I was elated when I found out I was pregnant that first time... That baby will always be a part of me.
By: Josefina Loza
6 years ago
When I was young, my mother took us kids to the cemetery to visit “our baby.”
We’d skip past cemetery plots in “Babyland” while Mom sat near a rose-colored tombstone that read “Our baby… Baby Loza… Asleep in Jesus.” As time past, the visits faded.
I was too young to understand what pained my then 25-year-old mother. She was nearly five months pregnant when she miscarried. My grandmother had passed a year or so earlier. So she felt alone.
Miscarriages weren’t (and even now aren’t) something you talk about. It’s taboo.
She gave herself those few minutes during each visit for a deep, emotional release. Then she’d gather herself, hug us and we’d drive off.
Over the weekend, I found myself standing before Baby Loza’s tombstone.
It had been years since I visited. I had grown up and had my own kids. Life happened.
But this day was different. I needed to see Baby Loza.
It was the five-year anniversary of my miscarriage. I was nearly four months along when I lost what would’ve been my first child.
And even though I’ve been blessed with two healthy, active little girls, I still think about that child.
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There’s something about having a miscarriage that, well, … you don’t forget.
That baby will always be a part of me. I was elated when I found out I was pregnant that first time. I cried when I heard my baby’s heartbeat. I giggled with friends and family who shared their pregnancy stories. I wrote my list of baby names and bought baby’s first pair of walking cradle shoes.
At a routine ultrasound exam my world came down crashing.
I saw baby on the ultrasound monitor. There’s baby’s head, stomach, feet and toes. Those cute, little toes.
The tech didn’t share the same enthusiasm for baby’s little toes. Panic washed over her face. She switched my positions, changed her instruments, then told me I’d have to see my doctor immediately.
The moment my doctor walked in the room, tears fell from my eyes. My boyfriend Bobby wrapped his arms around me. We suffered a loss.
And here, five years later, I stood in front of Baby Loza’s grave.
Just then my mother texted me: “Where are you?”
I messaged her back the above photo.
Ten minutes later, she was standing before the tombstone holding my hand.
“Mija” she said. “They’re in God’s hands. That has to give you peace of mind.”
Her holding my hand did.
Author Josefina Loza is the editor of momaha.com, The Omaha World-Herald's social networking site for moms. This story was originally published on momaha.com. Copyright ©2012 Omaha World-Herald®. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, displayed or redistributed for any purpose without permission from the Omaha World-Herald.