Those of you who follow me on social media or know me in person know that this summer, Andrew and I lost a baby. It was an incredibly difficult and surreal thing to experience. It was something that I never really expected to go through, and then suddenly there I was in the thick of it. Like other griefs, it ebbs and flows over time – how else could we function day to day? – but this past week, I have been thinking a lot about my sweet baby. I miss him. And I want to honor him by talking about him.
The following was written just two weeks after my miscarriage. This is a deeply personal thing to share, but I feel it is important. So many women experience this tragedy, and yet it is something that largely goes unacknowledged or unexpressed. I believe that talking about it is important – not only for the mother to process her grief, but to help others understand. To contribute to the celebration of life, no matter how short.
July 31st, 2019
My darling child,
It has been two weeks now. Two weeks since you were so abruptly taken from my body, pushed out without consent. How long ago you truly left me, I will never know.
There are so many things that I will never know about you.
It is still impossible to wrap my mind around. You, gone before you even quite began. I was only just beginning to get used to the thought of you – and then you slipped away.
I can’t forget the horror of those first moments, although looking back renders it dreamlike. I told myself I was over-reacting; a spot of blood, lower achiness. It was sure to be nothing. But the deep ache and overwhelming dread that settled in me said otherwise.
You were gone.
I wanted you so badly, sweet little one. I need you to know that. Your daddy and I were so excited when we found out that you joined our family. Your big sister didn’t understand yet, but she was going to absolutely fall in love with you. The thought of you snuggled in her arms filled my heart to bursting.
For five weeks, we fell in love with you and celebrated your existence.
Then all of a sudden, you weren’t, and I all I can think is what went wrong. What could I have done differently to save you? How did my body fail you so utterly? I tell myself it wasn’t my fault, but where else could the blame possibly fall? I wasn’t enough for you, and I am so so sorry.
It feels unreal. I was only just beginning to comprehend being pregnant when my body rejected that pregnancy. The entirety of that Wednesday was spent in bloodshed as you left me and I cried, not fully understanding. I held on to your big sister, just needing to get through the day.
It didn’t occur to me that I might never see you, and that has been one of the hardest things for me to deal with. I needed to see your little body with my own eyes; needed to hold you, give you an honorable burial. I needed to know that you were real.
But I never saw you, and that just breaks me.
That first week, we had to act like everything was okay; as though nothing had happened. We didn’t know how to tell people that you’d come and gone, we couldn’t endure the sympathy and grief and pity. So we acted and got by.
But now two weeks have gone by, and still life goes on. Time pays no courtesy to grief. Don’t think that we don’t love you, or think about you, or miss you. It’s just hard to acknowledge, to own up to the hurt and face it head on. But it’s what we need to do.
I wish I could have gotten to know you, been able to hold you and cover you with kisses. But you got the sweet part of it, my love. You were able to skip past all the pain of this world and wake to the arms of Jesus. What a beautiful thing.
My heart aches in missing you, even while at the same time none of this feels quite real. I’m living in a dream. But Jesus is faithful through it all. You were my precious dream, and I’m learning to let you go and trust Him.
Your mommy loves you so much. I can’t wait to meet you someday.
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