It’s a weird thing, this sadness that I’m feeling over the miscarriage on Sunday. It’s a different kind of sadness than the one I experienced back in January. That was a devastating sadness. Losing the baby the first time completely blindsided me. I never expected that to happen. It had never happened before and when it did I felt so helpless. So scared. And I suffered.
I was broken. I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t function at work. I was a massive mess.
Everyone knew I had been pregnant so everyone would have to know I lost the baby. Not this time.
We hadn’t told a soul that I was pregnant so who we told the news of the miscarriage was at our discretion. Still is. It isn’t something that you just work into a conversation. Or want to.
I think that is why going to work on Monday was so much easier for me this time. Nobody knew a thing at that point. My loss—and my pregnancy for that matter—was still my secret. There were no sad knowing eyes cast upon me that day.
This time my sadness is different.
This time I feared losing the baby from the moment I found out I was pregnant. This time I expected it to happen and hoped beyond hope that I would be wrong. I so wanted to be wrong. I wanted my body to be right again. I wanted another blissful pregnancy like I had with G-tot. I tried to convince myself that it would be okay.
But still the fear lingered on.
And when I lost the baby on Sunday, I wasn’t so surprised this time. I knew there was nothing I could do to change what was happening. I knew I was helpless and I just had to ride it out. So I let the sadness consume me and tried to remind myself that it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong. Life just sucks sometimes and apparently it has to suck for me right now.
This sadness feels like one made more of stoicism. One that says, “My god you’ve been changed by the pain you’ve suffered in the past year.” It’s a sadness that lodges itself deep into my heart and nestles knowingly up against devastating sadness left behind months ago. It’s a sadness that says I am strong in my suffering and I will carry on. I will be okay.
My thoughts are with you. I hope your strength continues to grow.
eHugs.
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I marvel at your incredible strength and grace. You are an amazing woman, wife and mother and your next bundle of joy will come. JQ and you are awesome parents so of course you’ll get the chance to do it all again.
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Oh, Holly.
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oh my lady… you are a force.
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Sending you so much love and so many hugs.
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You are indeed strong. My thoughts are with you as you take your journey. Keep your eyes focused on the prize…the little bundle of joy that is coming.
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Awww Holly. I am so sorry to hear. *HUG* and I have so much respect for the way you take this into your stride…
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Don’t let this get you down we all love ya and are there anytime you want to call baby.Love ya bunches
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I too experienced my first miscarriage differently than the subsequent ones, however, I don’t think it was because I was stronger. Rather, I numbed myself to the pain because I could not stand to feel so deeply again. I wrote about it recently at Band Back Together because it’s been nearly 10 years now, but I still haven’t resolved that initial wound. I hope you find healing much, much sooner.
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Agh. I have no words. But I have been there. Call me if you ever want to talk. 419-266-0966.
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I’m sorry for your loss.
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