The loss of that pregnancy was the most disappointing experience I've ever had. I describe it as disappointing because until I began to spot and then saw an empty sac on the sonogram we had begun to dream about the baby we would have. We had discussed names, looked for houses that would suit a family, let the news leak here and there, and bought baby clothes. So when I found out I wasn't pregnant any more and didn't have a clear explanation as to why, sadness took over. I'd known other women who had experienced miscarriage before, some early on like me and others later on when they could see the little child who had died. What I couldn't reconcile at the time was what I was actually mourning. I felt that I couldn't mourn a baby because it happened too soon and what I saw in the picture was emptiness. What I was mourning was simply a feeling, an expectation of what we could have had.
I'm sharing this now because after my miscarriage it seemed that every woman I met had a similar story. Some had later gone on to have children and others had not. But I didn't want to hear their stories then, it made it all hurt so much more to know how secretive the experience is in our society. What I heard wasn't their empathy, it was an unintended message that I shouldn't be sad because it happens to everyone and I'd get over it.
As I write this I am questioning my own motivations. I guess my reason for sharing this story is because I don't think that miscarriage is something to hide and also to say that experiencing the loss of an expectation, dream, or hope is something worthy of mourning. Being afraid of trying again for fear of it all happening again is also natural and can take time to get over.
Lucia was born exactly one year after the due date for the first pregnancy. She probably wouldn't be here if it weren't for a conversation I had with a friend who was pregnant last summer. We had both experienced miscarriages the year before and her healthy, round belly made me realize that it was possible to try again. I needed a year to recover from the sadness and to build the courage to face the possibility of loss again.
3 comments:
I appreciate the richness of your story, Rita, the deep lines carved by pain that have filled up with the goodness and fullness Lucia brings to your lives.
I loved being with you three these last days. I love that we can share in each others stories and lives. I'm excited for this beautiful new chapter in yours, and all the promise and hope (and challenge!) it brings.
Heres to many more chapters!
Love you.
Thank you for sharing your story. I'm rather astounded at the assumption in so many people that "millions of people go through this, so why is it so hard for me?" because we are all humans with our own intimate worlds, and we can only experience what is given us, and that is enough. . .and then share that experience with others, just as you have. Miscarriage is a terrible journey to experience--I miscarried very early in a pregnancy (I never felt the pregnancy was quite right, and it was within a week with no people told)--so it wasn't as bad as a few friends of mine whose pain was so deep that I can only enter into it by listening.
Thanks for your honesty. That is so essential for letting others know they are not alone. And it is so good to know that there is light, and such blinding, wonderful light, after such deep darkness--like the joy you are being hit by now that L. is here!
rita, thank you for such an honest and raw post. what a little piece of light you have in your life right now. I really think Lucia is fabulous:)
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