physical feeling of absence (Archives)

physical feeling of absence

How do you get past losing a baby? You don't.

How Do You Get Past Losing a Baby? (Quora)

The death of my child is an event that lives with me; his absence is palpable; his presence is missing. And this is when I truly began to understand this monster called grief. You ask how one gets past losing a baby, and my answer is still—no. You don’t.

Climbing vines on Hatley Castle, Victoria, British Columbia (Miranda Hernandez)

137 – Tue, Dec 31, 2019, 10:01 PM

I caught a glimpse of my tattoo in the mirror the other day. The days move so quickly lately, sometimes I forget it’s there. Sometimes I miss the burning underneath my skin, how it felt when everything was new.

Miranda and Adrian's Elephant on the California coast (Synch Media)

Second Eulogy

My son, Adrian James Hernandez, was stillborn exactly one year ago today. And his loss was the first time in my life where there was nothing I could fight and nothing I could do or say. These are my reflections on the past year since his death.

Miranda sitting on the edge of red dirt on the ledge of a cliff in Waimea Canyon, Kaua'i, Hawai'i. Miranda is wearing a white shirt and lavender yoga pants, and is practicing yogic breathing while looking into the distance of the canyon (Luna Kai Photography)

Physical Body After Stillbirth

One of the least-talked-about aspects of stillbirth and pregnancy loss is that postpartum bodies still carry weight & produce milk, whether you have a living child or not. This is my journey with my postpartum body after stillbirth.

Miranda and Adrian's Elephant on the California coast

Birth

I remember the day I found out I was pregnant. I was packing a bag to go to the Magic Kingdom when I realized I was late. I was ecstatic; immediately excited; already looking forward to life with my child. His existence was the most beautiful gift. His absence is an ever-present pain.

Chalk drawings on the sidewalk (Miranda Hernandez)

18 Mar 2018 – Someone Else’s Birthday

I feel your absence in my breathing. I wait for footsteps just around the bend. I hug your ashes and I think, “None of this is real. When I have paid my penance, I will hold you.” I will never get to hold you. Today is someone else’s birthday. Yours will never come.

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