Monday, October 14, 2013

A Silent Loss

There are many types of loss. Some involve the loss of someone naturally or due to illness or injury. Some happen in old age, while others in early years. Some even happen silently, almost without notice.

That's a chemical pregnancy – or, as I prefer to call it, an early miscarriage. It happens silently in your body, without much sign or symptom, almost as though it's not happening at all.

Some people argue that the less you anticipate a pregnancy, or the shorter your pregnancy, the less it hurts. Some people think miscarriage is nothing to grieve at all, whether it's in the first two weeks, or in the last two weeks. I don't believe those people have ever experienced a miscarriage...because, if they had, I doubt they would feel that way.

For me, the hardest part of it all was the missed experiences. I didn't even know I was pregnant before I lost them. I have never had a positive pregnancy test – not one. Had I not been monitored by my doctor I'm sure I wouldn't even know I had miscarried. I never got to surprise my husband with the news, or share it with my family. All I ever got to tell them was I've lost. I sat there, wondering how someone so consumed with fertility could possibly miss those short few, precious days I was given as a mother. Those few days that I should have treasured and remembered – and I didn't even know they were there. I missed out on the only life any of my babies had, and then they were gone.

It was shocking to me how deeply hurt I was. I admit, I was one of those people who thought if you didn't know you were pregnant it couldn't hurt that bad. But I was wrong. Being in throes of infertility, every second of my life was consumed with trying to get pregnant, or fantasies of actually getting pregnant. I had dreams and plans and wishes for my future children. I had names picked out and nursery themes planned. Then, when I found out their precious lives had come and gone without my notice, I was devastated. As time went on and I began to realize I may never have a living child, I was even more devastated. Though time has lessened my pain, it is not gone. It will never be gone.

No loss is easy to bear. No loss is painless. No loss is forgettable. They all leave a footprint on our hearts, and an ache in our chest. Some of the footprints are larger than others, but they're all there. All just as deep, all just as clear. 

1 comment:

  1. I relate to this so deeply. You said it beautifully. *hugs*


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