I spent a half hour on the phone today with one of the two nurses who helped me through my last three hospital visits. One of the two who sent flowers two weeks ago. It was healing to talk with her. It turns out she heads the committee that collects and distributes the baby loss information we received. I told her how much it helped, how grateful I was to have it.
I was standing outside as we spoke, watching my naked child splash through puddles and play with wet sand. She wanted to know who I was talking to – I tried to explain. When I hung up, we played for a while longer. I felt fine.
Tonight as I did the dishes and Ada “cooked dinner” for us, I replayed some of our conversation and was suddenly, vividly, back in my hospital room. I could feel the fatigue, the fear, the pain across my lower abdomen that I thought might be my Cesarean scar tearing but turned out to be contractions caused by the bleeding. Amy sat on my bed talking with me, calming me. I told her each time the pain came and even though it wasn’t my entire uterus, I could see the concern in her eyes. She told me today that she wanted to change her assignment, to be with me but she couldn’t. Hospital politics kept her from holding my hand longer than the few minutes she could steal from her other patients.
Some people just touch your heart more deeply, she said.
Some people’s hearts are open enough to be touched, I thought.
I cried at the kitchen sink tonight. I am crying now. In grief and in gratitude.
I miss my baby boy.
I am touched at the very core of my being by the kindness of strangers.