Kinda Crunchy Mom

August 29, 2008

The Loss

Filed under: Uncategorized — by mcadmom @ 10:02 pm

About a month ago I found out we were expecting tot#2.  And a week ago I found out that the baby’s heart stopped beating.

The emotions of the last two weeks (since I started having problems) are indescribable.  I alternate between numbness, crying jags, anger and laughter, and it changes almost hourly.  Yesterday I spent the better part of the day crying–while working. 

I remember when I was 10 weeks pregnant with Olivia and a woman approached me at a work training to tell me that she’d recently had a miscarriage at 10 weeks.  In the prenatal bliss I emotionally shrugged off her comment and thought she was trying to warn me that things don’t always work out.  Now I think I understand differently…

As each week passes by I think about where my pregnancy would be had it continued.  Right about now I would really start to show, and the morning sickness would be in high gear.  I would be thinking of names and deciding whether or not to paint the spare room.  I would be thinking about dusting off the crib stashed in the basement.  So many things.

And none of those are going to happen.  And somehow I want people to know that I had a baby too–even if only for a little while.  I want people to know that even as I am going through the checkout my heart is breaking and there is nothing I can do to stop it.  Oddly enough, I want to tell everyone, not so they can feel badly for me but so that I can somehow acknowledge what was, briefly, and what will never be.

When I was little I used to have two similar nightmares.  In one, I had something extremely important to say–but when I opened my mouth nothing came out.  In the other I again had something to say, something urgent that I screamed out–yet the only thing other people could hear was a quiet, meaningless hum.  I feel like that now, like I am silently screaming throughout the day as people walk by.  And that when someone asks me how I am and I try to respond, nothing at all comes out.

The thing is, I am not alone in this.  I have had so many people respond–people on a message board I like are sending pm’s, my mom comes over to clean, cook and watch Olivia, Jamie is just so sad and yet he is so good at taking care of things, my friend nearby opens her door to us every day, saving me from the hours of isolation that are so frightening, my “almost” sister-in-law texts me daily to check in, another friend vowed to keep her phone charged and ready 24/7–really, it is overwhelmingly kind.  Even the library forgave my fines–I went in to pay and found they were gone (the librarian happened to call right after I found out and I blubbered the whole thing to her, telling her that I would be in soon to pay up and return the ladybug book).

All of this kindness leaves me feeling so unworthy somehow, and I honestly don’t know how to repay it or even how to respond. 

I had no idea how painful this would be.  Physically, it is uncomfortable and gory, but that is nothing compared to the rest of it.  I feel like I’ve been thrown into every single loss in my life, all at once, and if I let myself I could drown in all of them.

There is a weird and unsettling circle to this loss.  The summer of 1976 my sister died, and I lost my parents to the grief for a while.  I was 3, Olivia is 3.  I remember laying on my stomach at my great-grandparent’s house, watching Nadia.  Last week Olivia and I watched Shawn Johnson, just as I started to realize something was horribly wrong.  At 3 years old I learned to subjucate my emotions for the sake of others–a lesson I am determined to keep from Olivia. 

And yet I can feel it happening, though she does not understand this loss in many ways.  She is becoming almost too well behaved these days, and I know that on some level she can sense my grief–how could she miss the vascillation between tears and the stony face?  I am pulling myself through each day and sometimes it feels like I am walking through taffy, like every movement takes so much effort that I have to steel myself just to put the dishes away. 

Other times I feel like daily tasks are so meaningless, like right after I left the doctor’s office and halfway home I realized I was almost out of gas.  As I pumped it all seemed so unfair.  Cars still need gas to run, credit card bills are still due, the obligations of life continue forward–even as I lose my child and can hardly move.


1 Comment »

  1. Diane, I’m so sorry. I know from experience that there’s nothing to be said that lessons this sorrow. But do know that I’m thinking of you, and you’re not alone. Bridget

    Comment by bkildee — August 30, 2008 @ 12:33 pm |Reply

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