Cry is the only response my body could muster when I heard the word miscarriage.
I want to scream but I can’t. I can barely think. All I can do is cry.
My heart has been irreparably broken.
This unexpected blessing that shocked me when I first saw the two lines, this baby that I didn’t deserve is now gone.
My miracle labeled a miscarriage.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I can do is cry.
I went in this morning because I was spotting; no cramps, no heavy bleeding; nothing. I expected everything to be ok. It wasn’t. It isn’t. I don’t know if it ever will be again.
I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. All I can do is cry.
We had only told a very few people, not even our little girls who have been begging for a baby brother or sister.
I’m always afraid. Always afraid that I’ll say something too soon and something bad will happen.
Terrified that I’ll have to explain a miscarriage, afraid my happiness will prove too bold.
My sister lost a baby at 9 weeks. I am 10 weeks and 4 days, I thought I was safe. I wasn’t.
The ultrasound showed 9 weeks and 2 days. That’s when our baby died.
The moment I saw the tech’s face, I knew.
There was no tiny heartbeat.
Only a perfect still baby.
It feels like all the wind has been knocked out of me. I feel numb.
I want to crawl up inside myself and be still and never move again.
I want to die. I want my heart to stop beating.
I can’t bear the thought of people looking at me with pity. The thought of people trying to talk or understand my pain away weighs on me like an anchor around my neck.
Just let me be. Let me feel this insurmountable loss.
Let me cry my primal animalistic screams and pretend you don’t hear.
Don’t touch me.
Don’t speak to me.
Just let me be alone with my darkness, my abyss; my hell.
My baby was a promise for something better. The promise has been broken and I feel empty. I feel betrayed and let down by life.
I can’t talk. I can’t breathe. All I can do is cry.
While you are reading this, I will be at the hospital having a D & E because the thought of walking around with my perfect baby without a heartbeat inside me while waiting for it to pass on its own is too much to bear right now.
I appreciate your love, prayers and support and I was hoping to be sharing with you our pregnancy this month, instead I’m sharing my loss. It’s the only way I know how to move through my pain…to write it down.
I believe that there is reason for everything and that God has a divine plan for us all, but right now, today my heart is breaking.
All I can do is cry.
This miscarriage makes me feel like my body has completely failed me and I don’t know how to survive this hole in my soul.