It took 3 days and it happened in the last place I wanted it to happen. At the Farmer's grandfather's birthday party. We left without really saying goodbye to anyone, telling them all I wasn't feeling well, which was very much the case. The Farmer took Sweet P outside to play as I lay on the bed and I was doing okay until I received a text message from Auntie Kannon that said, "We'll all float on okay." Our theme song. And I knew we would be. But I lost it and cried and screamed until I shook. I knew God would carry us through and He did.
I was sad, frustrated, scared, discouraged and honestly, I was angry. I'd suddenly joined a club I didn't want to be a part of and I found myself envious of other pregnant women. But I told myself I needed to feel these emotions. I stayed home as much as I could for a week to allow myself to heal and process what was flooding through my head and heart.
Having Sweet P to fill my days with smiles got me through the dark spots and making things with my hands gave me something to do other than wallow. Because I very much wanted to wallow. But one day while I was playing with Sweet P, I felt a darkness come over me and I knew I couldn't give in to it. How easy it would be to fall prey to the sadness I felt and lose myself in it all. I said "God, get him away from me. I can't do this without you." And we carried on.
Even before I had one I knew how hush-hush miscarriages were. After I had one though, I was angry about how secretive it seemed. I was mad that no one talked about them, like they were some terrible secret that should be hidden away. And while I thought I was alone, I realized one day how many women I knew who had gone through this exact same thing. And as I read and heard more and more stories, I felt overcome with grief for those who had lost babies at a much later stage. Not to discount our tragedy, but I could not imagine the pain of a woman who'd lost a baby at delivery or further along in her pregnancy. I cried for these women and for myself.
I found myself wanting to be alone, but yearning for a woman to come sit with me. I didn't ask anyone to come over because honestly, I just wanted my mom. While the Farmer was wonderful through the process, something about having your mom nearby makes things better. She couldn't come because of work, but she and Auntie Rosita checked on me every day.
4 weeks after the miscarriage I doubled over in pain and had the Farmer take me to the ER. I had a cyst on an ovary and they said it wasn't anything to worry about, but I was scared and worried it was something bigger than that. I sat one night praying that I would be okay, asking God to keep me healthy because Sweet P needed me. And a follow-up ultrasound showed that things were okay.
6 weeks to the day I began miscarrying, a dear friend shared news that her baby didn't have a heartbeat and the rebuilding I'd done came crumbling down as I lay on the floor telling God I couldn't do this again. And for the first time asked him "Why? Why her? Why now?" And knew I wouldn't get an answer. Because there wasn't one. And because He didn't do this. And again, I knew He'd carry us through. And He is.
It took me awhile to realize it wasn't something I did and it wasn't something I could prevent. But after having a relatively easy pregnancy and a healthy Sweet P, I was blindsided by the miscarriage. I was naive to think it would be this simple the 2nd time. Not that it can't be, but that isn't always the case.
We had a memorial out at the farm one cold afternoon in November. We bought a balloon that said "Thinking of You" that had birds flying on it and took it out to the farm. I'd written a prayer and the Farmer held Sweet P while I read it out loud. Afterward, we put the balloon in Sweet P's hand and had her let it go. I stood with the Farmer watching it fly away, getting smaller and smaller. I cried as I realized the symbolic nature of the balloon, but the memorial gave us closure as we said goodbye to our baby.
So here we are, 12 weeks later. Continuing to heal. I know God has a plan for us. One greater than we could ever imagine. We are so thankful for our precious little girl and she fills our days with songs and laughter. We may never know why we lost our baby. But I want women to know that they aren't alone. That it happens more than we know and that it's okay to talk about it if you want to. It's okay to talk about the baby and grieve for all the things you looked forward to doing. And that the pain is still great even if you already have a child and in the words of the Farmer's mom: don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise.
To our baby: I know we won't meet you in this life time, but I will love you and treasure your memory always.
"A person's a person no matter how small." ~Dr. Seuss (thanks, Val)