It shouldn’t happen

The following is sensitive.  I have never warned that before.  But this blog has come a long way.  I have readers who are pregnant and need to know that this post is not comforting.  This is not a sunshine and rainbows kind of post.  Click away now.



Did you watch this past season of the Ral L Word??

Did you grow yourself a crush on Kacy??

Did you cheer them on as they tried to get pregnant?

Did you feel heartbreak for them when they weren’t successful and cheer them on in the months to follow?

Did you continue to follow them after the show ended?

Did you cheer with joy when they announced in August that they were pregnant!?!?

Did you follow their Facebook page and Blog obsessively following their pregnancy?

Did you wonder where they have been since December, the last time they updated either?

Did you lay in bed last night and see that they had updated their blog and were afraid to open it??

Cori and Kacy’s daughter Charlie was born too soon, on Christmas Eve.  I bawled my eyes out reading their story.  I felt every single emotion resurface.  This shouldn’t happen.  I was texting with Crush and I told her “I’m heartbroken for them.  It is so unfair that this happens.  No one really warns you that a pregnancy does not equal a baby.”

I know exactly what this quote feels like “This can’t be.  I cannot accept this.  But we love her.  We love her so much already.  We can’t say goodbye.” No one should have to accept it.  No one should have to say goodbye.

My old nightmare came back last night.  The same nightmare I had every night, sometimes multiple times per night, in the months after Blue passed.  I am looking in the nursery window at the hospital.  Looking down at the little bassinet holding my son.  I’m watching as people I love take turns holding him.  My grandmothers, my friend Roxanne, Jenn’s cousin Jenna.  I watch as they coo over him.  Kiss his cheeks.  I’m comforted in knowing that there are other angels there to hold him and kiss him.  Just as I breathe a small sigh, happy at least in the knowledge that he is still being showered in love, even if it isn’t my arms holding him, demons come into the room.  Demons may not be the best description, but I honestly don’t know how else to describe him.  They come with their stink and their peeling skin.  They have long thin fingers that don’t look as though they know how to touch gently.

They rip my son from my loved one’s arms.  They take him away.  I scream and beat on the glass.  No one can hear me.  My family tries to stop them, but always the last thing I see before I awaken is a demon methodically breaking my loved ones wings.

My son is gone.  There is no getting him back.  While I understand that the demons did not actually take him, there is still no getting him back.  I shouldn’t have had to say goodbye.

Cori and Kacy have a long road ahead of them.  I am four years out and the hole in my chest has not grown any smaller.  While I live day to day and am no longer drowning in pain, it is still there.  It is still very real.

I closed my eyes again last night, Blue Bear wrapped safely in my arms.  I cried for a little while, and then put the tears away.  Life continues moving forward, even when all you want to do is scream and tell everyone that life stopped over four years ago.  When we are in moments of grief and mourning, we look around us and people are continuing their everyday lives.  People get gas.  People go grocery shopping.  All we can feel is pain and heartache and despair.  How can they keep living their lives as though nothing has happened?

But, life goes on.  We rebuild.  We find new normal.  I am hoping that if the Real L Word is on for another season that Cori and Kacy continue to be on the show.  That they can show the world how it feels to lose a child.  So few people understand.  I don’t want anyone else to ever feel the pain, but I do want people to know that it happens.  Know that we hurt.  Know that while they live their lives everyday without the knowledge that there are angels all around us, we do.

Cori and Kacy, you are not alone.  There is a whole community of women that feel your pain.  We are holding your hand as you navigate through the pain.



2 thoughts on “It shouldn’t happen

  1. I hadn’t been following them, but my heart breaks to read this, and then again to read their blog story about little Charlie. Hopefully she and Blue have found each other in heaven, and will be waiting there to greet you one day.

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