From time to time, I bump into another baby lost mama on the internet in a spot not related to baby lost. Like a sewing message board. Or a forum for triplet moms. There is always an unspoken understanding. We've been in the same hellish spot at one point in our lives and so we can relate. It connects us even if we have nothing else in common.
Today, I found out that the sister of one of my "internet friends" lost her baby. She is in labor now. And as I read her message, which I had to re-read, I found myself back to June 3, 2006. The day Abbey died. The day we found out.
I was doing a bit of cleaning this past Saturday morning and as a part of that cleaning, I had located a basket in the basement office that I wanted to use in the front hall for the girls' bags. It was full of office type stuff - scrapbooking materials, notebooks, etc. As I moved the items from one basket to another, I came across a scrapbook that I had started for Abbey and then put aside, for several reasons.
When I picked up the scrapbook, pictures of me pregnant with her slid out. I shuffled through them, not recognizing myself. I was a different person then. Sure, we all change but we don't all change like this. I don't think I'll ever be that naive again.
And so while I wanted to tell my friend that her sister will be okay, I only offered my condolences and prayers because I know that's not what they want to hear in this moment. When you know that you are going to meet your baby and have to say goodbye in the same moment, the last thing you want to hear is that you will be okay. You are not ready to process that.
I remember reading an article written by a grandmother of a stillborn baby in a grief publication months after Abbey's passing. She compared grief to standing bare foot in a river of ice cold water. At first, your feet ache with numbness from the rushing water but as time passes, the ache dulls. It will always be there but will change.