Dear Miscarriage
Dear Miscarriage,
It was awful of you just to come into my life, take away my opportunity to be a Mom, and leave me completely empty. To steal the joy of my pregnancy.
You’re ugly, and I hate you. You are a haunting loss that is practically invisible to those around me. You’re a cruel tease.
Where’s the “What to Expect When You’re No Longer Expecting” book?
I’m tired of hearing “I’m sorry for your loss” and “maybe it wasn’t meant to be.” I know that’s what people say, simply because they don’t know what else to say. They just want to erase what happened. But they can’t. I ‘m tired of crying, but my heart just ACHES with a strange pain that I’ve never known. I’m tired of wondering what my little one might have been like. I’m. Just. Tired.
I should’ve had a big, round Buddha belly. I should’ve baby showers filled with silly games. But I didn’t get to that point.
…I did hear a faint little heartbeat.
…I saw the tiny bean in my belly.
…I daydreamed about what I’d be like as a Mom and what my husband would be like as a Dad.
…I saw pregnant ladies and children everywhere, and I felt solidarity with this Sisterhood of Gestating Ladies. For a moment, I was in “The Club.” I got excited. I went There.
And {*like that*}, the excitement of my pregnancy vanished. I wondered what I did to cause this. This had to be my fault, right? I mentally retraced everything. “These things sometimes happen” really wasn’t a good enough answer. Sadness washed over me in the most unrelenting way. I was suddenly envious of all my friends who had never miscarried. Baby showers seemed bittersweet. Was everyone pregnant but me? My husband did his best to sympathize, but the whole experience was very different for him. He seemed miles away, even though he was trying hard to be right there with me.
Miscarriage, you tested my marriage, along with my spirit.
And you know what? In time, I overcame the Frustration. The Sadness. The Fear. They didn’t go away completely – the memory remains – but I began to feel something different. Hope. Maybe this wasn’t the time I’d perfect my pregnancy waddle, pee 24-7 or fine tune my diaper changing prowess. This was, however the time that I realized that I can become pregnant. The simplicity of a positive pregnancy test is nothing short of a miracle.
Hope is a powerful thing for someone longing to be a mama, for someone praying every day that the next pregnancy will “stick.” When my Rainbow Baby does happen, I’m going to appreciate my pregnancy in a way that is different from mamas who’ve never experienced you. Not better. Just different. I’ll get anxious before each appointment. I’ll rejoice at the seemingly “small” milestones. I will be thrilled to FINALLY (!) visit a maternity store.
Miscarriage, you weren’t the message but the messenger.
Without Hope, I might never meet the family I know is going to be my most beloved treasure. The family that will tell me I’m the most beautiful Mama in the world {and 100% mean it}. The family that will fill me with hilarious stories for Mom’s Night Out. The family that I will love so very much that it is overwhelming.
The risk of meeting you again is scary, but it is far outnumbered by the rewards in store for me.
I’m going to be a freakin’ awesome Mom. One day.
Xoxo,
me
Miscarriage takes many forms. If you {or someone you love} have experienced miscarriage, there is support available. Talk to someone. Take a moment to process the loss. Self care goes a long way toward your healing. Here are a few resources to help:
What a reflection of feelings easily identifiable by women who have also suffered the loss. I plan to share this article with many. Powerful!