Crying and tears (Archives)

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Crying and tears

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.

Boulder on the shore of North Lake Tahoe, California (Miranda Hernandez)

129 – Tue, Jun 25, 2019, 9:11 PM

The lead up is different this time. It’s quieter. I’m not sobbing. I sit here with your sister and most parts of the day I feel fine. It’s only in those random moments, those echoes of memory — and I still wish I could feel more of you.

Adrian's Elephant and his photo at St Katharines's Parmoor, Buckinghamshire, England (Miranda Hernandez)

126 – Fri, Mar 29, 2019, 9:39 AM

And for the longest time, I couldn’t cry. And for the longest time I couldn’t cry about you. And then today, and it feels almost out of nowhere. Like it’s a full body memory, and I realized I still miss you. I’ve never stopped missing you.

Miranda and Adrian's Elephant on the California coast

17 August 2019

A heavy, beautiful day today, and Peanut is officially laughing. Forever finding that balance in all of the feelings in life after loss.

Empty storage container (Miranda Hernandez)

Sleepless

Spent the past few days going through items in storage, and tonight I can’t shake this heavy feeling. And I realize, of course, that it’s him. These were his things, and some are now his sister’s, and many are now finding new homes.

Quarters on tile (Miranda Hernandez)

Charlie’s Accident

I saw his body laid out on the concrete and all I could do was scream. He was 11 weeks old, barely seven pounds. I was convinced he was dying. And it was my fault. I couldn’t lose him too, not after everything else I had lost in my world.

Walkway on the Haruru Falls trail, Waitanga, New Zealand (Miranda Hernandez)

120 – Thu, Jul 19, 2018, 12:47 PM

I remember the feel of those early days. I remember when tears were always on call. I remember when I didn’t have to close my eyes to think of you.

View through the plants on the Haruru Falls trail, Waitanga, New Zealand (Miranda Hernandez)

118 – Fri, Jul 6, 2018, 7:43 PM

I think somehow I felt like I would be healed now, like your birthday would be a healing event. Like I felt about that cruise. I will never be healed.

California coast in Big Sur, California (Miranda Hernandez)

110 – Sun, Jun 3, 2018, 9:11 AM

The first night I left the house after Alexis* left, I was in a daze. I had walked these streets playing Pokemon Go not even that long ago. It felt like another lifetime.

Daisies (Miranda Hernandez)

091 – Sun, Mar 11, 2018, 1:10 PM

I have often examined the symptoms of my grief. It still feels so weird to me. The simplest things now make me cry. I examine those tears under a microscope. I examine everything, all while I’m feeling it.

Waves in Monterey Bay, California

The Slowest Kind of Panic

I’ve been feeling funny all day. I can’t really put a name to it. Off-balance, yes, and a little bit sad. I’m still processing pieces of my last relationship.

View of a small rocky island in the Bay of Islands, New Zealand (Miranda Hernandez)

Yoga on a Saturday

I remember those early days after loss, when I used to go to yoga just to cry. It was a safe, quiet space, and most people didn’t judge me. It was a release.

Rear view of a wooden bench looking out over Victoria, British Columbia at Sunset (Miranda Hernandez)

Waiting Rooms

I remember that first waiting room after the death of my son. I remember walking in, surrounded by people. They were pregnant and they were holding newborn babies, and I wanted to scream. And now I’m in a different place, and I want to say that I still see you.

Pier in San Diego, California (Miranda Hernandez)

066 – Mon, Dec 11, 2017, 8:16 PM

I’ve felt like such a horrible person because I’ve been so numb this week. Now I sit in my car and my eyes fill with tears, and I realize that what I dread more than being asked if I have children is not being asked anything at all.

Flowers on a fallen tree limb, California (Miranda Hernandez)

054 – Mon, Nov 7, 2017, 8:10 PM

They left me alone. After you were born and we had taken pictures and they checked all my vitals and everything was as okay as it was ever going to be, they all packed their things and went away.

Sunlight through the trees, North Lake Tahoe, California (Miranda Hernandez)

25 Aug 2018 – Amy Anne

I fed her shredded chicken with my fingers this morning. The vet prescribed her steroids. She actually has an appetite. I gave her a piece of my blueberry scone. I guess it doesn’t matter now what’s good for her in the long run.

Trail in Pinnacles National Park, California (Miranda Hernandez)

Not Okay

The Miranda from a year ago is dead. She died with Adrian. And that needs to be okay. It needs to be okay that I am a different person, that the things that used to make me happy are now different. Permanently. I’m not okay, and that needs to be okay.

Close up of metallic artwork in rustic red blending into blues and greens, found in California (Miranda Hernandez)

022 – Fri, Jul 21, 2017 at 12:18 AM

I say your name. That part is easy. I will forever love the sound of your name, the feel of it in my voice. What I can’t say is what happened to you.

Sunset on the California coast (Miranda Hernandez)

2 Jun 2018 – Peace

This year has been hard for me, but it’s been a clean kind of hard. Most people understand grief is a thing. Most people understand pain surrounding death. I don’t think most people understand what happens afterwards.

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 her Comfort Cub lying in bed in the dark. Miranda's arm is wrapped around the cub, and her clauddagh ring is visible on her right ring finger (Synch Media)

The First Days

After Adrian’s death, I came home from the hospital to a fully furnished nursery and without a living child. I wanted nothing more than to sleep for weeks, but I had to deal with milk, and funeral planning, and all the minutiae of being postpartum without a living child.

Photo of original artwork created by Katy Martin to illustrate "29 June 2017" - artwork implies a mama elephant with her trunk wrapped around a baby. The colors of the artwork are bright and cheery on the left side of the painting, abruptly shifting to dark and painful on the right

29 June 2017

29 June 2017: The day my son died – When she couldn’t find a heartbeat with the doppler, I think the idea started to form in my head, but I wasn’t quite ready…I remember the doctor’s face as he said the words, “I’m sorry.” My next memory is of someone screaming. It was me.

Miranda holding Adrian's elephant in a park in California. It is a sunny afternoon. Miranda is wearing a white shirt and pink cardigan and smiling. (Sarah Perry Photography)

Miranda’s Story

My name is Miranda Hernandez. I am a single mother by choice. My son Adrian passed away on 29 June 2017, and was stillborn the following day. I will love and honor him for the rest of my life.

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