A Tribute to My Peanut

Today is just a flat-out depressing day. Had I not lost my first pregnancy, I would--in theory--be having a baby today. So I dedicate this post to my little peanut baby.

My friend from work has a hobby doing metal stamping (She has a Facebook and an Etsy page selling her jewelry...it's called "Stampressions" in case you were wondering). After I lost this most recent baby, she offered to make me a necklace as a remembrance memorial of my two little angels. She just finished the necklace this week and I absolutely love it!

As you can see, both of my [late] miscarriages are on one necklace with the dates I lost them in the center of the disc, as well as the beads with the birthstones of June and December. I love it and I will probably wear it every day! :) 

I also have a friend from school who is reading a book called "The Mother in Me" by Kathryn Lynard Soper. The cover of the book describes it as a "collection of stories and poems, each one offering a personal and intimate view of the divinely-appointed role of motherhood." Anyways, she ran across a story of a girl who had a miscarriage and she encouraged me to read it because it reminded her of me. I did, hesitantly, because I knew it would bring back the awful feelings and memories of my miscarriages. I am glad I did, though, and I am going to copy parts of the story onto here because I loved it so much.

The Yoke of Wisdom

Melissa Young

          "...Three weeks later, my hands grip the cold tile counter-top as I watch a faint line appear in a tiny plastic window. I am pregnant! Excitement ignites my entire body, flushing my cheeks and quickening my pulse. I literally dance for joy. I am five weeks along. Everything is already there; it only needs time to grow. I place a hand on my stomach, in wonder at the mystery of this person.

          Days later, I grip the bathroom countertop again and feel a prickle of fear at the smear of blood. My thoughts begin to race....I run to the next room and pull my pregnancy reference book from the shelf. The pages shake in my hands as I read every entry on miscarriage. Worry clutches my stomach.

           A few days later, I lie on a hard table in a sterile room. The doctor I met five minutes ago slides the ultrasound sensor over the cold gel on my belly. His silence is unnerving. I stare at the fuzzy image on the monitor, searching for a flicker of heartbeat. 'There's no baby,' he finally says. 'I don't think there ever was a real baby. There is some tissue here, but it has mostly disintegrated.' He briefly explains the procedure performed in such cases and asks when I would like to have it done. I shake my head, unable to think. Everything I've focused on for six weeks is not only gone, it never existed. My hopes are dust and ashes.

           Hours later, the cramping becomes more rhythmic. An icy thought chills me as I recognize the waves of pain: I am in labor. Suddenly terrified of what I'll deliver and how I'll dispose of it. I call the doctor's office and they instruct me to go to the hospital. In the labor and delivery room, I hear the sounds of other women and their families. Though the curtain shields my view, I can still hear the bustling, happy noises. I turn my face to the wall, the joyful voices present at my son's birth echoing through my memory. I wonder now if grief darkened any of the rooms that surrounded my joy.

           One year later, my feelings are still tender but less raw. A friend expresses her confusion to me about the grief of another woman who recently miscarried. "There was never even a baby," she says. "How can she grieve over nothing?" She is unaware of my experience, so I'm unsure how to answer.  A baby is a powerful, unseen force for an expectant woman, even when it's intangible to others. I knew I hadn't lost a real child, but the line on the pregnancy test was real. My dreams were real; my love was real. I grieved for my child-to-be, for everything that could have been and then wasn't I felt the sting of injustice, knowing that my memory would serve as the only reality for this potential child--a child everyone else would forget. Yet with that loss came a new perspective. I look at faces around me differently now. I wonder what sorrows lie behind the smiles. I look at my newborn son sleeping on a blanket next to us. Beauty for ashes. I think of how every common twinge during his pregnancy brought a stab of fear. Gratitude for his safe arrival filled me more than would have been possible before my loss. Bitter magnified the sweet..."

I guess I like this story so much because it validates my feelings and it really gives me a perspective that other women have gone through the same awful experience that I have. I probably sound like a broken record when I talk about my miscarriages on here, but I think it is important to have an outlet. I suppose if you think I'm a complainer and need to "move on" then you don't have to read my blog! lol!

I don't think anyone can truly understand the grief of a miscarriage until they go through it themselves. I didn't understand it before mine. I didn't know what to say to someone who had had one, and quite frankly I thought they should get over it and just try for another one. But I now know that it isn't possible to just "get over it." Every June and every December, I will grieve for my lost babies. I disagree completely with the story when she said "I knew I hadn't lost a real child, but the line on the pregnancy test was real." I do believe they were real babies. I lost them both at the point that they were considered fetuses, not embryos....everything was in place, they just needed time to grow. I saw their little hearts beating on multiple occasions....but those hearts stopped beating. Just as a living person's does when they die. My babies were real.

I am so grateful for my family and friends who have been so understanding throughout all of this, especially my husband. People often ask how I am doing but they forget that he went through it as well....not physically, but emotionally. Branden has been so amazing through everything and although it was a very painful experience, our miscarriages have brought us closer together than anything ever has. I know that through these experiences, we will appreciate our children more than many people do. I am absolutely scared to death to get pregnant again, but I am so ready to be a mommy! It is crazy to think that nine months have gone by since I got that first positive pregnancy test. I miss you peanut...and I wish you were here with us. :)

You were my little bean,

that was created in my womb.

I laid in bed at night excited,

and now I'm full of gloom.

I never understood how much

you could miss someone you never met.

And now my heart aches so bad,

that it fills me with regret.

Was there something I did wrong?

How could this come to be?

Your little face, your hands, your feet,

is something I'll never see.

I loved you oh so much,

its something that cannot be explained.

Now these feelings of anger and jealousy,

make me feel ashamed.

You are my angel baby,

and that I know is true.

God is holding you now,

and listening to you cue.

You are in Heaven looking down,

watching mommy cry.

I wish you were here,

but then I know that this is not goodbye.

-Sarah Twigg