She has supported me through all my pregnancies. Rubbed my ever growing belly countless times. She has been there through several births to photograph, support, tend to my small children, and me in the aftermath of birth. Making meals, folding laundry, holding baby, and being the person who was there.
Now her 4th baby was almost here, and I was excited to share in her joy, support her as she had me, AND our littlest girls would grow up together. A lifetime goal and dream for us, and dreams I had been wishing for her from the beginning.
We had our summer planned. Visits, double strollers with long walks, nursing our babies together, and a cottage holiday away with the kiddos. All these kiddos, all the fun, together with babes in our arms, baby carriers, side by side, doing it all together. It was going to be great.
We had gone to the butterfly conservatory together. Her 3, my 7, her belly swollen and ready any day for a baby to be born. We took pictures, we laughed, I sympathized with her exhaustion (I know it all too well) and I rubbed her belly encouraging Evelyn not to wait to long, we were all excited to have her here.
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| this is a perfect depiction of us with 10 |
The unthinkable, unspoken, most terrible thing in the world, happened to Evelyn.
Her heart stopped beating.
Kristyn called me just after lunch May 3rd. Her voice shaking, and I was bubbly with excitement as I thought this meant Evelyn was coming!
"You better sit down," a nervous almost laugh but I could tell immediately something was wrong.
She went on to tell me had she hadn't felt Evelyn move since the night before. She had hustled the kids off to school/daycare and tried to coax her baby to move. She talked and prodded her belly to no avail, and with each passing minute the reality of what was happening began to sink in, yet her mind was trying to make reason of anything else.
She had called Mark, her mom, the midwife, gone to the hospital and an OB had done an ultrasound to confirm the worst. Sometime since supper last night, Evelyn's heart had stopped beating and she was gone.
As the words were coming from her mouth and she was talking to me there was a voice in my head saying "No, no, no." As she continued her story the voice was getting louder and louder until I realized I was crying and saying it over and over again out loud.
We fumbled over words to each other. Tears, sobs, pain, anguish, confusion, uncertainty.
My warrior friend, my sister, birthed her still baby, and held her in her arms. She invited me to the hospital so I could hold her girl, cry with her, we could hold each other, and we could hold our baby girls together at least once. I have never felt so much pain, seen so much bravery, heard such anguished cries from a mother, and seen so many tears shed by luved ones in my life.
I have never felt such heart break. For Evelyn. She was never comforted by her momma, held in her luving arms, sung and rocked and nursed to sleep, safe and warm, and luved unconditionally. For Kristyn. She never got to hear her baby cry, rock her to sleep, watch her eyes change color, nurse her, hold her through the night, kiss her warm brow, or just simply, watch her daughter grow. I watched the family gather around her bed as they dedicated Evelyn to Jesus. Tears, sadness, pain, uncertainty. My heart was in pieces.
And among all the pain I had for Kristyn, and Evelyn, and the family, was my pain.
I am sad that Evelyn isn't here. She's missing and it feels like she is missing. I see Kristyn, strong and moving forward with determination to live, and move though it. I'm just sad that she isn't wearing a baby. We are not nursing baby girls together, and my Ariana will not remember Evelyn. I am sad that she isn't and won't be in summer cousin pics, in our memories of the summer visits, and trips. I am sad that we aren't passing babies back and forth, and we aren't pushing double strollers together.
In all those things that make me sad, that brings tears to my eyes, I am reminded that my pain is real, and hard, but Kristyn's is deeper, stronger, and that breaks my heart.
In the days following, the first week, I walked in a fog. Nothing felt real, and NO ONE wanted to talk about it. I found a few people. They were kind, luving, supportive, reassuring. The words they spoke were like tiny rays of sunshine in the darkest storm I could imagine. There was a sense of being overwhelmed, and exhaustion set in. My world was rocked, and nothing made sense. I questioned God, was angry at God and then I became TERRIFIED God would take one of my children. I couldn't sleep. I moved the play pen right beside the bed, so I could touch Ariana while she was sleeping. I bought Caleb to my bed so hear him all night. Insomnia. I was up multiple times to check the other children. Depression. Everything felt dark, I was scared, fearful, I wanted Evelyn in Kristyn's arms, cooing and nursing, and to see that beautiful smile on my friend's face so the world would make sense again.
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3 months have passed. Some of the fear has dwindled. Caleb sleeps in his bed again, but Goran brings him to bed before he goes to work, so I can feel him moving, squirming, and breathing. My depression has mostly passed, and things feel brighter, manageable.
Kristyn and I talk about Evelyn with ease, sadness, longingly wishing she was here, but the immediate intensity of the pain is not as strong. I hold my friend when she needs a hug, and she holds me back. Even through her pain she has been there, loving me, listening to me and supporting me as much as I have supported her. We have found a new normal without Evelyn but our hearts still ache, and there is always a longing that things were different.
Evelyn,
you will
forever
be in
our
hearts.
always missed,
always luved
never forgotten
Kristyn,
My heart
will ache
with yours
forever.
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