I’m sitting here trying to figure out if I really want to write this or not. I honestly don’t want to, but I feel like if I don’t, I won’t be able to stop thinking about it all. I’m afraid if I don’t write this all soon, my already numbing emotions will be completely silent, and I’ll never get across what I want to get across.
A couple weeks ago, Jason and I found out we were pregnant with our 3rd baby. It took our breath away because we did not expect it, or really even plan for it. At all. But we were! Charlotte and this one would be 18 months apart. Every time I thought about it my heart would speed up a little thinking of what kind of stress it would all entail. I started to wrap my head around it though. I had to. We started telling people right away. We pushed for the idea of this is a life no matter how tiny, no matter how young. We knew that if something went wrong it would be incredibly hard to have to un-tell. But it would’ve been hard if we hadn’t told until the “appropriate society telling time” and then something bad had happened.
I wanted to break the news in a happy way to say “we are pregnant” to the whole world, but unfortunately last night, that time past. Last night, we lost our baby.
Our baby that I had started to dream about what their life would be like. How they would play with their siblings. What they would look like. How they would sound. This dreaming came about slowly, because I’m going to be completely brutally honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt in the beginning. I was so taken aback that we were going to have another, that my life that I was starting to get back from having Charlotte, was going to get sucked up again by this new one. I started to feel a little imprisoned. I was excited because I knew I would love this baby, but I was scared because of all the sacrifices that I would be making. Again. So soon. I thought about how this summer, I wouldn’t be able to do activities I usually get to do because I was pregnant. I thought of all the things I couldn’t have.
Yesterday morning I started to see traces of blood. I didn’t think much of it because I knew there were cases in which blood is a common thing during pregnancy. I even bled a little with Charlotte. I didn’t think about it again until a little later when I started to see more evidence. I called my sister and we talked throughout the day about the signs and what they might mean. Later that night, it became clear what was happening, or more like what had happened, and I was helpless to stop it. I broke down as it sunk in.
I never realized I wanted something so much until it was gone.
Thinking back on all the times I had selfishly thought about what I couldn’t have, it never sunk in of how it would really feel if I couldn’t have my baby. When they’re still there and a possibility that’s all you think about. It’s impossible to know what you’re going to feel like when they gets ripped away from you.
There’s something that happens when you become a mother. When your body knows that it is caring for something else, it’s a puzzle piece that magically fits where there wasn’t a hole before. When that piece gets taken away, there’s nothing to fill it. It is forever empty.
This is how we were designed. Our bodies were created to do exactly that. Create. When death happens it is a foreign concept that was never supposed to be apart of our design. God created out of love. He never wanted us to know pain or hardship. We were never supposed to be separated because we were supposed to live in his perfect utopia, in his presence forever. With the fall of man came death, trials, and seperation. Since this wasn’t there when we were made, we still don’t know how to deal with it. That’s why it’s painful and confusing. We don’t know how to deal with seperation because we were never meant to know what it was.
I’ve talked with many women who have made the choice to be forever separated from their babies. They all deal with a grief that cannot be fully comforted. The piece is missing that they constantly come back to. They try to fill it, but nothing will ever fit because each and every piece is shaped differently. No matter how hard you try to push it in, it will never fit flush. Let me be clear. Each and every person is made uniquely. No two people will ever be the same. Our bodies subconsciously understand this. When that life is taken away, we grieve at the loss of being separated with this once in a lifetime life.
I am grieving, my body is grieving. I know it’s in a better place, but right now all I can think of how I want it to be with me. It’s supposed to be. My heart is broken.
My solace is that even though my baby was the size of a sesame seed, it can still make a difference. I will openly tell of my pain and sorrow if it helps even saves one mother, one baby, from making a choice of living with this heartache.
Also, lets please stop having miscarriages be a taboo thing. We need to come together for comfort because we are the only ones that know what the other is going through. Don’t be quiet about that. Talk of the babies that will never be, because they will never be forgotten.
Please please share. Let this little baby have an incredible legacy even without it being here with us.
+Jason and Kate+