Here’s another Facebook “note” I’d like to repost. On March 31, 2010, I had a miscarriage (this was in between Cam and Claire.) The full story was that I was 7 weeks along. On March 30th, I went to the doctor because of bleeding. We had an ultrasound and saw the baby’s heartbeat. The doctor assured me that the baby was healthy and fine; I just needed to take it easy for a couple of days. The next day was a Wednesday, so I stayed home while John went to church. He made an announcement during choir that we were pregnant and they needed to pray for me… but what he didn’t know was that I was miscarrying as he was at church.
When I found that I had passed the gestational sac, I remember staring at it in horror… wondering if I was holding my baby as the heartbeat I had seen just yesterday slowed to a stop. That moment was every bit as terrible as you can imagine. Thankfully, my Mom was with me when it happened.
Then, John got home, and I found out that my pregnancy had been announced to the church… which meant I would have to grieve my miscarriage publicly. (It also meant that I had lots of ill-timed “Congratulations!” for the next month or so.)
The following is a note I wrote two days after my miscarriage. I’m hoping it may share insight into the mind of a person dealing with miscarriage, but remember: every person is different in how they process and grieve. So with that in mind, here we go…….
———-April 2, 2010————-
My mom always told me “not to wear [my] underwear outside [my] clothes—some things are just better left a secret.” That has been a major struggle with me in regards to my recent struggle in life… my miscarriage.
Traditionally, women don’t talk of such things. We wait until week 12 to tell anyone of our pregnancies to avoid grieving publicly in the event that we miscarry. I have always wondered about and questioned this tradition. Now that I am here, I think I better understand both sides.
As I’m going through this experience, in some ways, it is much more difficult to have everyone in the world know. When I would normally be able to slap on a smile and go through the motions, there is some dear soul hugging my neck and telling me that they’re praying for me, which forces me to be vulnerable. Yet, on the other hand, if there were ever a time to have such support, the time is now.
What I really want to say is this:
1)Yes, I’m grieving. Some days are worse than others. Surprisingly enough, I haven’t yet gotten angry with God. I don’t know if that will come further down the road, but right now, I’m just accepting that this is His will for my life and that He has a plan for me. I already feel so ridiculously blessed beyond reason that it would seem petty to question Him now.
2) Yes, I’ll be fine. I’ve experienced depression in my life, and this is not it. This is more of a death of a dream, and I’m sure John and I will work to rekindle that dream as soon as possible. 😉 I have no doubt that God will carry me through this experience just as He has carried me through so many other difficult moments in life.
3) No, you shouldn’t feel awkward around me. I’m extremely unlikely to randomly burst into tears, and if that does happen, it will pass. Please don’t feel like you should edit yourself; please don’t walk away from me thinking, “I shouldn’t have said that.” If you want to talk about it, you can. If you don’t, I’m not going to leave the conversation feeling that you’ve neglected me in some way.
4) If you have gone through this, I am so sorry. If anything, this experience has given me a small window that helps me better understand what others have gone through. So many people have poured out their stories to us, and it is amazing to me how many lives have been touched by miscarriages. In some ways, I feel selfish for sharing my experience because so many are forced to delve into painful memories from their pasts. I have looked into many eyes and seen people genuinely grieving with us in a way that strongly denotes a history with this enemy.
Thank you so much for loving and supporting us through this. May God bless you for the love you’ve shown me.
I will admit that our miscarriage was the hardest, most heartwrenching thing I have ever been through. I was so thankful for Ashley. She was just a yr old at the time and needed a lot of attention. She was, in fact, the only person I really wanted to be around. She was also the only reason I got out of bed. Love you, Rashel.
You were a great deal of comfort to me during that time, too. Thank you for sharing your story with me then and for helping me cope through all of that. Love you too.
It’s been over 4 years, but sometimes it’s still painful. Weird how certain things will bring it up. I can definitely understand loss a lot better now. I’ve also learned how platitudes make you want to knock someone’s teeth out. Every situation is different. I hope I would never say “I understand” or “God has a purpose” or especially the “You can have another”. I like my face the way it is. People know God is in control and telling them that make them feel like grieving is a bad thing. To tell someone they can have another child is to take away how important this one is. One child can never replace another. And if I think that every pain is the same then I need a reality check. All I can say is “I’ve been there, it sucks, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”