Four days was all it took for me to fall in love with you. In those days my world changed forever. The future changed forever because you were going to be a part of it. It felt like I knew you longer. I could feel the minute you were with me and felt your spirit leave when you departed. I don’t know what was worse – the physical or emotional pain – when I knew I was losing you…and hoping I was wrong.
2 am: I woke up still in pain and less in denial that something was terribly wrong. We drove to the ER praying that everything was okay but knowing deep down we might be losing you. I can’t remember ever being this scared. It hurt physically more than I can describe. We were at the hospital for three hours while they ran tests and looked at everything. I refused pain killers, worried they might hurt you. Finally the doctor came in and said the word I had been dreading but somehow already knew. Miscarriage.
I could feel the minute you were with me and felt your spirit leave when you departed.
The doctors said 15-25% of recognized pregnancies end in a miscarriage. It is not an uncommon event, and it’s not anyone’s fault. It just happens sometimes. Somehow, knowing that doesn’t make it easier. I always knew it was a possibility but never thought it would hurt this much. I had started to come up with ideas of how we would tell our parents I was pregnant. Facebook and Pinterest have lots of ideas to make the moment special and memorable. But the phone call I had to make was one asking for comfort in my grieving process. Not the special moment I had imagined in my head.
When a relative passes people tell you they are sorry for your loss. When you have a miscarriage no one says anything, either because they don’t know you had one or because they don’t know what to say to you. If you are reading this and want to know what to say, “I’m sorry for your loss” goes a long way. I didn’t tell many people this happened until months later, if I told them at all. It was so hard to talk about in the beginning, because it was still new and raw.
It just happens sometimes. Somehow, knowing that doesn’t make it easier.
The healing process has been slow. I tried to go to work right after it happened and realized that I had no business being there. I was taking my frustration out on people who had no idea what had just happened. The physical pain and all the bleeding was shocking and only subsided after a week. The emotional healing process is taking much longer. I lost it when I saw the $1,200 ER bill, pregnancy announcements by acquaintances, and three pregnant women at a party I went to. All the grief just came rushing back in a way I felt I had no control over. Four months later and I still miss that little peanut I never got to meet. I keep thinking I am almost through the grieving process, and then I see something that reminds me of that loss and I feel it again.
I’m pregnant again. An absolute blessing. I just finished my first trimester, so the chances of miscarriage are very low at this point. Surprisingly, I wasn’t as worried about miscarriage this time around. I think what surprised me more was that being pregnant again did not immediately erase my grief over the loss of the first, but it has certainly been a part of the healing process.
Four months later and I still miss that little peanut I never got to meet.
I have been feeling guilty about continuing to mourn the loss of that first child while being pregnant with another one. No longer. I am allowing myself to feel that loss and still be excited for the one on the way. I started planning the nursery to be full of adorable woodland creatures. I listened to our new baby’s heart beat and saw it on the ultrasound, moving around. I am excited for the future that this baby is going bring. I am excited to see my husband and I grow together in this next adventure.
It has been a long journey so far and the journey is just getting started, it would seem.
I never got the chance to really say goodbye to my first baby. I wanted to do that here. I want you to know that we won’t ever forget you. I want to make sure you are never forgotten, even as I am about to begin the next chapter of my life as a parent.