I found out I had miscarried the same week I found out they gave the Nobel Peace Prize to Obama. Nothing on earth made sense last week. Miscarriages never have made sense to me. The only thing they tell you is that it’s nature’s way of eliminating something that’s not right. That something was wrong and the body knew it. Although this Darwinian explanation may make logical sense, it doesn’t make any emotional or spiritual sense to me. I was pregnant. I had a growing baby inside of me. Everything was fine and suddenly it wasn’t.
The first time I miscarried was within the first 3 months of our marriage. It was a honeymoon baby and so unexpected I actually took 4 pregnancy tests (all positive) before I accepted the answer. 9 weeks later I was staring at a silent monitor that registered no heart beat, then laying on a gurney in the O.R. praying the anesthesia would hurry and take over. Then eating graham crackers in the recovery room with my concerned husband. 3 1/2 years later history repeated itself. My life right now feels like one long, bleak episode of deja vu.
The only thing know that makes this all sort of bearable this time is that I know if you let God heal your hurt and your anger, you can come out alright. And you can be a comfort and help to other women who go through it too. I know that the women in my life who have gone through this before me have certainly been a strength to me. Plus I guess all heartbreaks, disappointments, traumas, and painful experiences can be for your good if you let them, instead of letting them harden you. Which is hard not to do. . .
Most people who haven’t gone through something like this don’t know what to say. They try (bless their hearts) to think of things to say. But really everything just comes out so cliche and insincere at the time. The best thing you can do is just cry with them or tell them you’re so sorry. Because there are no other words on earth that can help.
For example, things like:
You’ll have more children. There will be other babies.
Even though this is statistically realistic, it doesn’t really make you feel better. You’re not thinking of other babies yet. You’re grieving for this one. Because I wanted this one. This baby. It’s not like my pregnancy with H. replaced my first one. Each pregnancy is very individual. And you deserve the right to mourn for it.
Well at least you weren’t further along.
You can’t imagine (unless you’ve been through it) how emotionally attached you become during pregnancy – even in the first weeks. It changes your life – you’re sick, you’re tired, you’re excited, you start making plans. You’ve told people. And then when you lose it, it’s like the future goes dark for a while. It isn’t how far along you are that is the issue. It’s the fact that the future has been taken away from you. It’s like when you’re dating someone you love and you make all these plans with them – they’re part of your life, part of your soul. And then something shifts and suddenly you’re broken up and you have to remap your entire life. Have to figure out who you are without them. It’s that altering.
I decided that life right now is a mess of things that don’t make all that much sense. And I think I have learned to really appreciate the people in my life who are true soul mates. True friends. Experiences like this make you appreciate having people to turn to who will mourn with you and comfort you in times of need. What would life be without these angels?