3. The story of us

You seemed so tenacious. Your zygote formed effortlessly, attached and grew. We congratulated ourselves on the convenience, the plan adhered to. The timing, the spacing-those most important worries then, appeased. I felt you attach to the uterine lining, sitting with friends, I felt the wave of nausea come and go. I’m pregnant, I told them. Perplexed by two negative tests (too early) finally I checked again to confirm what I had known from conception. You were there.

I felt your quickening early. The hectic flutter, you traced your brother’s routes with the same energy. I glibly went to each appointment, so assured of your viability. A reassuring heartbeat, yes I know. I already knew the results to each ultrasound (except the last), first: your heart beats! then: a boy! later: large and active! Last: gone.

Unlike with your brother, I had no problems. I passed my tests with flying colors, normal blood pressure, urine free of protein and sugar. My feet did not swell. I ignored you. I went about my routine, thinking it was best for both of us. I worked hard. I disregarded lift restrictions, I skipped vitamins. I was goal oriented, assuming the expected outcomes, neglecting the process. The sudden kicks to the ribs, the undulation of my stomach in the bathwater was our communication. Stillbirth was not on my radar. It was not on the calendar.

And then something odd. Your kicks stopped, replaced by random tightening over my belly. We had a week left, I thought you had run out of room. I thought you were the contractions, using a different language now. You didn’t tell me you had died. Maybe I wasn’t listening. Maybe I did know? I wonder what I was doing when you left me. Was I sleeping? Working? Tending to minutiae, most likely. How did I feel your life spark into existence but miss it slip away? If I had known I would have railed and begged. Or wished you peace and held you. I wish I was there, present. I was there, vessel.

I went to the regular appointment, up to the table behind the curtain in the prenatal group. The Doppler did not detect your heartbeat. The panic set in. I shook. The stoic midwife led me downstairs to the ultrasound. Will it be okay? Let’s get some more information she said. She knew. Another table with the midwife, a doctor, and the manager of the practice. This jelly will be cold, the standard script. The still screen, the picture of your stillness, their solemn faces and my frantic pleading “tell me something!” I saw, but I needed to hear. Is there a heartbeat? There is not.

We had prepped your brother, a novice counter, noticer of empty chairs. The fourth chair at the dinner table will no longer be empty. Who will sit there? Baby Brother! How many people will we have in our family when Baby Brother comes? Four! We were to be nuclear, you completed us. Now we are quantum, circling chaos, the missing mass, knowing randomness.