I Envy the Dead

Too weak to move and in too much pain to care, I lay on the bathroom floor as my life trickled out of me.

My pain was two-fold, the emotion; my pregnancy was over, the tiny perfect body tucked into a little jewelry box. The physical; hard, visceral cramps rippling through the core of me.

And, the blood flowed.

I knew if I didn’t get help, I would probably die.

And, I didn’t care.

This hopeless moment in time was the culmination of months of struggling to save a marriage that was not worth saving, but I couldn’t see it; not till much later.

The pregnancy was not purposeful, but I had a deep irrational hope that this new baby would pull us back together.

For a while, it seemed to be working.

Then Halloween night, the bleeding started. The cramps came soon after.

An emergency ultrasound followed showing the baby still alive, heart still pumping.

For two days I stayed off my feet hoping to avoid any strain; hoping against the knowing inside me…it was over.

In the depths of the night, I felt the pop inside me. It was probably around two in the morning.

I suspect it was the baby breaking free of the umbilical cord.

Even then, I still had hope, until the perfectly formed but lifeless body slipped from me while I sat in the tub.

Throughout my time as a mom, even as I battled through abuse and deep depression, my children have been my tether to this life.

I can’t imagine leaving them here without a mom, especially not on purpose.

But, I had reached my end. Even where they were concerned, I felt that they would be better off with someone else.

After I tucked the baby into the little box filled with cotton, I sank to the floor.

The blood wasn’t stopping and I realized; I could just let it happen.

My husband was sleeping with uncaring abandon in the room just a few feet from me. He wouldn’t find me till he got up in the morning.

So, I lay there, half-conscious, a feeling of peaceful surrender settling over me.

A warmth aroused me; the feel of gentle hands brushing over me, thoughts of what life would be like for my children with me gone running through my mind without my control.

The room felt full. Full of love and an insistence to wake up my husband and get help.

Then nausea hit me hard and I tried to sit up and stand. I was weak. More than I had realized.

I called his name and, surprisingly, he woke up easily and I told him I needed to go to the hospital.

He helped me get dressed and out to the car.

As we sat in the car, he pondered whether he should go make his coffee first.

I could only stare at him in dumbfounded amazement. Considering what life was like with him, maybe it shouldn’t have surprised me. But it did. Still does.

As the practitioner worked to stop the bleeding and bring my blood pressure back up from 70/40 with IV liquids, I asked my husband if he could bury the little box under the apple tree.

His face empty he said, “What, I can’t just give it to the dogs?”

In that moment, I knew I could never stay with this person. I couldn’t even recognize him. Everything good that had kept me in the marriage could not overcome that one statement.

My worries of the kids not having their parents together no longer mattered.

It was now a matter of life and death. Black and white. No gray in between.

I left a month later when I had enough strength to move myself and my five children into my mom’s house.

I took nothing with me other than bare necessities. I needed to be gone.

That was in 2013. November 2nd to be exact. The Day of the Dead in Latin culture.

Almost nine years later, I can feel gratitude for that day when two choices were left for me.

The choice I made has been hard but so, so healing.

At the same time, I no longer fear death. I envy the ones whose time has come. Not that I want to speed up my own time, usually. I’m just aware that this life is a dream and death is an awakening.

I felt the other side and the love that is there.

What is there to fear?

I was inspired to write this article by Sean Kernan. I read his article today dealing with the fear of death and it got me thinking of why I don’t.

There was an article in The Sun Magazine that left me sobbing. She wrote about bipolar II and while I have not been diagnosed with it, so much of what she described struck home. It can be a battle, minute to minute sometimes, holding onto life's thread. Here’s the link to that for any interested in reading it.

If you are experiencing thoughts of suicide or self-harm, we encourage you to contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1–800–273-TALK (8255).