Defining Moments

"There are moments that mark your life. Moments when you realize nothing will ever be the same and time is divided into two parts- before this, and after this." 

One such moment began in the early hours of February 5, 2015…

 My husband Julio gets up early each morning for work and while most days I sleep right through his morning rituals only to be woken up by a kiss, a hug and an "I love you" before he's off, this particular morning as he was getting ready I suddenly woke up in a panic. Something was different. Something felt different. It was then I realized I hadn't felt my baby move. In fact, from what I remembered I hadn't felt her move at all the previous day either. I quickly reached for my phone and pulled up my music. I don't recall what song I selected and put up to my belly but after several minutes of no movement I called for my husband. By this time I was in tears.
One thing you must know about my husband is he is not emotional like me. I sometimes joke that he's not really Latin. That I have more of that Latin trait than he does and he lived in Mexico for 13 years of his life! My husband is a very logical person and he keeps me grounded. I've been grateful for that in situations when my emotions have gotten the best of me. So when his response to me after I called him in was not his typical, "Mel, stop worrying. She's fine." type of answer and instead silence and a look of concern I knew something was very wrong. It was then he made the decision that we needed to go to Labor and Delivery to get checked out.
 From that moment on everything just seemed like a dream. I remember during car ride to the hospital we didn't speak a word to each other. I remember thinking how peaceful the early morning is. Not knowing what we were about to face I just tried to believe that everything was going to be ok. We were going to go in there and hear her heartbeat, she and I would have a long talk about not scaring momma anymore and we'd move on. Life rarely turns out the way we expect it to.
After getting settle into a room and changing clothes the nurse came in to run tests. When she couldn't hear a heartbeat I think she made up the excuse that "sometimes the placenta gets in the way and it's hard to hear the heartbeat". Bless her heart for trying. I don't know if that's true or not, but it was in that moment I think I knew this wasn't going to turn out the way I thought it would.
 Not too long after that the doctor came in to do an ultrasound. During that ultrasound I kept my eyes fixed on Julio. I was looking for any reaction, any sign of hope, any indication that things were fine and everything was going to be okay. After what felt like forever, the doctor confirmed what we already knew. She was gone. There was no life. All I could do was cry. I couldn't believe what he was telling us was now our reality. There had to be some mistake. He needed to check again. My baby was not really gone. How could this be??
 After that, it's all a blur. Discussions of how to proceed, when to deliver, how to deliver, our thoughts about an autopsy. I barely remember anything. I assume this was my body's way of dealing with such devastating news. I kept going back and forth between unbearable heartache, you know the kind that overcomes your entire body with indescribable pain and sadness, to not feeling at all and thinking this is not happening. This is not my reality. Up until that moment I thought the hardest thing I would ever experience was losing a parent at 16. Losing a child at 29, not possible. Not.possible.

 Eloise Ava Johnson was born via c-section Thursday, February 5, 2015 at 2:42 in the afternoon. She weighed 2 lbs. 3 ounces and was 15 inches long. The doctors said that when they pulled her out her arms were crossed on her body and that she looked so peaceful. My brother would later say, "I think she wanted you to know that she is at peace. She's with Dad and she's okay."

 She had the thick wavy hair that I had hoped she'd have and in my eyes was the most perfect human being. Even before she was born I had fallen in love with her profile. Especially her nose. I thought she was beautiful in ultrasounds. She was even more beautiful in person. We were able to bathe her, 

dress her and hold her for as long as we wanted. Creating moments that I will forever cherish. However, lingering in the back of my mind was the agony of knowing that eventually we would have to say goodbye. How do you say goodbye to someone you don't even know, yet had such an impact on your life? The next day before we said our final goodbye I kept asking the nurse if Eloise was going to be ok. My heart hurt so much to think she was going to be in some cold place alone. I didn't want that for my baby. I felt so helpless. 

I remember telling my mom that throughout the 30 weeks I was pregnant I had felt something. I had a feeling. I didn't know how to describe it. I couldn't explain it. I didn't know what it was, but deep down  I knew something. Never in a million years would I have dreamed this would be that something. She told me that the day my dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor she had similar feelings. Her belief is that in some instances our spirits know and we're being prepared.

 In the days since Eloise left us I've tried desperately to make any sort of sense out of what has happened. My husband says I'm a fixer. So in true "fixer" fashion I've gone back over everything over and over again trying to find something to explain why things are the way they are. I scoured the internet for answers. What did I miss? What did I do wrong? As a mother and the one who carried her it's hard not to place blame on myself. I should have known something was wrong.
  It's hard feeling like I understood my purpose. I was certain I understood why some things didn't work out in the past. I was supposed to be a mom and be home to raise my daughter. I felt like for the first time in a long time God and I were on the same page. Now, all of a sudden I find myself back at square one lost and confused about what exactly my purpose is.
 It's been difficult to pick up the pieces. Even harder to feel okay about moving on. Realizing that life moves on with or without me. Which, frankly, I don't think is very fair at all. My heart knows that Eloise would want us to be happy and living life to the fullest. In fact, on really good days I say I will live life to the fullest in her honor and I do.
  Most days though the goal is just to survive. Which is where the idea for a blog came about in the first place. Nights are hard in the sense that I don't sleep as well as I used to. I thought that this might be a good way to channel my energy and one way to help me heal. I can't promise anything spectacular, but I hope in some way it helps me or even you, the reader.
  "There are moments that mark your life." Well, this is definitely one of them. I am forever a changed person because of this experience. A piece of me died the day Eloise did and I won't ever be whole until I have her in my arms again. She helped me realize things I didn't even know I needed or wanted.
 While I may not understand a lot of things right now I look back on the past month and realize that by some miracle we've made it more than a month! In ways the heartache isn't as unbearable as it was the morning in February. And I realize how incredibly lucky and blessed I am so have had someone so precious with me for 30 weeks.