It’s hard to imagine, let alone describe how it feels to lose a baby. The words “heart breaking” barely skim the surface of this giant lonely planet of grief. I inhabit this planet. I’ll never forget the day I was flung into its orbit. It was day my heart dissolved along with the tiny person I was carrying.
I was washing up dinner when I felt the pinch. My initial reaction was that I needed to wee but when I reached the toilet and pulled down my pants my stomach lurched as if gravity stopped and I was cast out into another universe. Then there was a gush.
I share my story in the hope that a mother who has suffered a miscarriage will feel less alone. If you have or currently going through a loss I want you to know that I am standing by you. You are not alone.
When you felt exposed and raw under the fluorescent hospital lights, as the nurses fluttered in and out to check your obs. When no one explained what was happening. When no one did anything to stop it or even seemed to try, I was there too. You are not alone.
When you cried and swayed through every contraction, until the waves became distant and soft, until the only pain left was the crumbling of your heart. I was there too. You are not alone.
When you were terrified of going to the bathroom to change your pads because you didn’t want to flush your tiny baby away. Distraught that there would be no burial. When it felt so harsh and careless. I was there too. You are not alone.
After the ultrasound concluded that you were no longer pregnant. When the technician gently said, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing left.” When your tiny baby became a whisper, as if he never even existed. I was there too. You are not alone.
When you stopped talking to your husband. You avoided his open arms. When intimacy made you recoil and you avoided physical contact. After all, it was the act of intimacy that put you here in the first place. I was there too. You are not alone.
When you craved the feel of downy baby hair on your cheek. When you began to desire that fullness that only pregnancy can give, you snapped. Disgusted for wanting to try again so soon. I felt it too. You are not alone.
When you were surprised that pregnancy announcements filled you with genuine delight. How you basked in the glow of your friend’s pregnancies! But when the announcement of someone else’s miscarriage it rocked your very core and drag you back to that day. I was surprised too. You are not alone.
When the guilt came and you blamed yourself for eating food from the deli, or picking up your toddler. When you tortured yourself with “what ifs” and cried out from the horrendous guilt that somehow this was your fault. But it was not your fault, darling. This was completely out of your hands. I know this because I was there too. You are not alone.
The truth is, there are thousands of mothers who walk this planet with me, with us. We are not floating in an ether of darkness. We are not alone and forgotten. Instead we are connected by experience, a sisterhood. We are connected by the love we have for our angels. We comfort each other as we talk about our grief and remember our little ones. It’s a lifeline that keeps us grounded and brings us hope.