Numb. Angry. Empty. Confused.
These emotions filled every corner of my existence, replacing the love and excitement of what was supposed to arrive, but never did – my unborn baby.
If losing one unborn child was not enough, losing two just shattered my soul. Even though my first miscarriage was 8 years ago, my second miscarriage occurred last year. Round and round in circles, an array of questions and thoughts would torment my mind and reasoning.
Was it going to be a boy or girl? Why did it die? Was it sick? Why did I fall pregnant only to lose the baby? Was my body not properly functioning? Why did it have to happen twice? Why did both pregnancies end shy of three months?
The second miscarriage felt like the replay of the old movie, feeling trapped in a moment of time to when I initially endured my first loss. This intense dejection, suffering and melancholy ate into the core of my soul. All I wanted to do is hold them, see their innocent faces, and kiss their cheeks. Rather, I came face to face of their barely formed embryo’s.
Nevertheless, heartbreaking experiences like a loss of an unborn baby has given me a different perspective on life. Having two losses widens my perspective even more so.
My first experience of a loss taught me to yearn for a family that I never wanted before. I always imagined myself being a childless, single person. Now I am married, with a three year old son. I wouldn’t want life any other way. My pregnancy with my son was so daunting for the first trimester. Every morning I would wake up, thinking, this was it. I was going to lose my baby. Yet, everyday I was still pregnant. It wasn’t until I gave birth to him, and saw him take his first breath, I was relieved. We made it to the end. For this reason loss has made me realize how sacred, and precious life is.
Indeed, life is precious, yet life works in miraculous ways. January 26th, 2008 was the day my first unborn child left me. Interestingly a friend predicted my next child will be born on the same day as I miscarried. My son’s due date was January 26th. If it is God, or a coincidence, to me my faith was restored that good can come from a bad experience. Even though my son was born two weeks early, I take in comfort that there is a strong connection between him and my unborn child. It was as if my son was meant to be.
My second miscarriage taught me that my husband and I can get through anything. We got through the first, and we were only dating for six months. Eight years on, we come face to face with another loss. What I have learned also with my husband is that he is suffering too. He does not feel the intricate pain, and sickness I experience. Regardless, he is still suffering. He is losing a child too. He is by my side at the hospital bed while I scream in agony, scream in anger, scream in fear. Those screams echo into his veins, his mind and he grieves too, in his own way. Whether it is in silence, invisible tears, transparent angst – he is suffering too. We may not comprehend completely what each of us is going through. Awkward silences. Walking past each other with out acknowledgement. However, together, slowly, we mend our broken hearts, with love and support for each other.
Both of my miscarriages have taught me that the love for a child is unconditional. Right from the beginning. From the moment finding out I am pregnant love is there. This love, from a mother to an unborn child is so sacred, a bond that will never be unbroken. The love for my unborn babies will never be forgotten, it will never diminish. That love is in a special place in my heart.
Above all else, I have learned foremost from my losses is that the loss was not a mistake, it was meant to be. Even though the doctors could not explain the reason, there was something seriously wrong with my babies, they did all they could to stop the miscarriages.
It was just not meant to be.
Even though it has taken me awhile to come to this state of mind, I finally accept that.