Mar 12, 2012

A Birthday Lost


March 12, 2012

I don’t know why this date is such a sucker punch, when a healthy full-term baby can be born anywhere in a four week span.  Why I hold onto this day like a delicate yet prickly flower.

Why I spent the past eight months randomly entering BabyCenter.com to see how far along I would be, knowing each time it would reopen the wound – like picking a scab and watching it re-bleed – only oh-so-much more painful than any physical injury.  Why, while reading about the baby being the size of a kumquat, a butternut squash, a pineapple, I’d touch my hand to an empty and flat stomach, pretending I could feel a bump, a baby move inside me.

Why my disappointment, my sorrow, my grief have caused me to angrily lash out at the one person, the only other person, who could feel the loss, our loss, as terribly as I do, knowing even his loss is not exactly the same as mine.

It hurts and I ache and I cry.  And I hold it together during the days, and sometimes don’t even think about it in the day.  But the night comes and with it my loss.  My pain.  The unhelpful thoughts of “whys” and “could haves”.

They say there are reasons, biological reasons, and to that I do not even understand because there are so many odds, so many statistics (so many blessings) of nothing being wrong, no biological/chromosomal/blahblahblahal reasons and zygotes that grow into healthy fetuses, so why couldn’t mine?

Will it ever feel better?  Or will I forever think – I could have a newborn, a two-year-old and a four-year-old, or a 20-year-old, a 22-year-old, and a 24-year-old.

My girls, they fill up my heart in so many mysterious and wonderful ways.  I don’t want a piece of it to be broken, to be missing.  I don’t ever want them to feel they are, or were, not enough.  Because oh, how I am blessed by my MotherLove for them.  Oh how they complete me in a way I didn’t even know needed completing.

Selfishly, I want more.  And that, I suppose, is part of my heartbreak.  Because I know there could have been another baby for my MotherLove.  To give and expand and envelop.  To have a piece of my heart walking around outside my body [credit].  But instead of the ache of a baby with my heart outside, the ache but the joy of watching it grow, fly and love, I have a piece of my heart gone, forever.  Or at least this lifetime.  And I just hope, somewhere with my grandparents and chosen-Aunt Jane, that little piece of my heart will be waiting for me.  That that piece found my grandparents, my chosen-Aunt Jane, to hold until the day that we can hold each other.

Because I can not bare the alternative.  The chance that it Never Was.  Because how could I feel the loss so deeply if there was never anything there to lose?

My two pink lines.  My five week little bean.  My baby.

How different the last eight months would be.  How different life all would be.

And so I say, Happy Birthday, knowing full well this would most likely not have been your birthday.  Knowing that birth days indicate a life outside the mother and you will forever be inside yours.



14 comments:

  1. Oh I'm so very sorry to hear. :(

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  2. Oh my.

    Your words say so much, and yet I know it's only a fraction of what is in your heart today.

    And always.

    Wishing you peace.

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    1. Yes, there is a lot in my heart. Thank you.

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  3. I understand this all too well. I have lost four along my journey, and they each took a piece of me with them. Yes, I love my two kids with all of my heart every single day...but it's hard to shake the feeling that something's missing...that something could be different. It leaves an emptiness. Come find me anytime...I will cry right by your side.

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    1. I am so sorry. I can only imagine. I appreciate your support. Thank you.

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  4. Oh, sweet friend - I *so* understand where you are. I lost one at almost the same point. I'm now 10 years on the other side of it. I don't usually offer my own posts in comments to others, but I wrote about all of this last month, and IF you think it might help, please feel free to check it out. If not, know that it's there, if you ever want it. http://paintingwithpicasso.blogspot.com/2012/02/on-miscarriage.html and also http://paintingwithpicasso.blogspot.com/2012/02/on-miscarriage-part-2.html

    The pain does ease, the "what if's" never go away, but you do begin to heal and the tears slow down, especially at night. I'm hopeful that as you heal through this tragedy, you'll find peace and comfort and rest knowing that your little one is safe with your family, and they do hold on until you get there.

    Much love - always on Twitter or at the blog anytime! DM me if you're feeling down. Praying for peace, and a special love in your heart on each March 12th to come. It's February 19th for me. We'll get through this!

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    1. Thank you for your support. It is nice to hear from others in similar situations even though it makes me sad that it has to happen to anyone at all.

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  5. I'm so very sorry for your loss. I know words are empty, to say, "feel better" means nothing, when a piece of your heart is out there. But I sincerely hope that time will heal. No matter how long that is.

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    1. Thank you, Alison. Yes, I think that time will help, at least to lesson the sadness. I hope.

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  6. I suffered a miscarriage too before Ash was born and I had very difficult pregnancies with both of my girls. They were both premature and I was on bed rest most of their pregnancies and in and out of hospitals. I know your heartache and wonder at the what ifs. I still have the heartache and wonder all these years later but it is different now. It is a small part of me that I talk about freely now that I couldn't so long ago. Sharing your feelings like this will help. It may not make it all go away but it will help.

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    1. I am so sorry for your loss. Thank you, yes, I am hoping that getting it out there will help with the healing.

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  7. I'm so sorry for your loss. *hugs*

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Any thoughts? I'd love to hear from you!