I’ve written and re-written this post… because the message I want to convey isn’t an easy one to summarize. The flow of it, it’s like a kaleidoscope, so many ways to look at it, and it all depends on perspective and where I am in the time line.
There were the days when I wrote it, and all I seemed to be able to express was bitterness and anger over the fact that God seemingly didn’t deem us worthy of being parents to our Miracle.
There were the months that I tweaked it while I struggled to understand why something that seems to come so easily and naturally to everybody else is such an unattainable dream for us.
I deleted portions and re-wrote them during those weeks, months, when we were going to the birthday parties of children who had successfully turned a year older — and I was joyful for them, life is to be celebrated, after all — but sometimes it felt like a gut punch because our baby didn’t live to see his or her first birthday.
And then, a week ago, I deleted and re-wrote it in its entirety from where I am now.
I’ve intentionally chosen not to keep our loss a secret, but by doing so, I’ve opened myself up to the hurt inflicted by well-meaning, but misguided people who think that by sharing their stories of being “fertile Myrtle” and “I had 4 kids in 5 years” or “my friend didn’t mean to get pregnant so she had an abortion” is somehow appropriate. Or, even those who tell me “I struggled with infertility but after two years ended up pregnant and it must have all been stress related,” or “Having kids is stressful, you should feel blessed you have none,” or “There are too many souls in this world as it is.” I am not making these up — I couldn’t possibly.
By remaining open about my experience, I find that yes, it’s hurtful at times, but then there are times when I’m able to educate those who don’t know or understand. I’m breaking the silence! And even more remarkable, I’ve come across people — both men and women — who have suffered a miscarriage or baby born still. People who have remained a silent member of a club they never wanted to be in. These people, they tell me in near whispers, of their losses — birth stories without a happy ending — as if they are ashamed it happened to them. As if it were something they could even control.
So, please, if you’re stumbling across this post because you’re trying to figure out how to console someone who has had a miscarriage or a baby loss — just tell them simply, “I’m so sorry…” and then stop. That’s enough. Truly, it is. Don’t go on to share birth stories, abortion stories, successfully pregnant after managing stress stories, someone you know is pregnant, kid’s birthday party stories, suggestions of trying again or adopting, or whatever… just don’t. When people have done that to me, it makes me feel as if they’re belittling the death of my baby, as if it were nothing… a “nothing” that was life-altering to me.
The baby I lost may not seem real to anyone else, but I can assure you, as someone who spent the first three months of this year peeing on a pregnancy test every day and then watching in amazement as it turned positive, hoping and praying that we would finally have a healthy baby, and then spent 10 days miscarrying our baby, with hours and hours of cramps and contractions, sitting on the toilet passing enormous blood clots the size and thickness of my hand? And then, finally, when I held the very beginnings of human life in my hands? Even though it wasn’t alive, that baby became very, very real to me.
Yet through it all — through the worry, fear of the unknown, and emotional torment, the nights and mornings when I sobbed my heart out because the baby wasn’t viable, and physical pain, those times when I was on my knees trying to remember to breathe through the pain — I couldn’t help but be awed by it all. All those blood clots I passed? Those were intended to act as insulation to protect my baby from any harm that may come to it from outside of me. Those contractions, if they had come 6 months later, would have brought a live baby into the world. Even the fact that we had even miraculously managed to get pregnant, when all the odds were against us, made my brain whirl. My body did what it was supposed to do, even though it wasn’t the result we so desperately wanted.
For a short time, that seemed such a long time, we were parents. And for that I can’t help but feel grateful for the experience. Our baby was too small to warrant its own marked grave, but I believe that God wove our baby together and I believe that God is taking care of Miracle today. I have to believe that.
This day is so painful to me, and I don’t plan to memorialize it every year, but today I will. Because I will never forget. Anyone who has had a miscarriage or a stillborn baby never forgets. No matter how many children someone has, if they’ve ever lost one, there will always be one more who is silently counted in their parents’ minds.
Every day, a thousand times a day, I think about our Miracle… today especially, because today was Miracle’s due date.
34 responses to “Processing a Miscarriage”
Thank you… for sharing. I can’t imagine how it felt.
Thanks. I wish I didn’t. I wish I had known how painful it was going to be physically. I wouldn’t have changed how I handled it, but I would have been more prepared mentally, I think. My doctor sucked.
Oh, Jammie, I’m so sorry. I have been thinking about you and Tony, about about Miracle, these past few days. I love you and am grieving with you. Wish I were there to give you a big ole hug, or twenty, or more. 😦
Thank you. We appreciate your compassion.
You’re awesome, The reason I have kept reading your blog when all others have fallen by the wayside (no offence to any one else) is that you can so often sum up a situation so well with just a single line.
“…just tell them simply, “I’m so sorry…” and then stop.”
I am Soooo sorry.
…and you always find a way to compliment me and encourage me when I’m feeling down. You are awesome, too.
Love you sweetie….XOXOXOXO
Love you, too. xoxo
I am so sorry. I pray for you and Tony. Love ya!
Thanks, Nanner. Love you, too.
i remember the day my little one was due. it just seems to come back and hit you hard. also the anniversary of the miscarriage really hit me hard too. and yes, everything around you that is babies and happiness is like a punch in the gut. every pregnant woman or story hurt so much. now, i feel at peace with it. it has been 4 years since i lost my little one. i feel like she lived. she lived as long as she could and i loved her more than anything. i still find myself looking for her. i am one of the blessed ones with two babies that lived. but i still keep looking for my third. where is she? oh yeah, not here on earth. the worst thing someone said to me was oh that sucks. that sucks! i mean that is like i lost my wallet or i got in a fender bender or i had the flu. losing a baby doesn’t just suck. it is a gut wrenching life altering heartache that never goes away.
have you made a baby book for miracle? i wanted to try to remember everything i could. every card, the ultrasound picture, any little piece of her i have that reminds me she was real.
My feelings about pregnant women and babies is more of a fascination thing, because it’s what I wish I had. For some reason, it’s the birthdays that hurt the most for me, and I think it has to do with the fact that I feel like an outsider … I don’t have a little one who can run around and play. My little one is buried in a match box under a tree.
If someone told me “that sucks”, I think my response would be, “yes, a thousand times ten suckage.” You’re right, though, “suck” doesn’t even come close to describing it.
I’ve not made a baby book for Miracle, but I love your idea… I think I will. Thank you.
I’ve said everything that needs saying before. Praying for you and Tony on this day.
You know I appreciate you.
I’m so sorry . . .
I love you, and Tony too.
We love you, too.
Dear Dear Jammie…I Am Sooo Very Sorry. Big Hugs to you and Tony. This post was so beautifully written. Thank you for sharing the depth of your feelings of loss, my dear.
Thank you… and thank you for the compliment. I almost didn’t publish it, but I decided to … partially because I wanted my readers to know how deeply this loss affected us, but also in the off chance that it educates someone. If someone is searching for a post on what a miscarriage is really like, not the watered down version that doctors tell their patients, and also if someone is looking to figure out what to say to or do for someone who has had a miscarriage or baby loss.
Like weighing taking a prescription, do the benefits outweigh the risk. I decided it did.
I shall take your advice and say “I am sorry”. Thank you for sharing so deeply with us. It helps me better understand what you have been going through.
*Care and Hugs* to you and Tony.
Thanks. I’m glad it helped you gain an understanding. Love to you, too.
Your honesty and rawness have touched me. I understand your pain because I’ve endured it as well. I’m sorry sweetheart. I love you.
I know… and thanks.
love you guys.
what a wonderful post. i’m sure that it’s going to help someone, somewhere.
We love you, too.