Miscarriage

I have debated with myself about whether or not to even post this. I've always believed that social media is not a place to air your dirty laundry. But somehow writing, and sharing these thoughts helps me process. It helps me grieve. 

Pregnancy loss changes you. It dulls you. It dulls your highs. It dulls your happiness. Because nothing compares to the loss of your child, and no happiness compares to the life you expected with your baby. There simply are no words in any language spoken in this galaxy or the next to describe the emptiness a woman feels after losing her child. Once you know that you are carrying a growing being in you, life changes. Once you hear that precious heart beating so strong, the world becomes a brighter place. I was happier, it was a euphoric feeling. I saw every baby any place I went and beamed with pride knowing that would be me soon. The amount of love I felt, so instantly, was overwhelming. It seemed impossible to feel so much for someone I had not even truly met yet. Oh, but I knew my child. I already somehow knew my baby. I dreamed of the beautiful moments we would experience. I shared secrets with my baby of everything I was dreaming. My fiancé and I dreamed of how the nursery would be. Everyone thought it was going to be a sweet baby girl. We were both already proud parents. We saw hopes and dreams growing within me. We kept track of every development. 

Then the unthinkable happened. 

That horrible feeling of drowning. Pain so deep, it takes your breath away. Pain isn’t even the right word to describe it. It is an emptiness, a hurt deep within your gut. Grief is different for every person. But pregnancy loss is also different from other losses. I don’t mean to take away from other losses, but I lost a part of me. I lost a physical part of me. A part of me that I was deeply connected to, that I was connected to on a level I cannot comprehend. To many it was simply a pregnancy loss. I cannot tell you how many times I have heard that I should be grateful because now I know I can get pregnant and that I can always have another baby. What you fail to see is that I wanted THAT pregnancy. I wanted THAT baby. Yes, I will want every baby, but the presence of one does not redeem or account for the loss of this other. I l lost my baby. Sometimes I don’t know what else to say. I miss my baby. How do you get over the loss of your child? 

And then there’s the guilt I feel.

Guilt because I feel it is my fault my baby is dead. Guilt because I can’t support my fiancé during his grief. Guilt because I just can’t seem to “get it together” and get on with life. Guilt because I know sometimes I forget that my fiancé also lost his baby. Guilt because my fiancé is grieving differently than I am, and I feel like such a burden. Guilt that I can’t be who he needs to me to be, and that I don’t know if I ever will. Guilt that I am a mother with nothing to show for it, and the world will never truly view me as a mother. 

Things cannot go back to the way they were, and I don’t want them to. To do so would disrespect the memory of my child. Yes I will learn to live with this hole inside of me, but things will never be the same. A marathon runner who loses his legs will never run the same, even if he learns to run again, it will not be the same. I am changed forever now. I wasn’t even sure of who I was to begin with, now I am completely changed.