d Honestly, I have been thinking about this post for hours, days, and weeks which have slowly turned into months. The outpouring of mommies with angel babies who opened up on Mother's day and shared their stories of the loss of a baby inspired me to share my own story. Their bravery touched my heart profoundly and in ways I cannot quite describe in words, they helped me to feel less alone and stronger as a woman.
I have wondered how to say what my heart wants to say without it coming off sad or needy. I have sat down to type and then gotten up and walked away many times...not exactly sure of what to include or what to leave out, but sure I must write it. I must write it to heal myself, but also to let at least one other woman know that she is not alone. I need her to know (like the brave women yesterday let me know) that even though she feels so alone, as if she is carrying this great, yet heavy secret on her shoulders and nobody around her knows why she is crying- it's okay. She is not alone. I just want women to know that you can get through this. You can become even stronger through this time of sorrow and loss.
Eric and I were completely shocked when we found out we were expecting our second baby. At the time, we were so shocked that I even cried thinking I just wasn't ready. I feel guilty about that now, because the day after we told our family that our second little one was coming things started happening inside my body that made me feel like a liar. To make a long story short, after many tests and lots of waiting it was confirmed that we had lost the baby.
I would've been just eight weeks pregnant, but the grief we felt was like nothing we had ever weathered together. Through this seemingly terrible loss, though, growth did take place. It happened in our marriage, in our parenting, in my own relationship with my body. Its funny how sometimes, in your greatest moments of weakness, you find strengths that you never knew existed. Sometimes, in the darkest corners there are these brilliant glimmers of light. In this loss, there was pain but there was this flashing and blinking spotlight; a wake up sign to be thankful, too. In our loss we were reminded of how grateful we are for the blessings that we were given in the form of our first daughter, for the health of each other, that we have each other to lean on and comfort one another in times like this.
So, all you mommies of angel babies, my intent is this: I want you to know you are not alone. I want you to know that the heaviness of the secret you are holding does not have to be a burden on your heart alone. I want you to know there is hope. In my beautiful sister-in-law's words, "People rarely talk about miscarriages, but I am ready to break my silence if it will help another mom find any sense of comfort in realizing she is not alone."
I don't think it can be put any better than Margery Williams said it in the Velveteen Rabbit. "Once you become real, you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always." Our baby will last for always in our hearts. Really ours and really real, if only for a moment.
I have wondered how to say what my heart wants to say without it coming off sad or needy. I have sat down to type and then gotten up and walked away many times...not exactly sure of what to include or what to leave out, but sure I must write it. I must write it to heal myself, but also to let at least one other woman know that she is not alone. I need her to know (like the brave women yesterday let me know) that even though she feels so alone, as if she is carrying this great, yet heavy secret on her shoulders and nobody around her knows why she is crying- it's okay. She is not alone. I just want women to know that you can get through this. You can become even stronger through this time of sorrow and loss.
Eric and I were completely shocked when we found out we were expecting our second baby. At the time, we were so shocked that I even cried thinking I just wasn't ready. I feel guilty about that now, because the day after we told our family that our second little one was coming things started happening inside my body that made me feel like a liar. To make a long story short, after many tests and lots of waiting it was confirmed that we had lost the baby.
I would've been just eight weeks pregnant, but the grief we felt was like nothing we had ever weathered together. Through this seemingly terrible loss, though, growth did take place. It happened in our marriage, in our parenting, in my own relationship with my body. Its funny how sometimes, in your greatest moments of weakness, you find strengths that you never knew existed. Sometimes, in the darkest corners there are these brilliant glimmers of light. In this loss, there was pain but there was this flashing and blinking spotlight; a wake up sign to be thankful, too. In our loss we were reminded of how grateful we are for the blessings that we were given in the form of our first daughter, for the health of each other, that we have each other to lean on and comfort one another in times like this.
So, all you mommies of angel babies, my intent is this: I want you to know you are not alone. I want you to know that the heaviness of the secret you are holding does not have to be a burden on your heart alone. I want you to know there is hope. In my beautiful sister-in-law's words, "People rarely talk about miscarriages, but I am ready to break my silence if it will help another mom find any sense of comfort in realizing she is not alone."
I don't think it can be put any better than Margery Williams said it in the Velveteen Rabbit. "Once you become real, you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always." Our baby will last for always in our hearts. Really ours and really real, if only for a moment.