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The two extremely blonde babies you see in the picture above are mine. They are my little “baby terrorists” that I love more than anything in this world.
What most people don’t know about me is that I have another, a sweet baby that I never had the pleasure of meeting.
I guess you could say that this is my deepest secret that only my closest friends and family know about. It’s not exactly everyday conversation material. I could say that this is a rare and unique situation that has only happened to me, but that’s not true at all. Miscarriage affects so many women, more than I ever thought. It’s amazing how many women come out of secrecy and talk about it with you, once you start sharing your personal story. At least that is what I have experienced.
I didn’t write this post specifically for October: Pregnancy and Infant Loss awareness month, I’ve had this post sitting in my drafts since before I even took my blog public.
But what a great time to share my story.
As I sit here, about to hit the big blue PUBLISH button, something that is still scary even though I have been publishing my thoughts for a few months now, I am nervous to share my story. Negative thoughts make their way into my head, People don’t want to read this, they want humor stories, This is sad and depressing…. but this is real. Even the most sarcastic “jokesters” like myself, experience things in life that leave them empty and emotional wounded.
I don’t want to share my story of how my miscarriage went down, some things don’t need to be relived, I just wanted to share a letter that I wrote many moons ago.
So here is my little letter, to my child I never got the chance to meet.
It was March 8, 2012 when I found out that you existed. I will always remember that morning, a woman never forgets the very first time she finds out that she is pregnant. It’s a surge of energy that can never be duplicated. It’s the first time. The feelings and thoughts are indescribable.
You were planned. You were wanted. You were wanted before you were even alive. I remember crying to your Daddy after three months had passed without getting pregnant. I wondered if something was wrong with me. Little did I know, miracles take time.
My heart wanted you more than anything.
You were only part of me for a little less than three months, but that didn’t matter. It only took five minutes for me to fall in love with you. (I needed five minutes for the news to sink in!) From then on you were my baby. You had a perfect face that I worked so hard to envision, you had an identity, a personality, a purpose. You were mine.
In just two to three short weeks, your Daddy and I were hopefully going to find out if you were a boy or girl. We had our top names picked, but had not yet come to a final decision. I wanted to get to know you better before choosing. I wanted time to stew on it, feel your kicks, your energy, hoping that I would just know what your name should be.
Every day was consumed with thoughts of you. I couldn’t focus at work and I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited. I wanted everyone to know of your existence. I told family members, co-workers, and I loved telling random strangers in store check-out lines that I was expecting. I was a mom and I just wanted everyone to know.
I’ll never forget the night it happened. How it happened. How I tried the best I could to keep my emotions in, due to the fact that I was in a public setting when I realized that you were gone.
I’ll never forget the female doctor in the emergency room who told me that I would be okay because I was so young, as if my age made it less significant. She was so cold. The room was cold. I felt alone even with your Daddy holding my hand beside me the entire time. I felt so empty.
I didn’t want to be empty.
You were supposed to be okay. You were my first baby. You were supposed to be in all of our family photos adorning the walls of our house. You were supposed to have a name. People were supposed to love you.
I know God gets to have you now. In reality, you were never really mine, but always his. I do believe everything happens for a reason. It’s all part of God’s bigger plan. Losing you was the hardest thing I’ve ever endured. You taught me what real, raw, true emotion felt like. For the first time, I was truly sad.
Your brother, Von, would not be here if you had been born, so in a way, you gave him life.
Everything happens for a reason.
I love you. I always have and I always will. I think about you more than I probably should, but I am just curious by nature. I am excited to have something extra special to look forward to. For when I die and go to heaven, not only will I meet my Creator but I will get to meet you as well. I know you will be as beautiful as I have made you out to be in my thoughts and dreams.
So here’s to you my sweet angel,
My child I never met.
For those who have experienced loss, my heart goes out to you. Even though the miscarriage is over, we’re never really over it. The good news is, you are not alone. We all have a story. A sad story that brings us to dark places that no one enjoys being in.
I challenge you to find the good out of your story, whatever it may be. Through my miscarriage, I experienced real pain. Not the pain of a stupid college break-up (what I had considered “true pain” previously) but the loss of something so much more meaningful. I matured instantly, I never blamed God or took my anger out on others. I picked myself back up with the help of family and lots of prayer. I gained an entirely new outlook on motherhood and I only hope that I am a better mother to my children because of it.
Everything happens for a reason.
It was all meant to be.
– Until the next time this Redhead rambles.
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