The Birth of My Son

Told by: Anonymous

A year and 3 months ago I had a beautiful little boy; he was born way too early because I had an incompitant cervix.

This means my cervix is weak and can’t hold baby so I have to get a stitch put in every time I get pregnant. I went into labor with him on mine and my husbands wedding night. It was devastating.

I didn’t know what was happening until they told me I was in labor and I could possibly lose my baby. All I could do was cry and sit there and hold my belly praying that him possibly dying would not be true, that maybe this was a bad dream. I was in the hospital for three days trying to keep myself from going into labor with him for the second time but nature decided other wise and I ended up having him on May 21,2012.

He was 20 weeks and 5 days, he weighed 12 oz. and was 14 inches long.

To anyone who is married and thinks they can’t get through this together it is possible. My husband and I are still married and we now have a beautiful little girl who has a big brother looking after her.

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BIRTH & BEREAVEMENT QUOTES

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She was a genius of sadness, immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands, appreciating its subtle nuances. She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum.

— Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.

— C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

I am strong.

— January, founder of Birth Without Fear

When someone you love dies, and you’re not expecting it, you don’t lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time—the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers. Gradually, you accumulate the parts of her that are gone. Just when the day comes—when there’s a particular missing part that overwhelms you with the feeling that she’s gone, forever—there comes another day, and another specifically missing part.

— John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany

They say time heals all wounds, but that presumes the source of the grief is finite.

— Cassandra Clare, Clockwork Prince

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