With everything that panned out with my fourth, I've thought, could negative thinking impact the way situations turn out? In thinking that something could go wrong... In reading other stories during Savannah's pregnancy... In listening to "I will carry you" over and over again... In thinking and preparing for an infant funeral in my mind with being told everything was okay??... Could thoughts have caused this? Or for years did I know that Savannah was my temporary baby girl? My momentary gift?
Again I find myself wondering... is it possible I am setting myself up for another bleak outcome? Whether people want to acknowledge that Savannah was.... Savannah IS my FOURTH child.
But she couldn't stay.
And now I want five.
But it isn't happening.
And because it was always so easy to get pregnant before, I find myself wondering... Was four it for me? Am I destined to go through the rest of my life with, as other people always say, "my THREE children?" Savannah isn't a physical presence and because she is no longer with us, people classify me as a mother of only three. But I am not a mother of three. I was never meant to be a mother of three. I am a mother of four. And my deepest desire is to be a physical mother of four. An angel mommy of one.
April 15th, we sold our seven seater SUV. We bought it February 2010. We couldn't wait to pull up to the hospital later that summer and bring Savannah home. But our large family automobile brought us home empty handed. The pink flowered car seat never once touched the gray leather. She never saw the car we bought for her. Our black Lincoln Navigator only carried broken hearts and medical supplies. It's purpose was at UC Davis, and moonlit drives filled with the darkest tears. It lead the funeral procession, and knew Savannah only as hospitals and the tail end of a white hearse.
At gas approaching five dollars a gallon, we cut our losses in a double sense. 1) We were paying almost five dollars a gallon for a purpose that didn't get to be, and 2) Our hopes of filling the empty seat get father out of our reach each month that passes...
I did not know that babies die so often. That it is so common. I thought it was a rare tragic story. I thought the women who did loose their precious babies were so strong, so brave... that there must be something so much deeper about them for them to loose a child.
Let me tell you... there's not.
We are not braver or stronger than any other woman out there. We have a wound that heals slowly, but is always there. We approach life differently, and feel at times secluded from the mothers who don't bury their babies. We are adjusting to a new way of life. And there are a lot of us.
And each of these woman understand what it is like to be called brave. To be called strong. If I may seem any of these things to you... Just know I am not responsible for my strength or bravery. We live a secluded life, from the moment we stare death down face to face. Because we can NEVER go back to the place where we don't know babies die. We can never see a pregnant woman and wonder. We can never look at a passing baby in the same manner.
This is life of a grieving mother.
It never goes away. The wound may not always be fresh.
But scar tissue will always remain.
Saying goodbye to our SUV was more than an automobile.
It was saying goodbye to hopes and dreams we once had.