today, my trigger words have been pediatric hospice.
two words that do not belong together. a phrase that brings my mind back to some kind of breaking point. denial? bargaining? torture? comfort? relief? surrender? peace?
whatever happened to goonies never say die? don't we fight until the end and insist on fighting?
the choice was given to me while i was still pregnant. doctors nurses genetic counselors chaplain all nodding heads as i made, what i believed, the best choice. a path of nonviolence. a path of peace. ahimsa.
but the choice has haunted me. even though i'm more than nine months away from my loss, i still play the what if game. it's less torturous now, but still there.
i ask my mom, what if i would have taken a washcloth and wiped his face while he was still alive? made him open his eyes and try to look at me? i wish i could have seen his eyes. she says to me, sweetheart, we don't know if his eyes had even developed. if they were even there. what we did was right.
i ask my midwife, what if we would have suctioned out his mouth and nose and tried to get him to breathe? encouraged him a little bit more? she says to me, sweetheart, that baby needed a lot more support to start breathing. a lot more support. what we did was right.
we made arrangements for nathaniel's body while i was still pregnant. knowing he would likely die (but of course hoping hoping hoping he wouldn't, that he'd fight and breathe and live), we went to the cemetery while my belly was still full of him and made plans. picked out an urn. talked to the balding guy who was about my size and so earnest so earnest so earnest.
i thought that i'd have more peace about this, but i don't. my clinical brain completely understands. my heart absolutely does not.
making arrangements for nathaniel's body while i was still pregnant.
clocks melting. furniture twisting. time dripping.