Story of Emma

Silence. That’s all I heard after the birth of my daughter, Emma. I had gone to the hospital to check on her. It had been over 24 hours since I had felt her kicks. I laid down on the bed anxious to see her squirming around on the sonogram. The tech put the cold gel on my belly and we all stared expectantly at the screen. But there was only silence. The other nurse in the room was motioned over and also joined in on the staring. More silence. I turned to my sister and grabbed for her hand, “they aren’t saying anything” I said to her with a feral, urgent desperation. She squeezed my hand tightly. “Go get the Dr.” the tech said to the nurse. A pretty woman in a lab coat appeared much too quickly. She too, stared at the screen. And the silence came again. Finally, she sat at the edge of the bed and looked at me squarely in the eyes, “how do you want me to tell you?” God those words. Terrible ugly words. “No, no, don’t say it” I begged. I turned again to my sister, tears now streaming down her cheeks. “No, no, I can’t hear it.” Because Once she told me, once she said the words, she couldn’t take them back. But the words didn’t matter, because the truth was Emma was dead, and we all knew it. They told me I’d have to give birth to her. I told them that was sick, a sick thing to have a woman do. To ask her to give birth to her lifeless baby. But it was inevitable. And soon I had the shortest16 hours of my life. Induced and then told to push. I silently hoped they were wrong. That it was all a mistake. That I would hear her cry. But there was only silence. I cradled her in my arms, looked over her sweet still body. The birth was over, but the pain was just beginning.

Silence. The echo of my babys life is shrouded in silence. And though she never made a noise as I cradled her in my arms, her message is still loud and clear. Speaking to me everyday I hear her. telling me to Grow. Live. Love. Because though no words were said, or sentiments cooed, she spoke to me. She speaks to me. To my soul. A kind of special language only a deeply powerful maternal love can convey. Words I don’t hear, but that I feel. A connection Beyond life and death, that brings on desperate variations of grief. A grief that teaches you of the depths of emotion and compassion you never asked to learn. A grief that leaves you to suffocate on a love that you can never give. A grief that you’re grateful for, and a grief you resent. But mostly A grief that changes you so you’ll never be the same again. My love, my heart, my life, Emma you are and will always be the best thing that ever happened to me.

Reviews

[Vertigo Cat1111]

Thank you so much for sharing this. You’re helping so many people with your wonderfully written story and helping ease pain, making others feel not so alone.

[Diverse TV]

Thank you for sharing this. It is immensely powerful and there are many others who may read this and be helped and not feel alone in the pain they're feeling.