Lost Baby

“We lost our baby.”

Another way of saying, “Our baby died,” “Hudson is dead.”

Takes the ownership of the whole business back on the parents. Baby’s not at fault here.

It’s a weird thing to say.

Like maybe we could call together a search party, and maybe our baby would be found. We could plaster every telephone pole and light post with pictures of beautiful baby Hudson, “Lost Baby, if found call 555-1212”.

It’s softer than “Our baby died” or “Hudson died”. It feels less permanent. “We lost our baby,” like misplaced car keys or wallets, not a real live human baby that we made. My wallet can be replaced. My car keys, I can live without. My baby, I often find it hard to live without.

I don’t like saying it – “We lost our baby.” Because I don’t like the reality behind it, first of all. But also because it seems like there should be a better way to say it. I long for prettier, more profound words to describe the worst thing that’s ever happened.

There are things that you lose that bum you out. I had a Roxy sundress that I LOVED when I was in highschool. Somewhere in the move from a highschool dorm to a college dorm to my sister’s apartment to my apartment, I lost it. I see pictures of me in that sundress and I miss it. I looked good in that sundress… but there will be other sundresses.

There are things that you lose that make you panic. Our dog, Diesel, fell out of the back of the Hubs’ truck one night. We looked for him for hours, the Hubs on foot, me driving up and down the route we’d traveled in the Dragon (what the Hubs’ refers to his truck as). Trying to find a black dog in the middle of the night is nearly impossible. And so we  had to go to bed without finding our puppy, and it was nearly impossible to sleep. The Hubs and I both dreamed we’d found him, woke up early to start hunting again, got the call from dispatch that he’d been found. I’ve never been so happy to find something.

There are things that you lose that make you sick to your stomach. My mother-in-law lost the diamond in her wedding ring many  years ago. She was working on the farm and the diamond fell out of its setting. That’s something that can’t be replaced, absolutely. But it hasn’t completely altered the course of her life.

And then, there are things that you lose that can wreck you. You lose a baby, and that’s it. There’s no replacement baby. There’s no reincarnation of Hudson, that beautiful ball of potential awesomeness (only a fraction of her awesomeness was realized in the three days that were her life). She is the one-and-only Hudson and she is lost to us in this life.

I see pictures of Hudson, and I miss her.

The Hubs and I go to sleep without her, dream that we find her, only to wake up and face a world without her.

She can’t be replaced, certainly. Losing her has completely altered the course of my life.

But I can’t let losing her wreck me. I may never find more “pretty, profound” words to describe the death of our child, but I won’t stop trying.

And in another lifetime, maybe I’ll find our one-and-only Hudson. Being with our daughter again will be Heaven.

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