I Swore I Wouldn’t be This Person

I swore that I wouldn’t be this person. The woman who lost a child and then feels like she gets kicked in the gut every single time someone she knows announces their pregnancy. Fuck. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to suck all of the joy out of the room. I want to be happy and excited. I really do. I tell myself that I am and then it hits me like a sledgehammer, right in the heart. A painful reminder of what I can’t have, of what I’m too afraid to ever let myself want again, of what I will never get to experience again because I won’t. I can’t. I am too afraid to go through that pain again. Once almost killed me. It changed me. I don’t know if I can handle another shift like that. I might become unrecognizable, even to myself.

I remember that morning at the hospital, seeing a small child, not even a year old, sitting with her parents in the waiting room; waiting to be called back for her surgery. I remember sitting there, with my silent womb, not a stirring, thinking to myself, I am glad I am not those parents because there is nothing worse than having a sick baby and feeling helpless. I know that doesn’t make a lot of sense. Maybe it does to someone who has been through it or maybe the pain was just too much and I had to detach myself from what was really happening to me.

I saw that same little girl in the back when they were prepping us for surgery and I was again overwhelmed with gratitude that I was not sitting there as the parent of a child who was sick. I looked at my husband and I said (out loud), “It could be worse, we could be here with one of our girls who was sick.” He looked at me sort of bewildered. I guess he thought I was crazy because our baby was as sick as a baby could get, our baby no longer had a heartbeat. I was grateful that I could not hold my baby, see its eyes looking to me to save it, it’s cry begging me for relief; it was not tangible. My hurt was underlying. My baby was a promise that had been broken before I ever had the chance to fully appreciate it. In the first days, I wanted nothing more than to have had the chance to hold my baby but now, I know that if I had, the pain of the loss might have killed me on the spot.

Now that broken promise haunts me. I can’t stop it from infiltrating my thoughts. I can’t stop being this fucking person who feels empty and a little bitter. I’m pissed. Pissed at the situation. Pissed at myself for still feeling so vulnerable. Pissed at myself for still getting so pissed. I fucking want to punch somebody. I’m envious of other people’s happiness and I don’t want to be that person. I want to be able to genuinely feel happy without the happiness carrying with it a tinge of pain; the reminder of my loss. I’m afraid to be around my friends who are pregnant because I’m afraid I will spontaneously burst into tears and ruin their happiness. Every first of the month, I mark the day that my baby died. It coincides with my period just to remind me that my womb is in fact empty.

I know this sounds morbid and maybe a little crazy. I am so sick of pretending that everything is normal. I’m sick of pretending that I am all right. I’m not. All. Right. I am all wrong and I am afraid that I will not find my way back to my normal and that’s all that I want. Is normal so much to ask for? I am slowly beginning to live again but there is this damn underlying anger that I can’t shake. How does one shake the anger caused by a promise that can never be fulfilled? How do you fix a problem with no solution?

Linking up this morning with Just Write because sometimes you just need to write it out to move through it.

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Comments (8)

I am so sorry for your pain and for your loss. Do not be sorry for how you feel and for grieving. You will be able to hold your baby one day in Heaven.

I have been blessed with children, but have also lost had a miscarriage and nearly lost my youngest daughter when she was born. Both are so different, but the pains are real. Allow God to use that pain to heal you and remember that God is there walking beside you to help you to go on.

Kim Galgano, the blogger and founder of Chicks with Choices blogged today about the pain of the world. http://www.chickswithchoices.com, maybe it will help you. Our Chicks Team will be praying for you, your husband, and your journey.

Thanks for your kind words. I know they are all true. I just wish that I could be at a point where the little emotional bombs weren’t still there waiting to go off. I know it’s not been that long (3 months tomorrow) and eventually it will get easier. It’s not this hard every day but today it was and other days, I feel almost normal. I know I will get there. I just needed to get it out.

Bless your heart & sending you hugs. I went through 4 years of infertility before we had our son, and I understand your feelings. You are not awful for feeling the way you do. You lost something special and full of potential. You need to grieve that and it’s ok. Many hugs coming your way.

I’m just catching up and saw this. I’m so sorry, I just had a miscarriage, too. I’m waiting for the anger you’re describing to hit. I know it’s coming. I don’t want to be that person either, but I’m pretty sure it’s out there lying in wait. Maybe when it hits I can reach out to you and you won’t feel alone or wrong in it.

Many many hugs to you, I wish so much that I could help make it better.

Venus,
I am so sorry that you are going through this too. You can reach out to me whenever you want or need to. I am here. You just reminded me of something that I found peculiar when I first miscarried. In the days that immediately followed, even at the hospital when I had my D & E, several nurses and later many friends, shared with me the story of their own miscarriage and all I could think was how sorry I was for THEM when I was the one experiencing the miscarriage at that time. I think that knowing how badly it hurts our hearts and how devastating it is to us as mothers makes us want to take that pain away from any other person in the world.
I am truly sorry that you are hurting. I can’t say when it will get better. I think I am still going through the grieving process myself ( as evident by my anger issues:) but I can tell you this, there will be a time when you don’t cry all the time and you don’t want to just be left alone. The entire month of May is a fog to me because I was in so much pain and I just didn’t want to be around people but people sharing their stories with me, really helped me to not feel so alone. I’m sure that you saw the other posts I wrote in May, they may give you some comfort in the knowing that you are not alone. BIG HUGS to you mama. I am here if you ever need to talk, rant, rave,scream or just cry it out. XO

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