Kaila Mugford

I can only think of one word to describe how I feel right now. Agony . On May 1st, 2018 I wrote in a notebook: A new month. I feel like the boys are gone with April and I have another year until I can really grieve again. My body must have been waiting. Tomorrow is April 1st and I feel it all. I haven't cried in months. I talk about the boys regularly and I do not cry for them or for me. I surprise myself in the way I tell their story, our story, without my eyes even welling. I cried for the first time today in a very long time. I hid my face from Jamey, not wanting him to see the deep sorrow I feel. I want to pretend it's not there. That I'm not sad. I don't want to cry for my boys. My body fights me on this and forces me to feel every feeling. I'm afraid the feelings will swallow me whole. And some days I'd be fine if they did. I don't know what I want. I want to be near to people and I want nothing to do with them. I want to be coddled and hel

I struggled with sleep for a long time after Gabriel was born. In the hospital, I was encouraged to rest as much as I could, but every time I closed my eyes and opened them again I would get a rush of adrenaline. (For the previous post to this story, click here .) Where am I? What has happened? Waking up the morning after his death is a relief; an end to the pain-filled night. My mom comes up to the hospital first thing in the morning and Johanna makes the 7-hour trip back home to her family. Multiple visitors come and go throughout the day. I am exhausted. The magnesium drip is stopped after its 24-hour timer is up. I know I'll be able to get up and move around soon, but I am still in an incredible amount of pain. A headache starts. My shoulders tense. I can't relax. Everything hurts . Pain medication isn't touching it. The doctor comes in to check on me. "Where are you at on the pain scale?" NINE. A nine. Please. Someone, make it stop. I'

I sit down at my computer to write, and I'm shaking. Maybe it's the coffee. Maybe. It's time to finish writing out Gabriel's story. I shake every time I begin. Every time I talk about him. It's not noticeable to others, this physical response to talking about my boys. But it's there. More of a trembling I would say. The boys are gone; that fact never changes...but my body feels it more in the storytelling. I've shared much about the day before and the day of Gabriel's birth. I've shared snippets even of what it was like mothering him in the days after he was gone. Eleven months. Our boy has been gone for nearly eleven months. And the last time I wrote about our hospital stay was 8 months ago. I'm ready to talk about him more. Talk about those last two days we had with him in the hospital and the love that was showered on us by everyone we came into contact with during our stay. I'm ready to share the details about preparing for goodbye,