At the beginning of the year Derek and I were elated to learn that we were pregnant with our second child. I had quite a few friends announcing they were pregnant around this time and I was excited that our child would have friends the same age. They (the illusive "they") tell you that you shouldn't announce a pregnancy before the second trimester because so much can happen in those first 12 weeks. So we waited. Even though we couldn't shout from the rooftops that we were going to have another baby, in our own private little world we were already making plans for that child. Thinking about and suggesting names. Wondering if it would be a girl or a boy. Excited over the idea of Harper being a big sister. Would this one have red hair too? In just a few weeks, that nameless child had already woven its way into our family. It had already filled the space in our family that was empty and waiting to be filled. And then it was gone. At nine weeks old, it was gone. Nine weeks. The size of a blueberry. Gone.
Miscarriages are hard. So many of my friends and loved ones have experienced at least one of them, but it's still such a sensitive topic. Should you talk about it? Is it a private thing that should be dealt with privately? Should you share your experience in hopes that it will break the stigma that can be attached to it? There are many thoughts on the subject, but I can only do what it right for me. While I was going through the process of miscarrying (it's not as quick a process as one would think), I poured over blogs written by people that had experienced a miscarriage (or two) and had decided to write about it. It helped me a little to gain some idea of what to expect from others that had gone through it. To be a little more prepared for what was to come in more than just the clinical, medical way my doctor could offer. I am so thankful for those people that were willing to open up about their experience. I do not consider myself a blogger or a writer, but I know enough about myself to know that I deal best when I can get my thoughts on paper. It's a bit of a cleansing for me. Therapeutic if you will.
When we lost our blueberry, I gave myself some days to "grieve" because I know that grieving is an important thing. And then I decided that I would move on, that I would be grateful for the gifts that I have and look forward to trying again. Now, more than 8 weeks later, I realize that I am still grieving. Grieving because we waited too long for our first doctor's appointment and I never got to hear our child's heartbeat. Grieving because that wasn't just the idea of a child, it was my child. Grieving because Harper lost her little brother or sister. Grieving because I will never see his/her face. Grieving because my husbands heart was broken. Grief sucks and is painful. But it has to happen. It can either force itself on you or you can let it happen. One way or another, grief has to happen.
I believe the biggest reason miscarriages are so hard for people to talk about is because it makes other people uncomfortable. Most people don't know how to respond to something like that. How do tell someone you're sorry they lost something that you never knew they had. I totally get that. If you have read this, I certainly don't expect for you to have a response. I don't need one. It's ok. We'll be ok. I'll be ok. Right now I will grieve, but even in grieving I have hope. We have hope. That's all we need.
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| yep, that's a blueberry tattoo. |
