  I did not want to let her go.  I couldn’t give up on her.  I couldn’t let her down.  “Is there something I can do?”  We chose to spend as much time with her as we could and although the pain was worsened by the reality…I will never regret it.  Those few short hours are forever in my memory and in deep in my heart.  She deserved to be held and honored. 

The events of the morning unfolded quickly and with great emotion.  We examined every feature on her body.  Her toes and fingers were long and beautiful.  I swear they curled around mine.  I intently watched her closed eyes…it appeared as she was blinking. 

The nurses took Addie to bathe her and dress her in preparation of the baptism we planned on a whim.  Our parents and my brother were called in to see her and to participate in the blessing.  Afterward, my husband and I continued to hold her and tried to comprehend this tragedy.  How will we ever say goodbye?  Shortly after, we did.  The nurses whisked Addie away and we were left to rest.  The nightmare continued.  I would soon be released from the hospital with nothing to take home.  My arms ached and a piece of me was gone. 

As we returned to our home, our minds were spinning and our world was in shambles.  We were forced to make funeral arrangements and to choose our final resting place.  I remember standing at the cemetery after the service, talking with my closest friends and telling them I finally felt hungry for the first time in 3 days.  It felt as if a huge weight was lifted off my chest.  I was able to breathe and crack a smile.  It was a beautiful day, sunny and warm.  Friends and family distracted me, at least for a little while.  Then it hit me all over again.  They were surrounding us because we just buried our daughter. 

For weeks I was in a different world.  It was difficult to focus on any one thing.  I could barely carry on a conversation with any individual.  I remember talking to people and in the middle of a sentence I would stop and forget what I was even saying.  I was having trouble focusing on my children.  I had to rely on our families to care for them until I was capable of fulfilling my motherly duties.  I felt so guilty for being this way, but there was nothing to pull me out of it.  At times, I couldn’t breathe.  My chest felt as if it caved in.  I would sigh, heavy and deep.

The most challenging part of my loss and grieving was personifying my daughter.  I would refer to her as “the baby”, regardless of who I spoke to or if I was journaling my thoughts.  I was blessed with a social worker who was assigned to me by the hospital.  When she visited with me for the first time, I felt comforted, reassured and even hopeful that days would get better.  She made me realize that I was unable to use my daughter’s name.  I refused to make this tragedy real....I did not want this to be "me".  As soon as I referred to my baby girl as Addie, everything began to change.  I even noticed that my husband was having the same trouble coming to terms with our loss.  We worked through this together with patience and understanding.  I was determined to take it head on and get through the deepest pain as quick as I could.  The sooner I could tackle the grief, the sooner I would be able to move forward. 

I have begun to move forward, but the grieving is far from over.  I will forever feel the pain of my precious loss and my heart will always have a scar.