Nobody Knew

I happened across this poem yesterday and the timing seemed providential. I can hardly believe that it has been three years since my first miscarriage. In some ways it feels like yesterday and at the same time, I feel so much older then I did then. This poem puts into words exactly what I have felt, so many times in the last three years.

Nobody Knew You

~ Jan Cosby

Nobody knew you
” Sorry about the miscarriage dear, but you couldn’t have been very far along.”
…existed.

Nobody knew you
” It’s not as though you lost an actual person.”
…were real

Nobody knew you
” Well it probably wasn’t a viable fetus. It’s all for the best.”
…were perfect.

Nobody knew you
” You can always have another!”
…were unique.

Nobody knew you
” You already have a beautiful child. Be happy!”
…were loved for yourself.

Nobody knew you
…but us.

And we will always remember
…You.

Remembering You

I want to remember, but sometimes the dates flow in and out of my head. They get mixed up in the day to day rush. Does that mean I forget? Does that mean I don't treasure you and value your lives? I think some would say yes. They would say that their grief is deeper then mine and more painful because they do something special on the date that they have chosen to give meaning to. While I, perhaps I passed that day scolding your siblings and surfing the Internet. Which day is more special and should be remembered? The day I was expecting to hold you in my arms for the first time? The day your precious life was lost to us? The day I found out there was a you? The day I buried the seedling hopes and dreams growing in my heart?
 

 I don't think there is one right answer. I think whatever you do, if it helps you heal, it's the right thing. Even if you simply try to forget. I treasure all the days I mentioned above because they were all I got. I don't remember on a specific day, I remember you always. When I hear a baby cry. When I stare into your little sister's chocolate brown eyes. When your big brother plays with his toys alone. When your big sisters talk about having more siblings. When I pass a ceramic lamb. When I hear the word grief. I remember that there is a you. Two little yous. Sometimes when I remember I smile. Most of the time I still cry. Then I wipe my eyes and find the nearest of your siblings and hug them as tight as I can. That is one of your gifts to me. When I remember you I remember how blessed I am to have each of your siblings laughing, playing, fighting, growing under my roof. I am thankful.

I hope you are keeping each other company. I hope you get to play together in a beautiful place. I'm glad you never have to feel scared or hurt. I don't know what meeting you will look like, I'm almost scared to think about it or try to imagine it. It brings too many questions. I just have to trust that whatever that moment is, it will be perfect. Because God loves me and He loves you. That is the one truth I absolutely know.

I love you. I remember you in my way. Even if no one else sees it or thinks it's special, I hope you know that the love is there and that I remember.

Grief

Grief is a strange thing. It is hard to wrap your mind and heart around because it is one of those things that changes all the time. Despite the psychologists attempts to fit it into a neat box, to some extent it defies explanation. There are so many factors that influence it; the person grieving, what they're grieving, their belief system, past experiences, and on and on.Some things that one person finds really comforting, another would find completely off-putting and maybe even hurtful. Rituals that one person does to give honor and meaning to the person being mourned, the next person might find odd or even distasteful.

Then there is the language surrounding grief. Let's look at it from the point of losing a baby, since that is what I'm most familiar with. If you want to get technical, the medical field refers to the loss of any baby prior to 20-22 weeks gestation as "abortion" then further sub-categorizes it as "spontaneous" or "induced". I remember when I learned that in nursing school it really bothered me. The word abortion carries with it so many opinions and emotions and is so entwined with the word choice. Anyone who has spontaneously lost a child early in a pregnancy knows there was no choice involved in the matter. Then there is the more common term "miscarriage." This is much more commonly used, I don't know of any doctor or nurse that would refer to the loss of a baby as a "spontaneous abortion" when talking to a patient. Even then, the word has connotations. Some people don't like the word miscarriage because they feel it lessens the importance of their baby's death. For them it carries the connotation that they just lost a fetus, not a baby. Even saying, "I lost my baby" doesn't seem quite right. It holds an implication that if I had been more careful, more watchful, maybe that baby wouldn't have gotten lost. You can't just say, "my baby died" unless you want to get a lot of interesting reactions from people. It is a hard enough subject to talk about and not knowing if the words you are using are the "right" ones makes it even harder.

So, where am I going with this? I'm not 100% sure. I guess I just wanted to acknowledge that it's complicated. I feel for people that are grieving. I'm grieving myself and I know first hand that interacting with others is hard. Half the time I don't even know what to think about myself and how to explain or understand what I'm feeling, but I want so badly for someone to be able to relate and understand what I don't understand myself. I want a friend who is ok to just sit with me and cry. I wish I felt like it mattered to someone else, anyone else, as much as it matters to me.

I feel for people who aren't grieving and who are trying to figure out what to say and do. Don't give up. Be there, but maybe just don't say much. Let your actions do the talking. They do anyway, so you may as well make sure they are saying what you mean. There are no perfect words. Don't try to find them. Just be there. Check on the person. Let them know you love them. If they have kids, maybe take the kids for a few hours so that person can have space to cry and be sad without having to worry they are traumatizing their children.

In case anyone is looking for resources, here's a short book review. When I had my two miscarriages back to back late last year and early this year, I wanted something to read. I'm a reader. Most of the books and information out there seemed to be geared and focused on stillbirth, or losing a child shortly after birth. This sucks, because it made me feel like I didn't deserve to be as sad as those other moms. Anyway, the two books that have meant the most to me in this process are Tear Soup and About What Was Lost: Twenty Writers on Miscarriage, Healing, and Hope.

To be honest, I bought Tear Soup for a friend. I thought it was a children's book and might be a good resource to help her talk about grief with her daughter. Then I read it and I kept it for myself. I like how it talks about some of the things that are mentioned above. How everyone has to grieve in their own way and no one can do it for them. How friends will say hurtful things and how to feel about that and deal with it. It made me feel more normal and ok with my grieving process, especially when I felt that so many things and people around me were telling me my grieving process wasn't right. I think it is a great resource for people who are grieving, but also people who want to reach out to people in grief.

I bought About What Was Lost kinda on a whim. It had the word miscarriage in the title and it was stories, not a professional giving advice. I really just wanted to know on some level that I wasn't alone and I didn't feel that reading a book about how to cope was what I was looking for. Plus I wanted something that would be easy to read and not take a lot of concentration. I found it hard to concentrate on much of anything for quite awhile after my miscarriages. I really appreciated this book. It was comforting to me to read other people expressing their emotions and thoughts. Some I completely related to, others not at all. That really helped me process that this is a very personal journey.

I have also heard rave reviews about Empty Cradle, Broken Heart. I even own a copy that a friend gave to me. I just haven't been able to bring myself to read it yet. I hope to some day.

If you're grieving or have been comforting someone who has, what helped you? What resources did you find the most helpful?

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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.