I looked outside and suddenly there are flowers and the trees are lush with leaves and the grass is bright green.
The earth is brimming with life and yet, I have none.
Okay, that sounds more melodramatic than I intended.
I’m not sad and lonely and depressed all the time – but being pregnant, I felt full of hope and life and expectation. Things seemed big and bright and full of possibility. And sickness and anxiety, but also…there’s a sense of purpose to my body when I’m pregnant that I don’t feel when I’m not.
* * * * * *
I have stopped sobbing every day, but something brings me to tears every single day. An email, a passage in a book, a song, something.
I thought this would be easier. I thought, “Well, it’s only REALLY been three months between my first ultrasound at 7 weeks and my Ultrasound of Doom at 19 weeks. Only three months of assuming this baby would come home with us. It could be so much worse.”
It was not easy. It was heartbreaking. It IS heartbreaking.
* * * * * *
Some days, I’m obsessed with Why This Happened. I’ve now had three pregnancies end in losses. Three out of five pregnancies did not result in babies for me. I am convinced something is wrong with me, with my body, that somehow *I* am the factor here, not luck. I listen to podcasts, read articles and studies, research doctors that can fix it so we can have another baby.
Other days, I know that having another baby would not fix these feelings of loss I have. That I need to be able to just move on instead of opening our hearts to being broken again. The idea of months of sickness followed by months of heartache and grief is inconceivable to us and unfair to our kids. It’s unfair to our marriage. It’s not worth all of that to try for another baby when we already have two amazing kids. I want to care about other things again – like running and work and things I want from life.
Or maybe I can do those things when I’m too old to have babies and spend my time now doggedly pursuing the family I thought I wanted?
My mind pings back and forth between these thoughts – and there’s always an underlying current of sadness of missing the baby I will not get to raise. Of wondering if maybe this time I had done that, Clare would still be growing inside of me instead contained in a box of keepsakes on the top shelf in my closet.
I thought it was so silly when the nurse told me that memories would be important in this loss. What memories? I thought, There are no memories of a baby who died inside of me before I met her.
It turns out that she was right and I value the memories, indeed. The many memories of pregnancy (she was the reason why and the one who kept me company as I ate Frosted Mini Wheats at 3 am while reading Me Before You at the kitchen table) and the few memories of the time we had with her.
Before I experienced this, I’d hear other stories of people who’d lost babies and think, “Oh my gosh, you held a dead baby? Your family held your dead baby? That sounds horrible and morbid and noooo.” But going through it, I understand. I do. I hope you never have to.
* * * * * *
Some moments, I’m like, “HOW CAN YOU TALK TO ME ABOUT SOMETHING AS TRIVIAL AS X WHEN MY BABY JUST DIED?”
And other moments, I’m like, “Stop talking to me about my baby dying, I don’t want to think about hard stuff, let’s just watch Grace and Frankie and eat pie.”
Obviously, it’s really easy to be my friend right now.
* * * * * *
I’ve been thinking about secondary loss lately. Have you heard of this idea? It’s the idea that when we suffer a big loss, that is the primary loss. But there are also related losses that are secondary.
My secondary losses have been the loss of experiencing joyful pregnancy, of this time in my kids’ life because I’m so distracted, of friendships I thought were stronger, of feeling like I’ll never feel ‘safe’ in pregnancy again.
I played all the rules! I did all the ‘right’ things! I didn’t even tell the world I was pregnant until well into my second trimester! And yet.
Here I am. Without a baby.
I already didn’t feel assume a positive pregnancy test would result in a baby (two miscarriages in a row will do that to you), but now I feel like even a healthy first trimester and a strong heartbeat at 20 weeks won’t result in a baby. I know the misery of a terrible, heartbreaking anatomy scan.
* * * * * *
There are a few good things that have come out of this.
A renewed sense of awe and appreciation for the little miracles I do have. For my relationship with my husband. For the friends who show up, who aren’t afraid of grief and hard things.
Being humbled and amazed and touched and just…encouraged by the outpouring of love we’ve received. Meals and care packages and remembrance jewelry and flowers and cards have been delivered daily. People are so much more generous and thoughtful than I am. I always think, “Oh, I should send that person something…” and then forget. People are incredible.
* * * * * *
I thought about not posting about this loss much. It’s too…vulnerable, too hard. Too OPEN to bare myself to so many people when I’m still in the middle of it. It feels so much harder to me than posting about my other losses. But in the hope that even one person might feel not alone when reading this someday, I’m sharing.
It’s been almost 5 weeks since we found out our baby wasn’t going to be okay and 17 days since I gave birth to her.
I’m healing.
I am becoming a better person because of my heartache, I am.
But, oh, I sure wish it didn’t have to happen at the expense of my daughter’s life.
I think it’s very brave to share your feelings here. Sending love your way. <3
You are incredibly brave to share. All the hugs to know I am thinking of you in this time <3
I am very sorry for your loss. I do not know the pain that you have experienced and I am sorry that you have to feel it. I’m almost 24 weeks pregnant, I was a week behind you and was affected by your loss. Prior to this I experienced 3 miscarriages and was very cautious with this pregnancy. Turns out my body was not producing enough progesterone, so for the first trimester I had to take progesterone. Why it took them 3 miscarriages to realize the problem frustrates me, and even then it took a lot of pressure on my part to get them to perform the extra blood work. Because of my losses I have a greater appreciation for life-every baby is an absolute miracle.
Anyway please know that a stranger in Connecticut is praying for you and your family.
It is SO frustrating to have to advocate for yourself in those kinds of situations! Everyone seems to be very dismissive of my losses since I have ‘two living children.’ So they assume it’s just bad luck. Terrible luck? (I took progesterone and baby aspirin in my previous successful pregnancy – even though they never found a reason for why I had two consecutive miscarriages, it was a ‘can’t hurt might help’ measure. Maybe it helped more than I knew!)
Thank you for the prayers and thoughts. xo
Holding you in my thoughts, sweet girl.
Ashley, you are so brave, so genuine and I love you. I am so glad you are holding onto the memories you have with your sweet girl and hope that they heal your heart. I am holding you in mine every day.
Ashley, it IS easy to be your friend. It’s hard to watch a friend grieve as you are, but it’s not hard to want to be here for you for as much as you want to share. You are loved and lovely and lovable and I’m so sorry that you’re experiencing all of this.
Ashley, my thoughts are with you and my heart is broken for you. It is gut-wrenching to think of your beautiful, radiant family experiencing such a loss.
Please know that your willingness to share is likely helping so many people feel less alone in their own grief. My problem is different – I have problems getting pregnant – but I’m so grateful for people who are willing to tell their stories of infertility.
Thank you for your brave, honest, sincere emotions and sharing them with us. Thinking of you and your family often.
Internet hugs to you. Been thinking of you.
so many hugs from ohio! read this.
http://www.bostonglobe.com/opinion/2016/05/16/hard-days-that-determine-who-you-are/3R5MODlB8w8QcDt8X8BlEO/story.html?event=event25
This was incredible. Thank you for sharing. <3
I hope that sharing your loss is therapeutic in the least. And I know you’re probably helping someone else who has gone through this or is going through this as well. Sending all the hugs and all the love friend.
The only two words I can think of are FUCK. LOSS. I wish I could take the pain and smash it into 1,000 tiny pieces and somehow give you your sweet girl back. I love you, and am here for you. Know that you have a community of people waiting to lift you up on the days you can’t do it yourself. Just say the word my friend, we will carry you. SO much love to you and your family. xoxo
I’m so glad you shared. Even if it was for your own processing, it was wonderfully kind and helpful. I wish there was no loss in this world, especially for good, sweet people. I am rereading one of my favorite books by Curtis Sittenfeld, called The Man of My Dreams. It’s about a woman who obsessively tries to make a man fall in love with her, who follows love, and who, in the end doesn’t get it. She gets something different, and maybe something better, but it’s not what she was expecting. It is a completely different life, and she is a completely different person. She writes, “my reflection in the mirror is that of a person whom I know that I know but cannot immediately place.”
Hugs to you. I am so so sorry for your loss.
xox
I’d never ever dismiss the pain of miscarriages (whenever they happen in a pregnancy)… even if you already have two healthy children. That doesn’t make this loss any less tragic. I am thinking of you, friend.
I am so incredibly sorry for your loss.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts and words at such a heartbreaking time. The world needs to hear us talk about miscarriage and pregnancy loss.
Your tug of war between giving up and trying and also just wanting to live your life? That rings true to me after a miscarriage and more time than I wanted trying to build a family and I’m certain it rings true for many others as well.
May Clare’s memory always be with your family and part of your family story.
Hugs all the way from Hong Kong. From someone who experienced the same loss…. embrace the feeling of loss and continue to live life to the fullest.
As I said in response to your comment on my blog, I am deeply and truly sorry for the loss of your daughter Clare. I’ve only found a few of your posts on your recurrent losses but wanted to invite you to consider whether there may be immune issues at play. Not to suggest you’re to blame but to say if you think one day you might consider trying again… There could be help. Placental development issues are often immunologically linked. As is recurrent pregnancy loss. You know I’ve folded my hand – but still haven’t finished grieving that loss – so I understand the choice not to subject our mental, physical and spiritual well being as well as our families and marriages to more grief. Only we know (and sometimes don’t feel we do) what path most strongly calls us. If the path to trying again ever calls you please know you are welcome to contact me any time (I’ve left my blog email here with my comment). And even if you don’t. I have no panacea for this pain – which is immeasurable and eternal though life does eventually “go on” because as a parent, as a person, it must – but I’m not afraid to bear witness and hold your brokenness gently in my heart. Sending you peace in this senseless and sad, sad time.
Ashley,
I have no recollection of how I came across your blog years ago. I only remember how I’ve felt a sense of “yes!” as I read many of your posts and felt the sisterhood of an all male household as I welcomed my two boys, Ethan and Hudson, roughly the same age as your boys. And I want you to know, I think of you and pray for you. I think sometimes, in some odd way, knowing that there is some stranger out there putting positive thoughts into the universe for you is strengthening. Clare had a purpose. Perhaps unknown, and certainly unfair. But she is so loved and is being prayed for by many. As are you, mama. Stay strong. And on those days you can’t, remember the thoughts and prayers that are being sent for YOU. And I hope you can give yourself some grace and let those prayers carry you, even if just for a day. Just do your best this one day. And then deal with tomorrow tomorrow. Xoxo
All of this. Every word. Thank you for this, for the reminder that neither of us – none of us – is alone.