Two weeks and three days after Ava died we were on an airplane to Minnesota where we had both grown up. One of Travis’ best friends from childhood was getting married and we had been planning this trip for months. We were going to see our families, Logan would get to play with his cousins and we were even going to have our first overnight out while Logan stayed with my parents. We decided it would be nice to be around family and friends and we were looking forward to finding comfort in the people who knew us best. I thought we’d be able to escape the realities of the past few weeks. I looked forward to being in a big city where no one would look at me and recognize me as the woman whose baby died. I thought it would help me escape my pain. I didn’t realize that under the shroud of anonymity my grief would dig its claws deeper inside of my soul leaving me to suffer in silence, feeling more alone in a sea of people than I had ever felt before.

My first taste of reality was on our two-hour flight to Minneapolis. There was a family sitting in front of us with a very small and very unhappy, baby. The second I heard that baby cry my eyes welled up with tears. Travis gave me a knowing look and I hugged Logan tightly to my lap. The parents were trying to comfort their baby with rocking and swaying and shushing but it wasn’t what the baby wanted. My breasts instantly recognized the cries of hunger and my brain was screaming, stop! as the first few drops of milk began spilling out of me. It was a new form of torture. I crossed my arms over my chest in a futile effort to hold back the milk as I watched those parents struggling to console their baby. Why weren’t they feeding it?! I later overheard that they lost the bottle on their way to the airport and now had no way of feeding their baby. The thought crossed my mind more than once to offer to nurse their child and each time I pushed it out of my mind as I imagined the looks of disgust I was sure to get from them if I even suggested the idea. And logically, though my body hadn’t quite received the message that there was no baby to feed, I certainly could not have provided much for this baby. Instead, I spent the rest of the flight willing myself and my body to hold it together, literally, tears, milk and all. I have never been so happy to get off of an airplane.

The next few days were spent surrounded by our families. I felt a newfound comfort in being recognized as the woman whose baby died. I didn’t need to pretend I was happy. I didn’t have to explain why I looked pregnant or recently pregnant but had no baby. I didn’t need to stay in control of my emotions. I was allowed to feel sad and mad and sometimes even smile. I don’t remember much about those few days at home other than being allowed to just be.

Two weeks and five days after Ava died we checked into a hotel for what was supposed to be our first night away from Logan. We had already left him overnight with my parents when I was in the hospital so we considered this our first date night out. I peeled apart the velcro of my abdominal binder, the giant piece of elastic that was holding my stomach together and acting as my abdominal muscles for the last two weeks, and traded it for a tight black slip. It didn’t feel the same. There wasn’t the solid support I had become accustomed to. I debated back and forth a few times trying to decide if I should just wear my binder but in the end, I decided I needed to try standing on my own without it. I put on my short purple dress and looked in the mirror. It looked different. A month ago I wore the same purple dress at a family event in New York as I held a lifetime of dreams in my pregnant belly. I didn’t think I would be wearing it again so soon. I figured I was going to be too far along in my pregnancy and I had planned on buying a new dress for this occasion. But here I was. Staring at myself in the mirror in the same purple dress, only this time I was hoping it was hiding the evidence of Ava’s existence enough so that no one mistook me for being pregnant. We weren’t sure who would know what had happened or who would bring it up, so we decided on what we were going to say if anyone mentioned Ava. We were there for a happy occasion and we didn’t want to divert even a moment of attention from the bride and groom, so we came up with a plan, a blanket statement for how we would respond to any mention of Ava, and then left the hotel room disguised as a happy couple celebrating their friends’ wedding instead of the parents who had just buried their baby.

Most of the people we saw there were complete strangers or old friends of Travis’ from childhood. They were people we always loved catching up with at these kinds of events but we never really managed to stay in touch once it was over. Travis didn’t call them regularly or send e-mails and he wasn’t into social media so they certainly didn’t talk on Facebook. There were a few close friends there that knew what had happened, but unless someone told them, most of the people at that wedding had no idea about our daughter. We all loaded a bus from the hotel to the wedding together and prepared for an epic night of partying. Things went well for about five minutes. Then everyone started talking about their kids. We saw pictures of kids and heard about how awesome it was to have kids. We agreed and chimed in with pictures of our own of Logan. Then the wives started talking to each other and comparing birth stories. The stories went on and on about the horrors of pregnancy, and labor and epidurals and deliveries that all ended with their babies coming home healthy and alive. I sank deep into my seat on the bus and stared intently out the window as I drank a beer and willed them not to notice me. Travis squeezed my hand and gave me a sly look and a wink as he asked if I had any birth stories to share. We laughed and I wiped away tears while I quietly whispered, well actually ladies, wanna hear something really fucked up?

When we arrived at the venue Travis saw some friends who offered condolences and Travis stuck to the script we had agreed on and focused on the joyous occasion at hand. We were blending in so well. He held me so tightly as we walked to our seats I don’t think anyone even noticed my unsteady gait without my abdominal support. Once we were seated I looked just like everyone else. We watched happily as our friends in the wedding party came walking down the aisle. When she made her appearance, the bride was so stunningly beautiful that my tears blended in seamlessly with everyone else’s as I silently realized I would never walk my daughter down the aisle on her wedding day and Travis would never share a Father-Daughter dance. I took deep breaths in and out until the moment passed and I could once again focus on the joy of two people getting married.

Once the ceremony ended I figured the rest of the night would be easy. I planned on drinking. A lot. And once the music started playing it would be too noisy to talk. We sat at our table for dinner and started catching up with friends. I felt like I was doing pretty ok and then someone asked the question. Do you guys want more kids? We took pause and looked at each other. We hadn’t anticipated this question. My head had a million different responses swirling around one other for the five seconds that felt like an awkward eternity until Travis answered the question simply, no. As soon as he said it I felt like the drain had been pulled and every thought I had just a second ago escaped me until the only thing I was left with was her name, Ava, echoing off the walls of my mind. The conversation continued to another topic but I didn’t follow along. All I could think about was my daughter and how much we had wanted her. I stared off into space while my own conversation went on inside my head. He thinks we just don’t want another. Tell him. No, that’s weird, the conversation is over. Maybe he’ll bring it up again. If he brings it up again I’m telling him. He should know. Come on, bring it up again. 

The dancing portion of the evening started shortly after and I was relieved not to have to talk anymore. I loved dancing and I couldn’t wait to have some fun. Until I remembered I couldn’t. I had just had a c-section. I still had a stitch hanging out of my belly that hadn’t dissolved yet. I was supposed to be resting, recovering from major surgery. I couldn’t take a bath, or have sex, or lift anything. I couldn’t walk without wincing in pain. I had just been given permission to drive again, so I sure as shit couldn’t dance, especially with the rowdy crowd, it was too risky. Well, maybe a slow dance. Travis held me close to him and I buried my face into my favorite spot on his neck, the spot I call his nook, trying to keep the sentimental lyrics to the song out and my tears in. After a dance, I visited the bar again and retreated to my chair. I encouraged him to dance. He needed to have fun. He needed a night with his friends. I watched and tried to smile. Suddenly I longed to shed my disguise and once again just be the woman whose baby had died. I felt like that title would at least come with some understanding of my strange behavior. I kept wondering what I looked like there sitting alone, seemingly 25 pounds overweight, probably scowling, with a drink in my hand. I imagined people thought I never lost the baby weight after Logan. Or maybe they thought I had just gotten really fat and become the cranky wife who sits on her ass drinking and refusing to participate in the fun. I didn’t want to be her. I hated her. I had another drink to put a believable smile on my face and then another to ensure it stayed there. I sat as close as I could to the party and I made conversation with people. I smiled, I laughed, I joined in the fun.

Towards the end of the night, one of my favorite songs came on and Travis escorted me to the dance floor. There we stood, hugging, gently swaying back and forth, slow-dancing to Bohemian Rhapsody. I smiled a genuine smile and for the first time, I felt like my life would be able to exist outside of Ava’s death. I quietly hummed the words in my head and they were suddenly too real to me, “Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide no escape from reality…” The sadness started to bubble up inside of me. It was like I was hearing the song for the first time in my life and there was Ava, laying on my chest in the operating room singing this song only for me, “…mama I don’t want to die. I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all…” The words were like daggers in my heart. Travis asked if I was crying and it was a mixture of tears and laughter as I told him that I never really realized how unbelievably depressing this song was. The words went on and we both kept laughing at the ridiculousness of it all while I tried to hide my tear-stained face in his nook and added Bohemian Rhapsody to the mental list of things that would never be the same again. And then I finally admitted to myself that nothing would ever be the same again. Bohemian Rhapsody, small talk about our kids, my answer to harmless questions, every aspect of my life and every part of me was forever changed by Ava. I can pretend I’m hiding it all I want, but there is no disguise, I AM the woman whose daughter died. And with that realization, it felt like something in my brain shifted, or maybe it was the alcohol, but instead of going back to my seat when the song ended I sat on the edge of the head table at the front of the dance floor and joined the party the only way I could. I cheered while my friends danced and I waved my hands to the music. A few friends sat next to me and joined in while some others danced around me. No one cared that I was sitting, even if they didn’t know why. In that moment, and for the rest of the night, I may have been the woman whose baby died or the wife who got fat, or the weirdo that slow-dances and cries to Bohemian Rhapsody but it didn’t matter because I was also the woman having a great time with her husband and friends.

I will always be the woman whose baby died but she’s not all I will ever be. That night I took the first step on my journey to also becoming the woman who has found happiness and peace.