The night Lauren died, I went to bed as usual. I didn't think she was moving much before I went to bed, but I wasn't worried. I slept six hours. Before I opened my eyes, I knew something was wrong. I felt rested. I hadn't slept more than two hours since she had dropped into my pelvis. I got up and tried to get her to move, pushing on my belly. Nothing. It was 3:00 A.M.
My heart beat fast at the doctor's office. I was sent to the hospital for an ultrasound. Big, open, unmoving heart on the monitor. Sorry, it isn't good news.
Up to Labor and Delivery to be induced. I work at this hospital - the nurses are my friends. I had excellent care. No smiling faces, but hugs and soft explanations. What to do and expect when your baby is born dead.
It took two days for Lauren to arrive. She slid silently out of my body, the knot readily visible in her cord.
I gave her her only bath and dressed her in a beautiful white dress that had been made by another mother who had suffered the same loss. Family came in, held her and said 'good bye.'
Lauren was cremated the next day. I have her ashes and all her things in a box in my closet. They have been there all these years. I put nearly all my thoughts and feelings about Lauren in there too, taking them out and sobbing every year on her birthday. They won't stay put anymore. They come out when I least expect it and when I am least prepared to handle them.
Sometimes I wonder, what did I do? Where did I go wrong? Why didn't a little girl ever come home to live with me? I am a girly girl, now living with four sons and a husband. I feel so left out. Will I ever get over this? I don't know. Sometimes it is all too much.
