Words

When something new happens, you aren’t used to the words.  The first time this happened to me was when I got engaged.  Calling Josh my fiancé felt funny.  I had to say it over and over again to get myself used to it.  Fiancé, fiancé, fiancé, fiancé, fiancé…got it.  I never really got used to this word, but I accepted it.  The second time was when I got married.  It was strange being a “wife” and having a “husband.”  I twisted these words around in my mouth and eventually got used to them.  The third time was becoming a mother for the first time.  I had a daughter.  A beautiful, perfect, little daughter.  The word was both thrilling but new.  I was a mom…mom mom mom mom mom.  A mother, a mommy, a mama.  I had a daughter.  A daughter!  Daaauugghhh-ter. 

Now, the foreign words are back with Quinn’s arrival.  Stillborn.  A word I have heard of, but never thought I would say.  My daughter was a stillborn.  That word was paralyzing.  Still- no, I can’t say it.  Just hours after giving birth, I was given a folder with funeral home contacts.  The nurse asked if we wanted Quinn buried or cremated.  What?  Do I want my daughter buried or cremated?  That thought should never have to enter a mother’s head.  Ever.  Cremated?  I couldn’t even think the word, nonetheless say it.  But she just got here…stillborn…buried…cremated…what?!  The next day Josh asked me to look at urns online.  An urn for my beloved second daughter?  An urn?  Was he really saying that word?  Why, oh why do these words have to be in my vocabulary?

Today, I am planning my daughter’s memorial.  I can’t believe I just typed those words.  Daughter and memorial in the same sentence.  This is something a parent prays they never have to do.  They shouldn’t.  It’s not the way it’s supposed to be.  These words haunt me: stillborn, buried, cremated, urn, memorial.  They are so unnatural in my mouth and I can’t even bear to say them out loud.