It does matter.

Throughout this grieving process I have battled with loss.  And does it matter if it was 10 weeks or 40 weeks.  Well, it does matter.

There is a huge difference between no heartbeat at 9 weeks and no heartbeat at 9 months. 

There is a huge difference between cramping and passing tissue and being induced over three days and delivering your child.

There is a difference between the dreams of a nursery and a name and coming home empty handed to a fully prepared nursery with a child's name all over the place.

There IS a difference.  It doesn't mean that both don't hurt.  It doesn't mean both babies don't matter.  It's just totally different and it does matter.

I sometimes wish I'd miscarried at 10 weeks.  That I cramped and bled and lost the baby.  Or gone in and there was no heartbeat then.  At that point I could say "crap, that sucks" and move into another cycle and try again. 

At 34w ... it's so different. 

The doctor wanted to send me home on meds for three - four days to prepare my cervix.  He wanted me to come home, huge tummy, baby inside me, and face my family and friends with my deceased son in my body.  Thank God my cervix was already softening and dilating and he allowed me to go back to the hospital that night to begin induction.

Induction started Tuesday night; I delivered early Thursday morning.  I do not recall so much from those long days and hours.  I existed, I didn't live. 

I had dreamed about delivery.  I wanted an induction free, drug free delivery.  Instead I was induced and on an epidural.  I wanted my son placed on my chest and to begin nursing immediately.  Instead the nurses took him to clean him, moisten his deteriorating skin, and make him presentable for me to say goodbye to. 

Now all would be happy with just a living baby.  I realized all else is so trivial.

I didn't get to miscarry and take some tylenol and go back to normal life.  My milk came in full force.  My body ached from delivery.  I took vicodin for the migraines from crying. 

I had to go design his headstone.  I had to chose his burial plot.  I had to pick which 2' box to bury him in.  And I had to pretend for everyone around me that all was okay and I wasn't falling apart and shattered.

If people say a loss is a loss and there is no difference, they are sadly mistaken.  And I sincerely pray they never have to know the difference.  A loss is a loss and they all hurt.  There is a difference, though.  A huge difference.  And it does matter.