I have started writing this post twice times and stopped both times. But once again I pick up where I left off with the need to finish what I started. The reason you see is because it was a blog post that encouraged me. A blog post that let me know I wasn't alone in something so huge and terrifying.
I miscarried in December. We found out New Years Eve, and it was horrible. I expected it to be miserable outside to reflect the way I felt. As we drove to K-Mart to pick up another pregnancy test (just to be sure), it wasn't raining or even ugly outside. The skies had opened up, and snow had started to fall; the fields and trees outside were coated with a light dusting as well. It was beautiful. It was surreal. How could my little baby be gone already? We had just found out a few weeks earlier that he was here for sure. (we don't know what the little one was, but felt like it was a boy)
The week drug by...classes started again, and nothing could stop the emptiness that I felt. I wanted to hit the stop button on life, but it kept whirling by. Only one person at work knew, (the person I accidentally started crying in front of) and the life kept chugging along. As if everything was ok. As if my world wasn't totally shattered. People kept asking when we were going to try to have a baby. They had good intentions of course, but on the way home I would sit in the car and just cry and cry. I never thought that our first little one would be gone before we even had a chance to meet. But he(?) was.
As women, we naturally like to find common ground to show empathy, sympathy...that we care and understand. But ladies, perhaps this was just me, the last thing that woman wants to hear is another horror story or be compared to someone else. If you know someone who is struggling with miscarrying, please don't share all the stories you know about how far along someone else was. Pain is pain. Losing a child at 6 or 20 weeks is painful; don't compare pain. It will only leave your friend, who came to you in a time of struggle, sad and invalidated.
Two people told me to grieve, to mourn the loss of meeting that child during this lifetime. And honestly, it was the best advice I was given. To pray and cry and scream and sit on the couch numbly staring at the pictures on the wall. My mom came over, and we made baby booties together. And somehow it helped, ever so slightly. We made them as a memorial, and they sit a drawer in my living room now. I would sit in front of my Bible waiting for something to soothe, something to comfort me. And eventually a strange peace began invading my frozen life. The sun would come out for a few minutes, and it was for me. One afternoon, I found a page in the back of my sketchbook that I used for found poetry. (Remember Found Poetry Fridays?) I picked it up and the word miscarriage leaped off the page. It was there...waiting for me. And so here is what I wrote from that little scrap of paper.
|Not a Mother|
- found poetry -
Not a Mother
Whats done can't be undone.
Before long it'd get out.
Its heavy and always covered up,
I've been put out.
Just go away. (please stay)
I'll live quietly and
in a little while.
I'm apparently not
So I guess the purpose of this wasn't really to say anything important. But if somehow you ended up here and have miscarried, hang on. Keep breathing. Cry and scream and pray and sit numbly because life will return to you...eventually. But mostly I wanted to say that you aren't alone, and even though I probably don't know you, you are loved.