Cruel Irony

This week has been an odd one. I’ve had a lot of hospital flashbacks. A lot of memories that have popped up about our time with Kaden that I haven’t thought of in a while.

Wednesday was 7 months. The day itself wasn’t any harder than others – except as time gets further out I realize how very lonely grief can be. Again.

I miss Kaden so desperately, which even writing turns into feeling guilty about not writing on the twins more. But his was so – profoundly shattering. I miss the way he smelled, even when it was of all the medicine being pumped into him. I miss how much he looked like Bella. I miss the way he turned his little head towards me when we were near him, how he knew the sound of our voices. I miss his little eyes staring up at mine, blinking and looking ever so carefully at us.

I look at pictures of my pregnancy with him, or stumble on posts I wrote while pregnant, and it feels like it happened so someone else. I feel intensely sad for that girl who tried so hard to do everything right for 8 months to keep her son alive, and he was killed by a freak virus and his own heart.

I doesn’t seem like it’s about me because it’s too surreal. I have flashbacks to my pregnancy – the medications that made me so sick, the cerclage, the weekly shots of progesterone, the daily shots of Lovenox I had to do myself, the bruising, my hips hurting so bad I couldn’t walk more than a couple of minutes, the hyperemesis, the naps, the guilt, the tears, the anxiety, the grief of the twins, the stress on Bella and Sam, the physical toll, the sleepless nights, the constant panic that my water would break, the preterm labor, the weekly doctor visits, the ultrasounds, the check ups, the clothes, the excitement, the posts, the assurances and reassurances that this time, this baby was coming home.

And he died. He died anyway.

Please don’t say that I didn’t know what was coming, so how could I have done it differently or that it was good I did all of it – I don’t care, it doesn’t matter. It seems like some kind of a very cruel joke played on us.

I know I’ve said this for 7  months now, but I still can’t comprehend it. At all. I feel at times like I just need to write it and write it and write it until it sinks in. All of it. Just sinks in and hits and I can – whatever. I can grasp it and be more sad?

If irony had a picture, it would be me pregnant with Kaden. Worried, careful, and desperately anxious about things that, in the end, didn’t matter anyway.

Cruel Irony

Oh my Kaden. As confused and heartbroken and stunned that I still am, I would do it all again if I knew you’d be ok this time.  I just can’t believe you didn’t make it.



  1. Justine Perry says

    Keep writing mama! Although my loss is nothing compared to yours… I lost my brother 7 months ago and writing is my only sanity… Hugs and prayers for you…

  2. Dana Witherby Ludvik says

    I'm so sorry, Diana. It is cruel. It is unfair. You don't have to understand it. How could you? Just know that you are not alone in your grief. My baby Miles recently passed away from congenital heart defects. This quotation by Emily Dickinson resonates with me: "I shall know why – when time is over."

  3. Tee says

    Recently read journal entries I made 8 months after my brother died. Emotions still came to the forefront but it’s been almost 5 years. The pain has eased but it still chokes me up. Not the same as your situation but grief will ease eventually.

  4. Allison says

    I am so sorry Diana. I wish I could wrap my arms around you and hug you so tightly. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain you must feel. Please know that so many people who have never met you personally, love you so very much. We hurt with you.

  5. says

    It was a stunning shock for all of those holding our breath & rooting for your throughout your pregnancy. Write and grieve and let it out. We’re here listening and hurting for you.

  6. Elizabeth Clements says

    God? Can this family get a few answers? Big obvious ones? I am begging….

  7. Susan Morris says

    You are incredible. Your honesty stuns me, in the best way possible. Feel, write and live your emotions, it’s the least you deserve. We are here listening, praying and holding you near our hearts!

  8. Stacy Kaye says

    Sniff. It is so hard to even try to understand. I don't personally know you but I will keep praying for you.

  9. says

    Diana, I pray for your healing. I lost my son in his early twenties. What you say about the whole thing being surreal resonates with me significantly. There are days when my loss still seems unbelievable to me. My heart breaks for you and your family. Keep writing. I think it brings the heart a bit of relief from horrendous grief.

  10. says

    The loudest thing happening as I read this is the deafening roar of my arms swiping for answers and aching to carry a measure of your pain. I am so sorry for all of it. Love to you.

  11. says

    Hi. First time commenter here. Wow. I cannot even believe what you have/are still going through. Prayers. Also, I wanted to see if you had ever heard of Nancy Guthrie. She’s a writer & well, you should look her up. Thanks for sharing your heart.

  12. Mary Lichlyter says

    “For in grief nothing ‘stays put.’ One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral?

    “But if a spiral, am I going up or down it?

    “How often — will it be for always? — how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, ‘I never realized my loss till this moment’? The same leg is cut off time after time.”

    ― C.S. Lewis, A GRIEF OBSERVED

  13. says

    Your writing touches my heart, your pain takes my breath away. Please just know that you are loved, by friends and strangers alike, and you are always in our prayers. ❤️

  14. says

    I see the pictures of him that you share and I can’t believe that he was here and now gone. It seems surreal from here, I can’t even begin to imagine what it feels like to your heart. Thinking of you always.

  15. says

    I am knew to your blog but my heart breaks for you. I can’t imagine going through a loss like this a second time. Especially not after you thought you were safe. I’m almost at the 6 month mark and it is still so hard.