Another wake up.

My eyes don’t want to open. I feel hung over.

But it’s not alcohol that I’ve had too much of. It’s the sadness. It exhausts me and makes me feel like I’ve never slept at all, like this last two months have been 1416 hours of being awake. Awake, but a muted awake.

I get up and am alone. Gina has left for work. She’s the only thing that can make me feel better when I get in this rut. She knows every moment of this experience, and has a matching hole in her heart and emptiness in her arms for our son.

It’s silent in our little home. All I can hear is the ceiling fan blades ever so slightly cutting through the air.

But that’s it.

No baby sounds. No crying, no cooing, no breathing. He’s not here.

On a Saturday morning in July of 2012, I got up at 3 o’clock in the morning and peed on a stick. When I saw the second line pop up, I called out Gina’s name. She came over and looked at it, then looked at me with wide eyes and in disbelief. We were pregnant.

We put sweatshirts on over our pajamas and drove to the Walgreens at 3 in the morning to buy more pregnancy tests. I peed on another, and it said pregnant.

We really were pregnant. This was it. We did it. We were going to have our baby, our family.

Here I sit, 10 months later. I was pregnant with our handsome boy. I grew as he grew inside me, I felt his kicks, his hiccups, his tumbling. These movements, indication of his living inside me for 9 months.

And now, nothing.

There is no movement. There are no kicks, no hiccups. We prepared to have a baby and welcome him into our world. We never prepared to lose him. I had to say hello and goodbye to him in the same sitting.

I have never loved anything with all of my being, and so quickly. And just as fast as he came into our world, he left us.

We are empty. Lonely without him. And we wake up everyday to the same bad dream. There is no amount of pinching that will awake us from this.

I yearn to see this face again, to hold him close, smell him, kiss his sweet, soft skin.

Our beautiful boy

Our beautiful boy


6 thoughts on “Silence

  1. It takes so much courage to open up and share. I wish I was closer and able to sit with you and hug you! ❤ you!

  2. Oi,
    Procurando por a família GROSSINI, achei seu blog e comecei a ler, triste sua perda, pena que só agora achei mais um da família. Como tu mesmo e outros te dizem que só o tempo vai passar e vocês vão conseguir ter outro bebê, mas nada vai apagar o sentimento que foi dado ao Lucas, cada filho temos sentimentos diferentes. Vou te contar uma estória para conhecer um pouco da minha família aqui no Brasil.
    Minha mãe(Irma Grossini) também perdeu seu primeiro bebê, e hoje ela tem somando comigo 5 filhos.Hoje frequentamos uma casa espírita, onde eles explicam que se Deus levou agora, é
    porque ele já pagou o que tinha que pagar aqui na terra, todos temos uma missão a cumprir quando viemos para esse mundo, lá em cima já escolhemos nossas vidas, com quem devemos ficar e quanto tempo vamos ficar, sei que isso no momento não é uma palavra de conforto, mas é o meu entender para esta situação que você e sua esposa estão passando.
    Mesmo não nos conhecendo, estamos aqui para o que você precisar, um grande abraço a vocês.

    • Hi Elisabethe,

      Thank you for writing me. My wife is the Grossini, her family is from Switzerland and Italy. I am born in the USA, but my parents are from Peru.

      I’m sorry to hear that your mother experienced a loss.

      I appreciate your words. We hope to one day have another child, Luca’s brother or sister or maybe both. In the meantime, we will always honor and remember Luca D’oro Grossini-Concha.


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