Oh, hello, heartache. It feels like yesterday.
Just two weeks ago, I experienced a miscarriage. It was only sixteen months after losing my precious daughter, Mia, who was just 14 months old. Life must go on; we will continue to love, live, and even laugh, but the weight of grief feels unbearably heavy. Because it truly has been more than enough.
When we decided to try for another child, the thought of miscarriage never crossed my mind. Maybe it should have, considering I’m already 36, but I chose to focus on hope instead. Soon enough, I found out I was pregnant.
I remember looking at myself in the mirror that day, a radiant glow surrounding me. My husband confirmed it, and I felt like the luckiest woman alive. I understood all too well how fragile life could be. I believed I was carrying a beautiful gift. In my mind, I envisioned Mia in heaven carefully selecting her sibling and sending them to us. I felt complete.
But then the bleeding began. It wouldn’t stop. Despite the increasing openness surrounding miscarriage, the experience remains shrouded in silence. The physical pain was something I hadn’t anticipated. While I had spent time contemplating the emotional toll, I forgot about the physical anguish that often accompanies such a loss.
The physical suffering is intense and messy, leaving me feeling insulted on top of everything else. I walked through town, emotionally shattered and physically losing my child—bleeding and cramping while I picked up my toddler from preschool, enduring the pain while I pushed a swing at the park, rushing out of a store without the milk I desperately needed because I could barely stand.
The emotional pain alone would have been more than enough. It’s overwhelming. It steals your breath; it fills your heart to the brim, bringing you crashing down to your knees. When the reality of my miscarriage hit, I coped by imagining Mia in heaven confronting God, protesting against this unfairness for her mom and dad. I was proud of her spirit, envisioning our fiery daughter demanding justice for us and expressing her love.
Then, I began to think of all the other mothers who felt blessed and excited, eagerly awaiting morning sickness and fatigue, fantasizing about their growing babies. I pondered: “What if God knew one baby had to be sent that wouldn’t make it, one that would bring hope then sorrow?”
I paused and considered: “What if Mia volunteered for this? What if she believed in our strength and love, wanting another mother’s dreams fulfilled before mine?” Tears streamed down my face—proud tears for the daughter in heaven who believed in us, for the love we carry for her and her sibling, despite the pain.
For now, it has been enough—the pain, the loss. But equally important are the two children I have, the life we share, and the love that remains. I hope that love will guide us through whatever comes next.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the profound emotional and physical pain associated with experiencing a miscarriage, especially following the loss of a child. The author shares her personal journey of coping with grief and the complexities of hope intertwined with sorrow. Ultimately, the piece emphasizes the enduring love for her children and the hope for healing.
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