It’s been almost two years since my first miscarriage. Never having had a miscarriage before I’d had the preconceived notion that it was no big deal. I mean that not in the uncaring sense of those words (though they sound so cruel even as I type them), but in the sense that it’s a common loss, expected for many women, and something that just happens in life; therefore, it must be no big deal.
I was sad that first time. I can’t say I wasn’t prepared, though. I’d had “that feeling” that it was about my turn. With six (mostly) full term pregnancies, the odds seemed against me (ask my statistician husband). And yet, what I was not prepared for was the outpouring of love that came my way. I was completely overwhelmed with the amazing support of dear friends and family who, having experienced such loss themselves, understood what I was feeling. I almost felt silly accepting the flowers, the meals, and the tears in my behalf. I couldn’t believe the world of women could be so compassionate and loving over such a seemingly small event.
Fast forward six months later. I was expecting again. I found myself going to my 10-week appointment, stealing myself against what might happen. Yet, I kept telling myself, “There’s no way it could happen twice.” I even remember joking with my husband, “You don’t have to come, but if it’s like last time I’ll be really mad at you.” Tears stung my eyes as I looked at the monitor. The doctor didn’t need to voice what I already knew – – there was no baby.
The second time around hurt far worse than the first. Sadly, I didn’t feel that overwhelming support around me because I’d kept this pregnancy much more private, the miscarriage even more so. I didn’t want people to know the hurt I was really feeling this time, the anger and the disappointment were too fresh. I needed to go through this one on my own. Imagining those words of comfort that would inevitably come just made me hurt worse. I didn’t want to hear them.
Only recently, a year and a half later and after months of no “good news,” I had a little break through. I was talking to a friend of mine about my experience and she said, “I keep hearing you say you already have six kids, but is any one of those six kids more important than the others? Why would this one be any different?”
That one statement struck me like a bolt of lightning. I realized in that moment my misconception that a miscarriage is “no big deal” has been haunting me. I think deep down I never really thought it was okay to grieve. Yes, I cried…a lot! Yes, I struggle every month with the emotions that come. But honestly, I have felt selfish wanting another baby. I kept telling myself all those things we try to use for comfort: “Just be patient.” “Trust in the Lord.” “Just be grateful for the six you’ve got.” Though true, these words are not comforting in the least!
I’m amazed at my six children and so grateful for their part in my life. Wanting another child to bless our family does not minimize my love and gratitude for them (another misconception I’ve been carrying around). I still read to them, play with them, work with them, cook and clean for them, love them and enjoy them (most of the time). Desiring and waiting for another does not change how I feel or what I do for them.
In the scriptures we read “the truth shall set you free (John 8:32).” It does me no good to dwell on what I do not have, but knowing what is true – – that miscarriages are emotionally painful and that desiring another child is not an unrighteous desire – -helps me heal that much faster so that I can let go of the hurt and love more deeply again.
This article was seen first on Real Imprints
Julia also writes at www.spirituallymindedmotherhood.blogspot.com
This article inspired by How Abortion has Changed the Discussion on Miscarriage