Thursday, 27 October 2011
It started off as a normal day. I was taking Ezra and Michael to IUS -- dropping Michael off for work and taking Ezra to the Children's Center. Ezra had a doctor's appointment scheduled for the afternoon that he was not looking forward to because he had to get his flu shot booster. He was telling us as much on the way. "Well, I have a doctor's appointment today too," I said. "I'm meeting my doctor who will be taking care of me while I'm pregnant...he's the one who will catch the baby when it comes out!"
"Will the baby be covered in poop?" Ezra chuckled.
"No, but it will be slimy!" I replied.
"What?!"
"Yup! The nurses will clean it off and put a diaper on it and then wrap it in a blanket. Then they will hand the baby to me to hold," I explained with a smile.
"I will hold the baby to...," Ezra grinned.
***
An hour later I sat waiting for the doctor to come in the exam room. As I waited, I read an entire article about Ellen DeGeneres in Good Housekeeping. After I finished, I had time to consider the upcoming exchange. Ok...hold your ground. Don't let them push you around about how you're going to give birth. Don't take any crap. Let him know that you are not a gal to be tangled with...where is he for crying out loud?....I hope I will still have time to make it to my body pump class after this...
Finally he came in....with a resident. He introduced himself and the resident. We chatted for a bit...family, jobs, moving history, Ezra history, other small talk in general. "Well, let's try to get a listen to baby's heartbeat!" he said.
I laid back and lifted my shirt...a maternity one that I felt a little silly for wearing but I had started showing a bit (even though I was only 11 weeks along....things started showing with Ezra around the same time...) and didn't quite have the cute bump thing going on yet...really just something to cover up the bloaty looking stomach that leaves most people you encounter struggling to figure out if you're pregnant or just a little thick around the middle...The resident placed her doppler thing on my belly. She had some issues and after a few tries that included some embarrassed giggles and nervous glances at the doctor, handed things over to him. "He'll probably find it right away," she said, self-deprecatingly. However, he also had some issues. They decided to go inside to push up my uterus to see if that might help things. "Have you had any spotting during this pregnancy?" he asked, as nonchalantly as possible.
"No..."
"Hmmm... 'cause you are right now..."
Still no heartbeat. They withdrew and stated that we should do an ultrasound.
As I sat up, I pulled my shirt down and asked, "Are you concerned?" even though I already knew what his response would be.
"A little...we'll get you in ultrasound and if the pregnancy is viable, we'll go from there..." I immediately noticed the shift in semantics. Moments earlier we had been talking about "baby's heartbeat" and now we were talking about "viable pregnancies".
Fifteen minutes later I was in ultrasound. I could tell not only from the image but from the restrained look on the tech's face that things weren't good. No heartbeat, no movement..."I'd feel better if I went inside for a look...," she said. No heartbeat, no movement... "The baby's measuring at about 7.5 weeks...I'm so sorry..."
An hour later I sat waiting for the doctor to come in the exam room. As I waited, I read an entire article about Ellen DeGeneres in Good Housekeeping. After I finished, I had time to consider the upcoming exchange. Ok...hold your ground. Don't let them push you around about how you're going to give birth. Don't take any crap. Let him know that you are not a gal to be tangled with...where is he for crying out loud?....I hope I will still have time to make it to my body pump class after this...
Finally he came in....with a resident. He introduced himself and the resident. We chatted for a bit...family, jobs, moving history, Ezra history, other small talk in general. "Well, let's try to get a listen to baby's heartbeat!" he said.
I laid back and lifted my shirt...a maternity one that I felt a little silly for wearing but I had started showing a bit (even though I was only 11 weeks along....things started showing with Ezra around the same time...) and didn't quite have the cute bump thing going on yet...really just something to cover up the bloaty looking stomach that leaves most people you encounter struggling to figure out if you're pregnant or just a little thick around the middle...The resident placed her doppler thing on my belly. She had some issues and after a few tries that included some embarrassed giggles and nervous glances at the doctor, handed things over to him. "He'll probably find it right away," she said, self-deprecatingly. However, he also had some issues. They decided to go inside to push up my uterus to see if that might help things. "Have you had any spotting during this pregnancy?" he asked, as nonchalantly as possible.
"No..."
"Hmmm... 'cause you are right now..."
Still no heartbeat. They withdrew and stated that we should do an ultrasound.
As I sat up, I pulled my shirt down and asked, "Are you concerned?" even though I already knew what his response would be.
"A little...we'll get you in ultrasound and if the pregnancy is viable, we'll go from there..." I immediately noticed the shift in semantics. Moments earlier we had been talking about "baby's heartbeat" and now we were talking about "viable pregnancies".
Fifteen minutes later I was in ultrasound. I could tell not only from the image but from the restrained look on the tech's face that things weren't good. No heartbeat, no movement..."I'd feel better if I went inside for a look...," she said. No heartbeat, no movement... "The baby's measuring at about 7.5 weeks...I'm so sorry..."
***
Twenty minutes later I was sitting in the car in the parking lot in shock. How could a day start out so deceptively normal? There was no doubt in my mind that I was pregnant. I had been tired to the point of requiring daily naps, I felt like I was busting painfully out of all my pants, I was cracking eggs directly into the sink absentmindedly, and breaking out like a 13-year old! But then I realized...that wasn't really happening anymore...and then I remembered...a very specific memory from about a week earlier. I had been in the bathroom and realized that I hadn't been feeling this way..."I don't feel pregnant anymore," I reflexively thought and instantly felt guilty for having such a thought. "Oh, you're probably just coming out of that first trimester junk," I reasoned...
Within the next hour and a half, I had spoken with nearly every one of my family members but Ezra. The crying and explaining wore me out. I had to get myself together in order to go pick up Ezra from the Children's Center and Michael from work.
I walked into the Children's Center. "Ezra your Mommy's here," his teacher called to him. I just found out my baby died! was what I wanted to scream. Instead I did what I was supposed to do...I plastered on the smile, thanked them, and wished them all a lovely afternoon. Ezra and I headed to the car. "Did you have fun? What did you make?" He still believes it's a perfectly normal day...
We got ourselves into the car and headed over to Michael's building. Of course, he knew but because Ezra didn't our ride home was awkward at best.
When we got home Michael took Ezra inside to feed him lunch. I sat in the car and spoke on the phone with the one other person I had not yet spoken with, my mother-in-law, Nancy. She has experienced multiple miscarriages and I was desperately seeking advice as to how we should talk to Ezra about this whole thing...or if we should at all... He had been talking about the baby and asking more questions recently unsolicited. For the moment, though, we thought we would just wait to see when he mentioned the baby again and then tell him that it would just be a little longer than we thought until the baby got here. For some reason, we deluded ourselves into believing that he wouldn't mention the baby again for a while....
Twenty minutes later I was sitting in the car in the parking lot in shock. How could a day start out so deceptively normal? There was no doubt in my mind that I was pregnant. I had been tired to the point of requiring daily naps, I felt like I was busting painfully out of all my pants, I was cracking eggs directly into the sink absentmindedly, and breaking out like a 13-year old! But then I realized...that wasn't really happening anymore...and then I remembered...a very specific memory from about a week earlier. I had been in the bathroom and realized that I hadn't been feeling this way..."I don't feel pregnant anymore," I reflexively thought and instantly felt guilty for having such a thought. "Oh, you're probably just coming out of that first trimester junk," I reasoned...
Within the next hour and a half, I had spoken with nearly every one of my family members but Ezra. The crying and explaining wore me out. I had to get myself together in order to go pick up Ezra from the Children's Center and Michael from work.
I walked into the Children's Center. "Ezra your Mommy's here," his teacher called to him. I just found out my baby died! was what I wanted to scream. Instead I did what I was supposed to do...I plastered on the smile, thanked them, and wished them all a lovely afternoon. Ezra and I headed to the car. "Did you have fun? What did you make?" He still believes it's a perfectly normal day...
We got ourselves into the car and headed over to Michael's building. Of course, he knew but because Ezra didn't our ride home was awkward at best.
When we got home Michael took Ezra inside to feed him lunch. I sat in the car and spoke on the phone with the one other person I had not yet spoken with, my mother-in-law, Nancy. She has experienced multiple miscarriages and I was desperately seeking advice as to how we should talk to Ezra about this whole thing...or if we should at all... He had been talking about the baby and asking more questions recently unsolicited. For the moment, though, we thought we would just wait to see when he mentioned the baby again and then tell him that it would just be a little longer than we thought until the baby got here. For some reason, we deluded ourselves into believing that he wouldn't mention the baby again for a while....
***
Ezra still had to go to the doctor...we had to go even though Michael and I had not had a chance to sit and talk with each other at all.
Naturally there were tiny babies at the pediatrician's office...people who wanted to make small talk in the waiting room...Ezra to try to distract from his intense fear of the shot...I had to keep it together....no one in that office ever had any idea of the information I had just received...How many people do I encounter like this on a daily basis? I thought....Someone who just found out her father died, a man who just found out he will die within the year, a woman who just found out that she will never be able to have children....the possibilities are endless....
Ezra made it through his shot (however, there was quite a bit of melodramatic limping that took place the rest of the day...) We went home where I set him up to watch Peter Pan. Michael and I finally had a moment alone. We cried and prayed. I had a chance to run my hair-brained scheme for interacting with Ezra on the matter by him....he agreed it was a good plan...equally deluded...
Ezra still had to go to the doctor...we had to go even though Michael and I had not had a chance to sit and talk with each other at all.
Naturally there were tiny babies at the pediatrician's office...people who wanted to make small talk in the waiting room...Ezra to try to distract from his intense fear of the shot...I had to keep it together....no one in that office ever had any idea of the information I had just received...How many people do I encounter like this on a daily basis? I thought....Someone who just found out her father died, a man who just found out he will die within the year, a woman who just found out that she will never be able to have children....the possibilities are endless....
Ezra made it through his shot (however, there was quite a bit of melodramatic limping that took place the rest of the day...) We went home where I set him up to watch Peter Pan. Michael and I finally had a moment alone. We cried and prayed. I had a chance to run my hair-brained scheme for interacting with Ezra on the matter by him....he agreed it was a good plan...equally deluded...
***
Bedtime rolled around. We always sing a song and on this particular night, we chose the chorus of Count Your Blessings. "I want to name my blessings!" Ezra blurted out.
"OK!"
"You and Daddy and the baby...." he went on but I hadn't heard anymore after "baby". For some reason, the pain in my chest took me by surprise.
"Ok...let's talk to God..." I said.
"God, thank you for Mommy and Daddy and the baby," Ezra gushed. It was uncanny. Honestly, he had not mentioned the baby this many times together. He had never seemed so aware as he did at that moment. I instantly knew that we had to scrap our original plan. I could not handle letting him go on thinking there would be a baby when there wouldn't. It wasn't fair to him and it was very painful for me to go on with the pretense.
The next morning, I woke up and got on the worldwide web....surely it could tell me what to do...right? Sure enough, I Googled "talking to your preschooler about miscarriage" and wouldn't you know that all kinds of interesting stuff came up. Of course, I had to be discerning...all kinds of crazies get on the worldwide web and even if you don't agree with the things they spout off, all it takes is planting a seed and something can nag at you (ie. "Are you sure you miscarried? Maybe you're still pregnant...") Most of what I found was encouraging me to tell Ezra and that it was a good plan. I spoke with Michael about it who, it turns out, was having similar concerns. I wanted to do it that morning because we were getting ready to leave that afternoon to go to Michigan to see my parents and siblings. Michael wasn't going with us and, naturally, I wanted him to be a part of the conversation. I also felt we needed to tell Ezra before we departed because I didn't want him babbling on, blissfully ignorant, among our informed and heartbroken family. Also, he was so excited about the trip to see DRams and Poppio that, quite frankly, I thought that happiness may help to temper his sorrow.
"We have something we want to talk with you about," I began at the breakfast table. "You know the baby in my belly...?"
"Yeah," Ezra responded casually, munching his toast.
"Well, it was very sick...so sick that it couldn't live...and God decided to take the baby to live with Him..."
He immediately burst into tears (admittedly a much stronger response than I had anticipated) and reached for me. "That's not fair!" he sobbed.
"I know..." I sobbed in return. I held him as he continued to cry. They were cries of severe disappointment and anger. After a while, I went on. "God knew, though, that the baby wouldn't live...He may even have known that the baby could have made Mommy very sick..."
"We will be trying to have another baby, though," Michael said. "We think you would make a great big brother!"
We sat in silence, except for our sobbing.
Then, for some reason, the following came out of me. "You know, Ezra, there are women in this world who can never have children because their bodies won't let them."
He responded with a gasp. "What?!"
"Yes...you know, they see you with me and they think, 'Man...she is so lucky....I wish I could have a boy of my own like that...' They are very sad because they never will be able to...but we have you! We are so blessed to have you. You are one of our biggest blessings!"
"I'm a blessing?" he laughed through his tears.
"Absolutely!"
Most of what I read said that small children take things in stride. We made our trip and as the week went on, Ezra did not mention the baby once. Several explanations came to my mind. 1.) He's so distracted by the fun he's having here with DRams and Poppio and his cousin, Emma Jane, that he's just not thinking about it...true to a child's form, he is just living in the moment. 2.) He's got some sort of children's sixth sense that he shouldn't mention it for fear of making me sad. One of my biggest concerns when we told him was that afterward he would feel that the topic was taboo. I really wanted him to know that he could talk with us about the whole thing whenever he wanted without fear of causing us to be consumed by grief. I had actually read and interacted with folks who said they had these exact feelings (both children and parents) and because of that, it was never talked about. It's a natural way to interact with the whole thing. We don't want to cause our loved ones unnecessary pain, so, of course, we just don't mention it.
Motivated by my strong desire to have that not be the case in our situation, I broached the topic, cautiously, with Ezra as we were preparing to say our prayers at bedtime. "So...is there anything you want to talk with God about tonight (we always start off this way but then I added).....anything you're happy or sad or excited or angry about?" Yes...I was fishing... He instantly burst into tears and my mind instantly started racing as I drew my sobbing boy into my arms. "What's wrong, honey?" I said as the tears started welling up in my eyes.
"Remember that toy golf set that I had when we lived in Cincinnati that was broken and you threw away?" he sobbed. "I really want another one!" he wailed.
Relief instantly washed over me...surprise as well, since this was the first time he had mentioned this particular toy since we had thrown it away in April! Of course, I wanted to laugh, but he was very serious. I talked him down, relieved to know that he hadn't been suppressing any grief.
A couple weeks passed and Ezra asked, again, if we would be staying in the home that we are currently living in. (We had this conversation before this horrible thing took place. In that conversation, I told him that even if we ended up staying in New Albany, we would probably move to a different home that was a bit bigger so the baby could have its own room. At that point, he informed me that he would be happy to share his room with the baby (poor boy, really is just about as tired of moving around as I am...)) On this particular occasion, I told him we would move because we will probably buy a place if we stay. He made his usual argument about sharing his room. I was taken aback since he hadn't mentioned it in a while. "Do you remember about the baby?" I tentatively asked him.
"Yeah," he said. I could tell from his tone that he understood his mistake.
"What do you remember?" I asked, just to be sure.
"That it died," he said sadly...but he didn't burst into tears. This gave me confidence to make a habit of finding moments to talk about the whole thing in a healthy way.
One intentional thing I did was to get a Christmas ornament for our tree that memorialized the baby. I got out the ornament as we decorated the tree and told Ezra what it was. "Every year, when we hang the ornament on our tree, we will remember the baby," I told him. "Does that sound like a good plan?" I asked him.
"Uh huh," he responded, solemnly.
More conversations have happened and I am thankful to say that the whole thing is not taboo.
Remember the worldwide web mentioned that children tend to take these things in stride...didn't say anything about grown-ups. Some of the thoughts I am about to reveal may sound completely ludicrous but they are thoughts I had nonetheless.
Thinking back, I remember the first question I asked the doctor as soon as I found out. "How soon can we start trying again?" Yes, we still want to have another one, but I was surprised that I wanted to know because there was a fear deep in me that maybe I was broken. I wanted to get pregnant as soon as possible more as a way to prove to myself (and others!) that I wasn't. That I could still do it if I wanted to. I realized not long after having lots of conversations with women who have miscarried that this must be the case particularly if a woman miscarries her first pregnancy. I can't even imagine the fear that must try to take hold of her. At least I know that I worked once!
While spending time with my family immediately after finding out, I was surprised to find myself concerned about how others thought I was handling this grief. My sister and I snapped silly photos of ourselves as we made Halloween treats in my mother's kitchen. She, of course, immediately sent them to her Facebook page. What if people who know see those photos? I thought. They may think this whole miscarriage thing is not big deal to me. Yes...I know it sounds ridiculous, but, there you have it. I found myself trying to find ways in conversations to let people know that they didn't have to handle me with kid gloves. After all, I've been that person before. I know exactly what she's thinking! I had to have the right combination of reserve, solemnity, and normalcy to set the person at ease. It was mentally and emotionally very tiring.
Currently, I am finding that Michael and I are, for the most part, doing pretty well. I have heard it said that grace is a gift but I have never really fully understood that until I had this experience. There are moments when the only way I can explain how we are able to handle things is God's grace but, I would be lying if I said that there are not moments of INTENSE grief...and it always takes me by surprise. Before I got pregnant, there were several toys in Ezra's room that I had been telling myself I needed to put in storage since they were just too young for him and his interest in them showed that. Then I got pregnant and the procrastinator in me rejoiced! "Well, you might as well keep them out," she said. "Nine months will go very quickly and you'll just have to get them out again." Fast forward a month after the miscarriage where you will see me standing on the ladder leading up to our attic. Michael hands the Playskool farm up to me. I freeze, the top half of my body in the attic, the bottom half in the hallway. Violent sobs begin to shake my body...intense grief. It's like finding out I had miscarried all over again. At the very least, a very concrete act casually admitting the reality of it all. Michael holds me as I silently sob and snot all over his shirt. Ezra, blissfully ignorant of the whole scene, is just around the corner laughing as he watches a favourite television program.
I see a woman on a television program who is pregnant go into a hospital and have her baby. I'm fine but, as she sits in the hospital bed, with the swaddled baby in her arms, talking casually with her husband, I see it's little hand poke out and that is what sends me from zero to one hundred in less than a split second. Michael pauses what we were watching and comes to me.
Michael sleeps soundly next to me in bed as I read the memoir of a teenage mom by the low light of our Kindle. She begins to talk about the birth of her second child. She's the mother of two now, she explains. No longer the mother of one, which, in her mind, is more of a fluke than anything. Grief and the fear that others don't see me as a "real" mom because I only have one child take over and the tears pour out silently as Michael sleeps on.
I have never experienced grief that intense before. Physically, it feels as though someone has punched me in the chest. I lose my breath. The only other time my emotions have had such a physical impact on my body was when I was falling in love with Michael. It must have something to do with intense emotions since I felt the same way when he would kiss me in those formative months of our relationship. Thankfully, the grief goes just as quickly as it comes and I am able to move on. I've found the things that trigger it are the things I had started to hopefully anticipate.
It seems God always uses any harrowing experience to teach us things about ourselves. Naturally, that has been true in this case. I will not be consumed because I am His child and I find great relief and peace in that. I also find relief in knowing that He knows what's going on. He wants us to be as little children, being anxious for nothing. I'm certainly a champ at being anxious for all kinds of things. He has clearly reminded me that I don't have to struggle under a heavy burden, though, because He did it already. I've learned more and more to live in the moment. I've found myself approaching each day and moment with the following question, "What do I know for sure right at this moment?" Turns out, it's not a whole lot. Nine times out of ten are spent worrying about what could happen. Finding the grace to let go of those nine times, when it happens, is very freeing. I also found out that I am really interested in finding out what other wise, trusted people in my life think about certain situations that I'm going through. In general, I do believe this is a healthy practice since I believe God uses his people to speak truth into our lives. I have found, though, that sometimes those folks don't agree which just sends me into a tailspin. I have come to realize that, yes, God does use his people, but He doesn't limit Himself to them (thankfully!) I have been challenged to listen for his voice speaking to me directly (admittedly something I've not been so great at in the past since I don't always trust myself.) This has been pretty cool because, it turns out, God uses songs in many instances to speak to me. And, oddly enough, they're usually old hymns that are resurfacing from my hymn-filled past. We're talking about songs I haven't heard or even thought about for 20 years! It's been wonderful!
I know I will continue to be surprised by the moments of grief but I am thankful to be at the point where I am able to say, "God is good all the time."
Bedtime rolled around. We always sing a song and on this particular night, we chose the chorus of Count Your Blessings. "I want to name my blessings!" Ezra blurted out.
"OK!"
"You and Daddy and the baby...." he went on but I hadn't heard anymore after "baby". For some reason, the pain in my chest took me by surprise.
"Ok...let's talk to God..." I said.
"God, thank you for Mommy and Daddy and the baby," Ezra gushed. It was uncanny. Honestly, he had not mentioned the baby this many times together. He had never seemed so aware as he did at that moment. I instantly knew that we had to scrap our original plan. I could not handle letting him go on thinking there would be a baby when there wouldn't. It wasn't fair to him and it was very painful for me to go on with the pretense.
***
The next morning, I woke up and got on the worldwide web....surely it could tell me what to do...right? Sure enough, I Googled "talking to your preschooler about miscarriage" and wouldn't you know that all kinds of interesting stuff came up. Of course, I had to be discerning...all kinds of crazies get on the worldwide web and even if you don't agree with the things they spout off, all it takes is planting a seed and something can nag at you (ie. "Are you sure you miscarried? Maybe you're still pregnant...") Most of what I found was encouraging me to tell Ezra and that it was a good plan. I spoke with Michael about it who, it turns out, was having similar concerns. I wanted to do it that morning because we were getting ready to leave that afternoon to go to Michigan to see my parents and siblings. Michael wasn't going with us and, naturally, I wanted him to be a part of the conversation. I also felt we needed to tell Ezra before we departed because I didn't want him babbling on, blissfully ignorant, among our informed and heartbroken family. Also, he was so excited about the trip to see DRams and Poppio that, quite frankly, I thought that happiness may help to temper his sorrow.
"We have something we want to talk with you about," I began at the breakfast table. "You know the baby in my belly...?"
"Yeah," Ezra responded casually, munching his toast.
"Well, it was very sick...so sick that it couldn't live...and God decided to take the baby to live with Him..."
He immediately burst into tears (admittedly a much stronger response than I had anticipated) and reached for me. "That's not fair!" he sobbed.
"I know..." I sobbed in return. I held him as he continued to cry. They were cries of severe disappointment and anger. After a while, I went on. "God knew, though, that the baby wouldn't live...He may even have known that the baby could have made Mommy very sick..."
"We will be trying to have another baby, though," Michael said. "We think you would make a great big brother!"
We sat in silence, except for our sobbing.
Then, for some reason, the following came out of me. "You know, Ezra, there are women in this world who can never have children because their bodies won't let them."
He responded with a gasp. "What?!"
"Yes...you know, they see you with me and they think, 'Man...she is so lucky....I wish I could have a boy of my own like that...' They are very sad because they never will be able to...but we have you! We are so blessed to have you. You are one of our biggest blessings!"
"I'm a blessing?" he laughed through his tears.
"Absolutely!"
***
Most of what I read said that small children take things in stride. We made our trip and as the week went on, Ezra did not mention the baby once. Several explanations came to my mind. 1.) He's so distracted by the fun he's having here with DRams and Poppio and his cousin, Emma Jane, that he's just not thinking about it...true to a child's form, he is just living in the moment. 2.) He's got some sort of children's sixth sense that he shouldn't mention it for fear of making me sad. One of my biggest concerns when we told him was that afterward he would feel that the topic was taboo. I really wanted him to know that he could talk with us about the whole thing whenever he wanted without fear of causing us to be consumed by grief. I had actually read and interacted with folks who said they had these exact feelings (both children and parents) and because of that, it was never talked about. It's a natural way to interact with the whole thing. We don't want to cause our loved ones unnecessary pain, so, of course, we just don't mention it.
Motivated by my strong desire to have that not be the case in our situation, I broached the topic, cautiously, with Ezra as we were preparing to say our prayers at bedtime. "So...is there anything you want to talk with God about tonight (we always start off this way but then I added).....anything you're happy or sad or excited or angry about?" Yes...I was fishing... He instantly burst into tears and my mind instantly started racing as I drew my sobbing boy into my arms. "What's wrong, honey?" I said as the tears started welling up in my eyes.
"Remember that toy golf set that I had when we lived in Cincinnati that was broken and you threw away?" he sobbed. "I really want another one!" he wailed.
Relief instantly washed over me...surprise as well, since this was the first time he had mentioned this particular toy since we had thrown it away in April! Of course, I wanted to laugh, but he was very serious. I talked him down, relieved to know that he hadn't been suppressing any grief.
A couple weeks passed and Ezra asked, again, if we would be staying in the home that we are currently living in. (We had this conversation before this horrible thing took place. In that conversation, I told him that even if we ended up staying in New Albany, we would probably move to a different home that was a bit bigger so the baby could have its own room. At that point, he informed me that he would be happy to share his room with the baby (poor boy, really is just about as tired of moving around as I am...)) On this particular occasion, I told him we would move because we will probably buy a place if we stay. He made his usual argument about sharing his room. I was taken aback since he hadn't mentioned it in a while. "Do you remember about the baby?" I tentatively asked him.
"Yeah," he said. I could tell from his tone that he understood his mistake.
"What do you remember?" I asked, just to be sure.
"That it died," he said sadly...but he didn't burst into tears. This gave me confidence to make a habit of finding moments to talk about the whole thing in a healthy way.
One intentional thing I did was to get a Christmas ornament for our tree that memorialized the baby. I got out the ornament as we decorated the tree and told Ezra what it was. "Every year, when we hang the ornament on our tree, we will remember the baby," I told him. "Does that sound like a good plan?" I asked him.
"Uh huh," he responded, solemnly.
More conversations have happened and I am thankful to say that the whole thing is not taboo.
***
Remember the worldwide web mentioned that children tend to take these things in stride...didn't say anything about grown-ups. Some of the thoughts I am about to reveal may sound completely ludicrous but they are thoughts I had nonetheless.
Thinking back, I remember the first question I asked the doctor as soon as I found out. "How soon can we start trying again?" Yes, we still want to have another one, but I was surprised that I wanted to know because there was a fear deep in me that maybe I was broken. I wanted to get pregnant as soon as possible more as a way to prove to myself (and others!) that I wasn't. That I could still do it if I wanted to. I realized not long after having lots of conversations with women who have miscarried that this must be the case particularly if a woman miscarries her first pregnancy. I can't even imagine the fear that must try to take hold of her. At least I know that I worked once!
While spending time with my family immediately after finding out, I was surprised to find myself concerned about how others thought I was handling this grief. My sister and I snapped silly photos of ourselves as we made Halloween treats in my mother's kitchen. She, of course, immediately sent them to her Facebook page. What if people who know see those photos? I thought. They may think this whole miscarriage thing is not big deal to me. Yes...I know it sounds ridiculous, but, there you have it. I found myself trying to find ways in conversations to let people know that they didn't have to handle me with kid gloves. After all, I've been that person before. I know exactly what she's thinking! I had to have the right combination of reserve, solemnity, and normalcy to set the person at ease. It was mentally and emotionally very tiring.
Currently, I am finding that Michael and I are, for the most part, doing pretty well. I have heard it said that grace is a gift but I have never really fully understood that until I had this experience. There are moments when the only way I can explain how we are able to handle things is God's grace but, I would be lying if I said that there are not moments of INTENSE grief...and it always takes me by surprise. Before I got pregnant, there were several toys in Ezra's room that I had been telling myself I needed to put in storage since they were just too young for him and his interest in them showed that. Then I got pregnant and the procrastinator in me rejoiced! "Well, you might as well keep them out," she said. "Nine months will go very quickly and you'll just have to get them out again." Fast forward a month after the miscarriage where you will see me standing on the ladder leading up to our attic. Michael hands the Playskool farm up to me. I freeze, the top half of my body in the attic, the bottom half in the hallway. Violent sobs begin to shake my body...intense grief. It's like finding out I had miscarried all over again. At the very least, a very concrete act casually admitting the reality of it all. Michael holds me as I silently sob and snot all over his shirt. Ezra, blissfully ignorant of the whole scene, is just around the corner laughing as he watches a favourite television program.
I see a woman on a television program who is pregnant go into a hospital and have her baby. I'm fine but, as she sits in the hospital bed, with the swaddled baby in her arms, talking casually with her husband, I see it's little hand poke out and that is what sends me from zero to one hundred in less than a split second. Michael pauses what we were watching and comes to me.
Michael sleeps soundly next to me in bed as I read the memoir of a teenage mom by the low light of our Kindle. She begins to talk about the birth of her second child. She's the mother of two now, she explains. No longer the mother of one, which, in her mind, is more of a fluke than anything. Grief and the fear that others don't see me as a "real" mom because I only have one child take over and the tears pour out silently as Michael sleeps on.
I have never experienced grief that intense before. Physically, it feels as though someone has punched me in the chest. I lose my breath. The only other time my emotions have had such a physical impact on my body was when I was falling in love with Michael. It must have something to do with intense emotions since I felt the same way when he would kiss me in those formative months of our relationship. Thankfully, the grief goes just as quickly as it comes and I am able to move on. I've found the things that trigger it are the things I had started to hopefully anticipate.
It seems God always uses any harrowing experience to teach us things about ourselves. Naturally, that has been true in this case. I will not be consumed because I am His child and I find great relief and peace in that. I also find relief in knowing that He knows what's going on. He wants us to be as little children, being anxious for nothing. I'm certainly a champ at being anxious for all kinds of things. He has clearly reminded me that I don't have to struggle under a heavy burden, though, because He did it already. I've learned more and more to live in the moment. I've found myself approaching each day and moment with the following question, "What do I know for sure right at this moment?" Turns out, it's not a whole lot. Nine times out of ten are spent worrying about what could happen. Finding the grace to let go of those nine times, when it happens, is very freeing. I also found out that I am really interested in finding out what other wise, trusted people in my life think about certain situations that I'm going through. In general, I do believe this is a healthy practice since I believe God uses his people to speak truth into our lives. I have found, though, that sometimes those folks don't agree which just sends me into a tailspin. I have come to realize that, yes, God does use his people, but He doesn't limit Himself to them (thankfully!) I have been challenged to listen for his voice speaking to me directly (admittedly something I've not been so great at in the past since I don't always trust myself.) This has been pretty cool because, it turns out, God uses songs in many instances to speak to me. And, oddly enough, they're usually old hymns that are resurfacing from my hymn-filled past. We're talking about songs I haven't heard or even thought about for 20 years! It's been wonderful!
I know I will continue to be surprised by the moments of grief but I am thankful to be at the point where I am able to say, "God is good all the time."
Mandi-
ReplyDeleteI am speechless at your willingness to share this. So personal, so raw. Bless you and your family. Thank you for letting us into your life.
Thanks for your encouragement, Tammy. This was a very cathartic post for me...see you tonight!
Deletei'm sorry, tammy....i thought you were a different tammy...so, i didn't see you tonight! but still, thanks!
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