Madeline

There are a lot of things I never thought I would have to encounter in life. Outliving my child is one of them. I delivered Oliver over 3 weeks ago, and each day I’m learning something new about myself, my triggers, my relationship with other people, and navigating life after the death of a child. I plan on writing about everything I’ve learned, but today I want to talk about the uglier side of stillbirth, or child loss in general. The things no one could ever prepare you for. Things you can only learn while you’re in it. A big part of why I started this blog and writing about mine and Oliver’s experience is to help other people.

Here are the 10 most unexpected, challenging, painful things I have experienced since Oliver died.

1. Report of Fetal Death. Before or shortly after my c-section to deliver Oliver (I can’t remember a lot from my hospital trip), I was handed a stack of paperwork to fill out. On top was something titled North Carolina Report of Fetal Death. I was given no warning about what I was filling out. I don’t even remember what all was included. I just remember the title stealing the breath from my lungs. It took me a good while to fill out the paperwork, because I still couldn’t believe this was my reality. It isn’t something anyone can warn you about.
2. You have to call the funeral home. Yep, it’s true. After the death of your child, you still have to call the funeral home to give them permission to pick up your baby from the hospital. There was a misunderstanding at the hospital, and I thought the hospital staff had called and sorted everything out. I quickly learned before we were discharged that I had to initiate contact first. I’ll never forget calling the funeral home, sobbing, and saying, “I don’t even know how to say this, but I need to talk to someone about picking up my baby from the hospital.”
3. The morning you leave the hospital. This might be an individual experience, and I’m sure it’s different for all loss parents, but Jordan and I both agreed that the morning we got discharged from the hospital was the worst out of the 5 days we were there. Learning Oliver didn’t have a heartbeat was awful. Delivering him and never hearing him cry was also awful. But having to put him down for the last time, knowing I would never hold him again, felt like someone had punched into my chest and shredded my heart. I could sit surrounded by dictionaries, thesauruses, English teachers everywhere, and I would never be able to formulate a sentence that accurately describes that pain. We had to press the call button and ask a nurse to come take him back to the morgue. I couldn’t watch them take him away. I remember telling Jordan that I wished they’d leave me and him together in that room until I died, too.
4. Your first postpartum visit. I had many health complications while in the hospital delivering Oliver, so I’ve had more postpartum appointments than a typical person. We left the hospital on a Friday, and my first appointment was a blood pressure check at my OB’s office on Tuesday. I remember being worried about walking into the waiting room and seeing pregnant women or babies. I’m grateful that the office was empty that particular day, and my appointment didn’t last long at all. I’m not sure how I would have reacted otherwise. And this is why I firmly believe OB offices everywhere should have 2 waiting areas: one for pregnant women & newly postpartum women with their babies, and one for everyone else.
5. The funeral home visit. Jordan and I decided very quickly that we wanted to cremate Oliver. I knew there was no way I would survive burying my child. I wanted him home with us where he belonged. 3 days after getting out of the hospital, we had to visit the funeral home. There was paperwork to sign, questions to answers, urns to pick out. Jordan handled everything, while I sat there and stared at the floor. I might have said a sentence or two to the funeral home director. When he left the room for a moment, I remember looking at Jordan and saying, “This is so fucked.” That was all I could think while we were there. I remember picking out an urn; we picked a green one, because that was Oliver’s color in our minds. The rest of the visit I’ve tucked deeply into the back of my mind.
6. “Do you have any children?” I know this question was asked in good faith, and it was mostly to make conversation, but dealing with any variation of this question after you lose your child is like a punch in the stomach. It’s up there with, “How many kids do you have?” It’s an impossible question to answers. Technically yes, I do have a child, he just lives in Heaven. But when I answer that way, people become awkward. They start to apologize and rush to end the conversation. But it’s not like I can’t say “no” either, because I do have a child. I have a sweet, perfect baby boy, and I will always celebrate and claim him.
7. Finding pictures you thought you’d hidden. When we were still in the hospital, I went through my camera roll and added every photo I could to my hidden album. I hid pictures of pregnancy tests, outfits I’d bought, pictures of his room, and pictures of him I’d taken in the hospital. I was afraid to stumble upon them randomly one day. I did a really good job of hiding most of them, but a few days ago I found a picture from the hospital I hadn’t hidden, and it ruined my entire day. Not because I don’t want to see him — of course I do. But because I need it to be on my terms.
8. Hearing people talk about babies and pregnancy. A few days ago, I had to go get blood drawn for genetic testing in an attempt to figure out what exactly happened with Oliver. Before this, I decided to treat myself to a manicure and pedicure. It was the first time I was in public alone since everything happened. As I was getting my nails done, the nail tech and her customer were beside me talking about their nieces and nephews and how one of their sisters is pregnant and so uncomfortable. I held back my tears until I got to the car. My triggers are no one’s responsibility but my own, and of course these two strangers had no idea my son had just died, but hearing the conversation hit me in a way I hadn’t expected.
9. Seeing pregnant women or couples with newborns in real life. Again, no one is responsible for my triggers. I have to learn to work through them, and I’m learning new ones every day. There are several women in my life who are pregnant, and I am so unbelievably happy for them. Each time they reach a milestone in their pregnancy, I celebrate them, because I know how huge it is. But I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a small voice in the back of my mind that says, “Look at them. They get to have everything you don’t.” It isn’t their fault my baby died. I have nothing against them. I love my pregnant friends and their babies. But I have some jealously and self-pity to work through.
10. Seeing all the pregnant women you followed on social media. When I found out I was pregnant, it felt like everyone on my Tiktok for you page was pregnant around the same time. I immediately followed everyone with the same general timeline as me. Even though we didn’t know each other, it felt like a small community, knowing there were other women out there experiencing what I was when I was. Then Oliver died, and they all got to keep their babies. In the same vein as above, I’m so happy for them. I wish with all my heart no one else would ever have to feel what I’m feeling. But I look at them with the same jealously and happiness combined. I celebrate their pregnancies, and I wish them the best, but I had to unfollow most of them. It is a constant reminder of what I unfairly lost.

If you find yourself in the situation I’m in, I’m so sorry. I hope as I continue this journey, something I say can comfort you or prepare you.

If you never find yourself in this situation, I hope you recognize how fortunate you are, and I hope you never take that for granted. I also hope sharing the things I’ve learned helps you sympathize with and be patient with child loss parents. We are grieving and learning new triggers every day.