"For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn."
When I had read these Hemingway lines a few years back, I had never realised that they could be about my family right now.
From the moment I saw the doctor run his ultrasound probe mildly over my stomach and turn away to talk to my husband, till now, 4 days later - these lines have been ringing in my years. I kept asking them what happened, why don't you run the probe once more, why are you looking the other way?? No one listened. Just made a sorry face and my ever-so stoic husband had no choice but to gather me and take me out of public eye to a room where I could be told that our baby was gone. Why didn't they know earlier? Why suddenly on a day that I had my video camera ready to make a recording of his very first movements? Why unannounced? Women have bleeding, or other such violent signs that tell them they've lost their baby, but mine went away ever so silently. The doctor's report clinically calls it Intra-uternine demise. But don't people have signs before a demise? Or was he a Buddha to have simply become a white light and gone? There were no signs of him going away, there was just no sign. He just decided to stop his heart one day. The worst part is I don't even know when this happened. One of the doctors said that since I was eating well for the past 10days or so, that is when it may have happened, since the hormone levels would've dropped then. May have happened? You mean, all the while I was happy that this one was letting his mom eat, was the time that his mom was actually carrying his corpse inside!??? I cannot even put a date to this and find closure and do it like a lot of others, mark this one day as the day of the departure, the death anniversary.
Like any parent, we were talking to him (yes I knew in my head it was a boy, not because I wanted only a boy, but because, well, my heart knew it was). We used to have long chats where we would listen to Kumar Gandharva int he morning and dance to Munni Badnam huyi in the evening. We used to play Fruit Ninja every night before going to bed and then ride the yellow tricycle in the aangan the next morning. He was not letting me eat, but he was mine, all mine. I knew every time he looked up to me and would've mumbled mumma every time he looked up from inside the amniotic fluid. I was teaching my husband all that I knew about child development from my years of obssessing over children. He now knew what motor skills are and what synapses were. He was almost fully trained to take care of the baby if something happened to me. There was meant to be a cupboard that we'd have painted in the months to come, my friends were making bamboo towels, writing books and making animation films for this happy child who was going to come and change our lives.
Change he did, more than what we had expected. The walls of the house close in on me, books bite me, other people's children and TV advertising makes me want to throw and break things. Right now I don't know if I will ever be able to come to terms with this.
Yesterday my therapist asked me to say my goodbye before they surgically removed the corpse from my womb. Nothing hurts as much as this goodbye.
As I lay in my bed this morning and wonder what to make for my baby's breakfast, I know he is somewhere nice, I pray that he is in peace and like my husband says, probably someone needed him more than we did.
Go in peace my love, mumma and papa love you and will always always be waiting here for you. This is your home and nothing, nothing in our lives is ever gonna be complete without you. I thank God for letting us have you for these lovely three months when we learnt what real joy is. Go in peace my child. God bless you.
