Tag Archives: Grief

The Persistence of Thoughts

The kids run, they play, they laugh. I watch, I listen, I giggle.

Inside, I wonder: Will they be it for me? Is my body done?

I have no way to know.  No fortune-teller reading my palm and telling me, with an honest conviction, what my future holds–kid, kids, and more kids.

My womb, it’s empty.  My heart, it’s aching.

Have I tempted fate too much? When is too much?  Two children, three miscarriages, what now?  Do I stop?  Do I wait?  Do I hope?

Prayer.  Sometimes I wish I could rely on God, but He has let me down.  Too often.  With the idea that if I do as He asks, certain blessings will follow.  I did–still do–but I know the truth and can no longer be fooled.  It is much easier to believe in a higher power in the Universe than to believe in a God that allows so much pain and hurt–not just in my life, in those around me, in those women and men’s lives that I don’t know around the world.  The suffering of the children from hunger, abandonment, rape, and so much more.

I prayed my heart out.  I had blessings–several.  All pointed to something I thought I heard: I was doing the right thing and would soon be holding a healthy baby.

Wrong.  Three times over.

But, in my heart, I want a baby–babies–still.  The chaos, the messes, the crazy days are what I crave. I am in a better place, much more mentally and emotionally stable; however, when does it become over-kill (excuse the unintentional pun)? When does one stop? Miscarriages, pregnancies, all these things are not easy–on the body or the psyche.  Is it worth it to drive me to the brink of insanity, a place in which I am teetering on the edge already?

A fortune-teller.  That is what I need.  With other things in my life–employment, school, and growing–I have at least a basic outline.  I know things can change, on a whim, but those changes will be relatively expected.  I do not know, unfortunately, what our family size will be; it is unrealistic, and a bit silly, to expect that I, of all the infertile women, will have the gift of a healthy pregnancy soon.  See, there is a possibility that I will, but there is a possibility that I won’t.  And that is the truth, a place I would rather be than to misplace my expectations on a slim chance.  I mean, I did tell myself that if I had a third miscarriage, I would not try anymore because the pain would be too intense for me to try again.

This is where I wish I could be okay with my two kids.  I am happy with them, overjoyed that they are in our family; however, I can’t shake the feeling that there is an empty space, empty spaces, that need filled.  I want it to go away, beg that it will go away. Instead, I remember my dreams, my hopes, my desires, and those memories refuse to desist in haunting me.

Possibilities in life are endless, but sometimes I wish I could just know the outcome for one thing.

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Moving Forward

A Little Memorial

We held the memorial service in our living room–a fitting place since most the events happened there–with us, the kids, and my mother-in-law.  It was an emotional and peaceful service.  Short and sweet.

All About Science

Every person handles loss differently.  For me, I use my knowledge of science and reproduction to obsessively deduce what has happened.

Because of the severity of the miscarriage–the intense contractions, bleeding, and clotting–it would seem that I was about 8 weeks along.  Unfortunately, the hCG levels  remained at a 4-week level. Slowly increasing.  Very slowly.  This left the embryo in a very inhospitable environment, especially since the amniotic sac was already having trouble connecting to the endometrium.

My body rejected the growing baby.

Moving Forward

During the memorial service,  a little voice whispered, It’s okay.  Your baby is safe with me.  Keep moving forward.

Moving forward doesn’t mean forget, it means continue to live.  I have much living to do with my sweet husband and beautiful children.  And with myself.

I have kept myself secluded inside my house.  Afraid to be outside,  unsure of how I would react to questions and condolences.

I feel myself ready to take baby-steps.  Taking short walks around the neighborhood.  Cooking meals.  Talking with neighbors, friends, and family.   Big gatherings, like church, are still too much.  Too painful.  But I’m emerging.

On Life

Many friends have brought over flowers.  They bring much comfort.  Their vivacious beauty reminds me how to live: It’s more than smelling the flowers, it’s nurturing them.

On returning home from our short getaway,  I ran up the stairs, into my babys’ rooms (they were sleeping) and scooped them into my arms.  I smelled their delicious scent and smothered their smooth faces with kisses.  Lots and lots of kisses.

Healing

I’m not as brittle as I was a few days ago.  I feel strong.  Powered by my husband’s love, my children’s affection,  and the Plan of Salvation, I know I can heal.  The pain will remain nestled within my heart,  nudging me every now and then (like all day today),  but I feel its rawness dissipating.

I am coming back,  armed with a new perspective and knowledge from my experience.

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Filed under keeping the faith