Losing a child at any stage rocks your entire world, shakes you to your core, and changes your outlook on life. Losing Everett took many things away from me, but it took even more away from our family.
Everett’s death was extremely unexpected: My husband, Jack, and I went into a routine 20 week anatomy and gender reveal scan and were told that the precious baby in Mommy’s belly’s heart had stopped beating. The news blindsided us. It rocketed our world into days filled with tears, grief, and sadness. It took the Mommy our boys once knew and changed her into a grief stricken bereaved mother.
For months I walked around a shell of who I used to be, a zombie walking through life wearing a mask of happiness; unable to cope with losing the child that had been ripped away from me and unable to enjoy the two children I had here on this Earth. I often feel guilty for those times of unbearable sadness, wishing I would’ve been stronger for my boys and held it together more for my husband.
I feel especially guilty for the experiences our oldest son Jack has gone through since losing Everett and often wish I could have shielded him from this tragedy. He is 3 1/2, but has the awareness of a 5 year old; he’s seen Mommy pregnant with Lucas and knows what a normal, healthy pregnancy looks like. Not only was I very tired and sick during my pregnancy with Everett, but unfortunantely Jack was in the room when we were delivered the deviating news about “his baby”. He saw Mommy break down, and heard my cries of agony for our precious “Bob the Blob”; a name he has lovingly called Everett since the first sonogram technician told us he looked like a little blob. Jack fought the nurses tooth and nail in the waiting room, wiggled away, and refused to leave the room while our Doctor explained to Mommy and Daddy about what was to come and the decisions we had to make.
Lucas will not remember the changes his life went through after the loss of his brother in Heaven, but Jack will never forget. Jack mourns for Everett in his own ways; always wanting to help Mommy water Everett’s forget me nots in his memorial, asking endless questions about his angel, and cuddling up tight with our Everett Bear on days of need. I often find him clinging to my Mommy necklace for dear life as if it anchors him to his brother in Heaven.
I like to think my days of living like a zombie; a shell of the friend, daughter, wife, and mother I used to be are coming to a close. I see light at the end of a very long, dark tunnel and know that as time passes that light will get closer and brighter than ever before.