The Loss

8 months.
That’s how long it has been since I
found out about
you.
They said you were -37 weeks old
as if the life growing inside of my stomach
drinking my nutrients
formed from my flesh
taking up the smallest fraction of my womb
somehow managed to inhabit
negative space.
I said, grinning,
“No. She is 3 weeks young!”
And they said
“It is gone.”…
7 months.
That’s how long it has been since I’ve lost you and
it has been exactly 0 days since I’ve forgotten about you.
The moment you were conceived
I felt your presence accumulating inside of me;
a mustard-seed sized miracle
perfectly forming your father’s smile and
mommy’s eyes
and I knew you were someone special.
But they said “it is gone”
and I kept on asking “what is ‘it’ and where did ‘it’ go?”
and they just said “it is gone.”
And as swiftly as you were there, you were absent
leaving a gaping hole in my womb which
at that moment in time and subsequently every moment after
seemed to house my heart.
There have been attempts at explaining why,
none of which have provided me with any comfort.
“There could have been something wrong with the fetus.” or
“Sometimes, our bodies just dismiss pregnancies.” or
“This is all part of God’s plan, even if we don’t understand it.” or
“Maybe it just wasn’t time.”
But it was time.
For 8 months it had been time again and again and
I took THREE tests to make sure you were really there and
I tracked everything perfectly and
I even held my legs straight up in the air! and
I…
and I
and I
I wanted you so. fucking. much.
“I would have loved her regardless!” I plead.
With doctors.
With God.
With anyone
anyone who could maybe, possibly, put you back.
Addison. That is what your daddy called you but
I can only call out your name in my dreams
as if I scream loud enough,
that place where my subconscious meets the untouchable
will create a mountain of a belly for me to touch when I awake.
I always wake up disappointed.

You would have had your father’s smile
and your mommy’s eyes.

 

Miscarriage. The word in and of itself is enough to send chills down my spine. I had heard of women miscarrying, but it never occurred to me that it could actually happen to me. My husband, son and I had ventured into the mountains for a snow-capped vacation. On the same day that we left, I was due to get my period. For all the mommy’s out there who have been trying to get pregnant, we have this down to a science. We know EXACTLY how we feel, we know exactly when we are due, we waste countless pregnancy test the day before our period is due “just in case”. So, it comes as no surprise that as the day came and went, I knew I was pregnant. I waited a few days, just to “make sure”, and then felt confident enough that my heart wouldn’t break with this pregnancy test (as I had wasted countless dollars, energy and tears on taking a test the day before my period was due, just in case, only to end up heart broken at yet another negative test). So, I took the test. And another. And another. And they all said the same thing: pregnant. I was ecstatic. Elated. Completely beside myself.

A week later, I bled. And just like that, she was gone. Now, I know what some of you are thinking: yes, I knew about my pregnancy for only one week. Yes, I am aware that some women don’t even know that they are pregnant at this point in time. Yes, I know that it may seem ridiculous. Yes, you may judge me all you want. But, I am human. And a loss is a loss. Dr. Seuss said it best: “A person is a person, no matter how small” and this person was so incredibly meaningful to me. There was nothing on the planet I wanted more than to have a baby, and it completely tore me up when I had a baby within reach and then torn from my life in no time at all.

In all of my life, I have never known how to handle grief. I can tackle just about everything that this world has to throw at me, but when it comes down to dealing with a loss, I’m dumbfounded. This particular loss, though, was a whole new territory that I was totally ill prepared for. This loss was a loss of a life that my husband and I created together. This loss was a loss that I couldn’t comprehend. There was nothing in the world that anyone could say to me that would make it better. There wasn’t a single explanation that would wave away the tremendous ache that formed.

1 in every 10 pregnancies end in miscarriage. Most of these miscarriages occur within the first 3 months of pregnancy. My miscarriage is a “typical” miscarriage. Because it was so early, I’ll never have an answer as to why it happened, it just did. And I think that’s the worst part. There isn’t a reason. There isn’t an explanation. It just happened. I lost my baby. Our baby.

What I do know is this: everyone handles it differently. Some women grieve briefly, then swiftly move forward and try, try again! Other women take time to heal, questioning whether they even want to try out of fear that they will feel that much pain again. Others fall somewhere in between. If this has happened to you, rest assured that what you are feeling is perfectly normal, acceptable and totally yours. Allow yourself to feel it, be patient with yourself and give yourself time to heal.

2 thoughts on The Loss

    1. Thank you for your response! I am so glad that you are enjoying my blog. Please note that I have taken out the link you had entered in the Name section and have instead entered “Anonymous 1” as the name. Reference one of my more recent posts “A Note To My Reader” for further explanation. I look forward to hearing from you more!

      In regards to your comment: The debate of when human life begins is one that is far reaching today. There are many schools of thought behind the subject, and I respect everyone’s views equally. For me, however, a person is a person as soon as their existence is known to be. Regardless of the fact that many would characterize the early stages of pregnancy as a non-life point, I disagree. My husband and I created life through the intertwining of our DNA, incredible love for one another and a scientific combination that created a seed of life. Therefore, the baby/fetus that I lost was, in fact, a person to me…

      Reply

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