Miscarriage. Eleven letters. Three syllables. One word. A
word that has changed my life, forever. It’s been four months since I lost my baby
at ten weeks. From the outside looking in, I may appear to look fine, but on the
inside, well, that’s a different story; an entirely different language that
even sometimes I can’t even comprehend. Grief has many faces and not all of
them are pretty. I’m not the same person I was 4 months ago but at some point I
came to the realization that I had two choices: I could let the loss of my baby
break me or make me. Sometimes pain can serve as a powerful vehicle for
positive change.
Early on it felt like my grief was going to swallow me whole and cast me out into a sea of vast waves with no land in sight. And some days, it did. Other days though, I found myself talking to others about my loss…about the child I would never meet. And so I chose to do the latter any chance I could. From early on I shared my story and you know what? Each time it got easier. Little did I realize that through my words, I was protecting my baby’s memory.
To some, ten weeks might seem like an insignificant amount of time, but I have two healthy children and they came from two healthy, albeit different, pregnancies. Two children who I prayed for long before I even learned I was pregnant. For me, that bond started well before I even saw two pink lines. I had no reason to believe that this baby wasn’t going to come into my life, like the two before it did. So you see, those ten weeks that I got to spend with my child meant the world to me.
Often times I find myself counting down the days until my due date. June 6th. Sometimes I dread its arrival because when that day arrives, I won’t be bringing my baby home. When June 6th arrives, I am choosing to dedicate that day to my baby. Maybe I’ll plant a tree. Maybe I’ll find myself sitting on the beach, my toes in the sand and my face towards the sun, taking in the peace that one often finds at the shoreline. And while I'm there, maybe I'll write a message to my baby, place it in a bottle, and throw it out to be swallowed in the sea. Regardless of what it is that I decide to do on that day, I know that I will push through the pain and continue to protect and preserve my baby’s memory.
Early on it felt like my grief was going to swallow me whole and cast me out into a sea of vast waves with no land in sight. And some days, it did. Other days though, I found myself talking to others about my loss…about the child I would never meet. And so I chose to do the latter any chance I could. From early on I shared my story and you know what? Each time it got easier. Little did I realize that through my words, I was protecting my baby’s memory.
To some, ten weeks might seem like an insignificant amount of time, but I have two healthy children and they came from two healthy, albeit different, pregnancies. Two children who I prayed for long before I even learned I was pregnant. For me, that bond started well before I even saw two pink lines. I had no reason to believe that this baby wasn’t going to come into my life, like the two before it did. So you see, those ten weeks that I got to spend with my child meant the world to me.
Often times I find myself counting down the days until my due date. June 6th. Sometimes I dread its arrival because when that day arrives, I won’t be bringing my baby home. When June 6th arrives, I am choosing to dedicate that day to my baby. Maybe I’ll plant a tree. Maybe I’ll find myself sitting on the beach, my toes in the sand and my face towards the sun, taking in the peace that one often finds at the shoreline. And while I'm there, maybe I'll write a message to my baby, place it in a bottle, and throw it out to be swallowed in the sea. Regardless of what it is that I decide to do on that day, I know that I will push through the pain and continue to protect and preserve my baby’s memory.
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