Sleep eludes me tonight.  I took melatonin in hopes it would help me fall asleep so I could forget this nightmare for awhile, but that was over 3 hours ago and still no sleep.

Honestly, I think I may be eluding sleep.  A part of me doesn’t want to fall asleep.  If I fall asleep I have to wake up and relive this devastation.  If I stay awake I can stay numb and somewhat in denial.  My eyes are burning, begging for rest but my mind is wildly racing.

So I figured I’d journal and try to process through writing.

One of my first thoughts even before confirming the miscarriage was “how do we tell Lincoln? how will our young 5 year old possibly process this?”

After we left the doctors office, I knew I couldn’t pick him up from school, that I would surely have a breakdown at the first sight of him.  Eric offered to do this and that he wouldn’t say anything to him until we could be together to tell him.

It felt like an eternity before they got home.  All the while, I was trying to find the right words to tell a 5 year old their sibling who we had been praying for for sooooo long, would not be coming home like we had envisioned.  The pictures he drew of the family of 4 would have to hold off a little longer.  That he is a big brother, but it might not feel like it.

When Lincoln walked in the door, he flashed me his sweet smile and asked about his swimming lessons.  He could see I had been crying but just avoided that topic.  He continued to question what was for supper and if he could watch TV and a few other things that I can’t remember.  Finally I began sobbing, covering my face, and said “Lincoln, we have to tell you something.”

“What?  What is it?”

We proceeded to tell him that the baby in my tummy wasn’t alive any more.  We explained that the heart had stopped beating and we didn’t know why, but that the baby was in Heaven.  He was along to a couple of our ultrasounds and he had experienced seeing the baby move and hearing their heart beat.  He understood the baby needed a heartbeat to keep living.

Eric and I held him and held each other.  We looked back at him to see if he may have questions.  He stayed pretty silent, you could see he was trying to figure out how he should feel about this.  I explained that I would be going in and the doctor would take the baby out of my tummy for lack of a better description for him, but that the baby would not be alive.  I asked him if he would like to see the baby after this happened.  I will never forget his raw and innocent response,

“I wanted to see the baby alive.”

We both broke down and affirmed him that we did too, but that just wasn’t going to happen this time.  He didn’t have an answer for us so we told him he could think about it for awhile and let us know later.

We talked about seeing baby again someday in Heaven and how we could look forward to that.  He shed some tears, expressed he was sad and upset, and was able to move on to the next thing.  Part of me wishes I could move on so easily!

It’s hard for me to know if we did the right thing with Lincoln.  Did we share too much of the process with him for his age? Will he be scarred by this or more likely, will it just be a distant memory for him when he grows up.  I hope the latter but I also want to make sure he does get to ask any questions he may have and have the best understanding he can as a 5 year old.

We ended up going to swimming lessons and trying to make it as normal of a night for him as possible.  Before bed, I asked him again if he wanted to see the baby after he or she is delivered, or if he preferred not to.  He quietly said no, he did not want to see the baby.  I was surprised by this, but absolutely respected his decision and can see where that could just be too traumatizing for him and too much to try to comprehend.  I can appreciate that he had given it thought and made up his own mind on the matter.  Someday maybe he will have more questions and want to see photos of the baby that we can share as a family at that time.

My mind continues to spin, trying to grasp how I move on, how I go back to work, how I don’t neglect myself or my family after this.  I know I must sleep because the morning will be here soon and it will be a long and dreary day.