Thursday, January 28, 2010

My Truth

**I wrote this, obviously, the day after my second miscarriage. I didn't post it. I felt too vulnerable and afraid. My heart was raw. Now, two years later, I think my feelings have worth enough to be out there. I didn't then. I'm going to post it to acknowledge those feelings. Who knows, maybe it will help someone else who is going through grief.  I'm going to post it on the day it was actually written, to keep things organized, even though I'm hitting publish on 1/26/12.
I do appreciate the friends who reached out to me, even if you said the wrong things. Most of the time I was able to look past your words and see your heart. I know how hard it is to reach out and find words to say to someone who is grieving. I'm sorry I didn't feel I could trust you with my grief and kept a lot locked inside, only to burst out at inappropriate times and in inappropriate ways. Thank you to the friends who stuck with me even when I was mean and withdrawn and confused as I worked through all my emotions. I treasure you.

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I so badly want to write about this. It sucks that I feel like I can't. It's my blog and I should be able to be honest about my feelings if and when I want to. I don't think anyone really reads this thing anyway, but...there's a chance that they do. The possibility is there. They might read and just never say anything. If they do and they read this they might get their feelings hurt that I didn't tell them what was going on. That they didn't know I was pregnant. For the fifth time. I don't know how to explain that i was afraid to hope. I felt to vulnerable to share my fledgling joy. That the possibility of this day coming was why. I don't have answers to all the inevitable questions, and the potential "why, why, why?" Aggh!
 
Basically, I feel like grief is a luxury I can't afford. I wish I could, but I just can't. I have three kids to take care of. They don't go away. Everyone wants a piece of me, even the well meaning ones. I don't want to feel like I have to explain myself. I don't want to feel like somehow, since I already have three kids this shouldn't be a big deal. That's what you're thinking aren't you? I can hear you!

"What do you have to be sad about? It's not like you aren't a Mother already. You probably couldn't handle another kid anyway. I mean, common, just admit it, you didn't really want another baby, did you? You were just doing it for Christoph. Maybe God's trying to tell you three is enough. You're always saying how tired and stressed out you are and how you can't handle three kids. How can you think you can manage four?"

I'm not trying to be a Drama Queen. I have had people say or imply all of these to me in the last few months since my first miscarriage in Oct. I have had some of them repeated in the few interactions I've had since yesterday.

Well, I am sad. I want to go away and sit and cry until I can't cry anymore. Too bad for me life doesn't stop just because you have two miscarriages back to back. You still have to take care of your kids, get them to school, feed them, wash their clothes, brush their hair. Your husband has to go to work, at both jobs. He has to go on a retreat and travel out of town for work. You have to go out to dinner and celebrate you Mother-in-laws birthday. You have to smile and go to church.  You have to go to work and take care of other people's babies! You have to plan birthday parties. You have to be present. And eventually you have to see the friends that know, and meet their sympathetic looks and accept their loving hugs, and answer the always present question of "How are you doing?" I don't care how I'm doing! I don't know "how" I'm doing! If I had a choice I wouldn't be "doing" at all. I would be not "doing" so, it doesn't really matter now does it? I am forcing myself to "do" what has to be done and that is the only "doing" there is for me right now.

I did want another baby. I wanted the first expected one that I lost in October and I wanted the surprise one that I lost yesterday. I will keep wanting them as long as I live.

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