It Wasn't Normal
A grandfather gone, a pregnancy in question, and the beginning of my unraveling over three short weeks
“How are you feeling, grandpa?”
He had just gotten a heart stent put in and I decided to give him a call in between clients.
His 92nd birthday was a couple weeks ago. We’d made a short trip back home to surprise the family with my pregnancy news that was tucked inside a birthday card I’d coerced him to read aloud.
We asked him to keep the news to himself, but by the end of the weekend, I had random women congratulating me on the street.
Defending his blabbermouth he said, “Well they’re gonna find out soon anyway, once you start showin’!”
I rolled my eyes so far back in my head, but I couldn’t actually be mad at him.
He could be such a pain in the ass, but I wanted to soak up any chance to hear his voice while I still could.
“Hey babeh, I’m feeling great,” he chuckled with his deep southern drawl. “Better than you are!”
He wasn’t wrong. I had the kind of pregnancy nausea that made my body believe most foods—and sounds—were poisonous.
“Yeah, I’m still feeling pretty crummy. Do you remember if grandma was very sick during her pregnancies?”
“She was some. The hardest was the one we lost. Have I ever told you about her?”
It felt a little out of the blue, but I’m always open to hearing a Bubba story.
“Yes I think so—but remind me?”
“I believe it was between Paul and your dad. Grandmother was pregnant with a little girl who didn’t make it. We named her Sara—after Grandmother.”
I felt my eyes start to well up, “Wow, it’s so special that her name was Sara. I sure wish I could have known her.”
“Me too,” he said.
That was over a month ago.
Now he’s dead, and I’m sitting by a pool in Mexico.
It’s July 4, 2023 and we had planned this babymoon getaway weeks ago. After his funeral, we decided to keep our trip booked and go cry on the beach with a virgin piña colada (a skill I have since perfected.)
It all happened so quickly, I was still feeling a bit in shock—unaware that this was the very tip of an iceberg that would become a multi-year snowball of grief.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sudden feeling of water rushing out of me.
Did I just pee my swimsuit?
No—that wasn’t pee.
Discharge?
Seems like a lot.
The cushions beneath me were wet with clear fluid, and I hadn’t even gotten in the pool yet.
J grabbed his phone and immediately started researching. And of course, the internet had the worst things to say.
It’s either completely, totally normal—and you’re a fool for even looking it up—or your water broke early and your baby won’t survive.
My throat suddenly felt like it was being squeezed to the size of a sunflower seed.
“Most things are saying there is only cause for concern if the discharge is discolored.”
I finally swallowed a breath.
“Let’s just keep an eye on it,” I said. “And if it gets worse, we’ll call the doctor. It’s probably normal, right?”
It would be another three weeks before we realized it wasn’t.
To be continued.
I have shared more to this story and will continue to as long as my tender little nervous system allows. You can find the first part here. It’s also kind of the next part...? My writing is all over the place, but this is honestly a reflection of what the inside of my brain feels like. It’s a bunch of twisty and turny webs that all coalesce with the death of my children.
Thank you for engaging with my story, I know it isn’t a light read—but it is honest. Please don’t hesitate to subscribe, share or reach out if any of it resonates.
Can’t Cope? Here are some things that got me through this week:
Music: Beyonce’s Lemonade album has been a repeat listen for me recently. It makes me feel angry and fierce and like I’m walking around in a flowy yellow dress smashing in car windows with a baseball bat. (Don’t worry, I haven’t done this yet, it’s more of a vicarious situation.) TY forever, Queen B.
Eat or Drink: We’ve been in Seattle this week for our very last hoorah to see some family before J’s sabbatical ends. Today I had a very good cup of natural Columbia drip coffee from a place called “Push Pull.” A great cup of coffee can be the tiniest mood booster and I welcome it.
Words: I found this article by Kathryn Flett to be powerful and bold. Some of it is hard for me to hear and even stings a little, but it did make me consider her perspective on our reasons to stay after child loss.
Watch: My sis-in-law and I had a spontaneous rewatch of the 1997 film Anastasia last night. I haven’t watched it in years, but I somehow still know every single word. We may be watching it with more trauma and wine in our bodies, but it still (mostly) holds up.
Social Life: We had the privilege of attending the Symphony this week. One of our family members conducts a local Seattle orchestra and it was very lovely to experience his craft mixed with meaningful family time.
This journey is so hard and I thank you for continuously being vulnerable and sharing your story. I might have to pull up that Lemonade album again
I am so sorry for the pain you have had to endure. ❤️🩹 Sending you so much love. Thank you for being so honest and vulnerable and sharing your story, it gives me courage. 🤍