this blog post was written by my husband a few days after we lost baby bello. it took me a while to get the courage to read it and post it. i hope you enjoy it as much as i did.
We made it the farthest we ever have and it was utterly amazing.
Me and a few fellow brother Marines who have seen combat together got a tattoo that says “bellator” a long time ago. Long story short it spread like wildfire through out the whole company of Marines I was with. It means warrior in Latin and the story begins here.
Well when it came down to our 6 week 5 day appointment we were overjoyed to see our baby’s heartbeat. A few days before we saw it as well because we took a heart wrenching trip to the ER for some unexpected bleeding. But this… Erin and I were so happy we didn’t say a word…tears were our only form of communication and I gently grabbed her arm. It was amazing and precious and so surreal that we got to see our baby’s heartbeat. We got to see a tiny us inside of her. Our sonographer said “and there’s the lunchbox” talking about our baby’s yolk sack! We laughed pretty heartily and that became a running joke between us as well.
The next few days were a blur as the only thing I wanted to see was our baby. I counted down the hours until our next ultrasound. We talked about what we should call it and I said baby bello, short for parum bello which means little warrior. This name meant so much to us. Me and my bellator tattoo, Erin and her warrior tattoo… and now baby bello. We were anxious and nervous and eager, but most of all excited. And I gave that baby all the love that I could give.
I dreamt of teaching our baby the lessons of life that only a father could teach. Giving it the protection that only a father could give. Ensuring that our child always felt loved and important. Erin and I stood side by side in my dreams and we were the best parents that we could ever be.
The days flew by and the hours drew down to single digits. It was time. Time to once again, finally, see our precious and lovely baby again. It started as every scan starts, with Erin and I so excited but reserved at the same time. The picture comes into view…the room goes silent. I don’t see that glorious flash on the screen. The white and gray pulsating flashing in natural rhythm on the video isn’t there. The feeling of my heart as it drops from my heart into my stomach made a noise so loud I think the whole clinic could hear it. Everything turns somber and now we just want out. Out of that uncomfortable exam table, out of the office, into the world where the hustle and the bustle of morning commuters can drown out our pain. Away from prying eyes that care but don’t know what to say or even how to act in front of you. The world goes numb as if an earthquake has stopped the planet from spinning and it’s stuck on pause.
Our providers at KK’s office are speechless and all I want to do is leave, to protect Erin from this heartache because if I feel like I’m going to throw up I can only imagine what she feels. I am her support but equally she is mine. I take the wheel and cry. The whole hour back to our house…I cry. Inside, sometimes outside, but mostly inside for Erin’s sake. I sob…I weep…I wail like my soul is dying. This is just so unfair. No one should have to go through this.
Let me say though that we are not finished. We won’t be finished. We will not go quietly in to that great night, we will fight, for our war is not over yet. Our battles may have been halted and they may change. But by God we will prevail. We are, and forever will be warriors. No matter what comes next in our journey we will be stronger together and fight like only we know how. With love, and fullness and spirit. Our journey to three will continue…so help us, God.