A Lonely Loss

 

A third of pregnancies end in miscarriage.  There was a time when that was just a number, but then that statistic took painful form with the unexpected loss of my third pregnancy.  I feel compelled to write a little bit about the experience of miscarriage and ways to support women going through them, because I'm now aware of how many women around me have experienced this pain and I know how many people would like to love and support those women, but maybe don't know how, or maybe don't realize the scope of their loss.  I'd like to help validate the spectrum of emotions a woman may experience, and give some helpful tips to those close to them.

Miscarriages are a difficult thing, because for the people around you the loss is rather abstract.  It's an idea or expectation that was lost, not a person.  There was nothing for anyone to see or hold or experience.  Except the mother.  A mom who miscarries doesn't lose a pregnancy, she loses a child.  And though it's true that the experience of that loss is not as profound or devastating as it is when she has been able to see and hold that child, that is still what it is.  The mom alone felt and nourished and experienced the beginnings of this little life and it will forever be a part of her.  When a woman loses a child, no matter the stage, a part of her dies too. We can't help it. Our children are literally a part of us, grown and nourished in our very bodies, and most of us love them fiercely from those very beginnings.  I don't consider myself a mother of two with one failed pregnancy. I consider myself a mother of three, with one I will never meet.  So this can make miscarriage a sort of lonely grief, because people can't share it in the same way. And it's common and easy to minimize. And because it's abstract to others the world gets over it pretty fast. Are you still sad about that? Wasn't that like two weeks ago?  In a world that trivializes and easily discards early life, it can feel like you aren't allowed to be too sad.


If you've had a miscarriage I want you to know it's ok to mourn. You didn't lose the stripe on a pee stick, you lost your baby.  And don't be surprised if it follows you for a while. One mom told me it took her 6 months to recover emotionally. One told me she went to grief counseling. For me it sneaks up on me sporadically.  I've had mood swings that surprise me where I'm irritable and agitated for no apparent reason. The bag of maternity clothes borrowed from a friend sat untouched in the back of my car for over a month like a taunt. I didn't want to give them back, because I do hope for another baby. But for some reason I just couldn't bring them in the house. Browsing facebook one night I scrolled past a picture of a pregnant friend. We both have kids the same ages and genders and would have had pretty mirror pregnancies.  Without warning I felt a jolt of pain, starting in my stomach and spreading through my chest.  It hurt.  I revealed my pregnancy to my husband and family on Christmas morning.  I gave my husband a box with a picture window that held a Bible verse about how children are like arrows in the hand of a warrior and those with many are blessed. Inside was my positive pregnancy test (in a bag) that said 'arrow number 3'.  There were hugs and smiles. Now that box sits in my bedside table drawer, full of condolence cards.

If you've had a miscarriage, I feel it's helpful to commemorate.  I wrote a letter to my child, recalling how I felt when I found out I was pregnant. How I smiled and held my stomach as I fell asleep that night. I recalled how excited her siblings were to meet her, and how her oldest sister talked about it every day, and how she cried when she found out she stopped growing. Me and my husband plan to plant a tree in our backyard. A dogwood with pink flowers. Pink because I always felt it was a girl. 

I learned after my miscarriage that although I did receive so much support, that often times people just don't know how to respond or how to be helpful. That people are afraid of being awkward or offering unwanted words or gestures. So here are some insider tips, for when you find yourself a friend or loved one of a miscarrying woman.  It is never a bad idea to send a card. Text messages expressing love and support initially and then occasionally during that first month are very helpful. Offering to bring meals - sometimes a miscarriage takes weeks and can be pretty painful, and during that time I know I found myself emotionally drained and very low on energy. Planning and preparing meals seemed exhausting. I was blessed to have my mom in town to do it for me (thanks again mommy!!) but many women don't. Offers to watch older siblings. A sweet friend of mine sent me a necklace so I could have something tangible to connect to a somewhat intangible loss.  An acknowledging hug, devoid of words, is actually quite powerful.  Late is better than never.  If time gets away from you and you haven't sent a word of support, do it anyways. As my mom said, emotional vulnerability is fertile soil for offense.  It's hard not to feel hurt when you suffer a loss that goes unacknowledged.  Offers for help may be turned down and phone calls may never be returned, but I can assure you that they mean a lot and go a long way for a sad woman.  You may be unsure or feel awkward, but I assure you making an effort to show you care in whatever way that may be is the best salve for a wounded heart. And silence is easily misinterpreted. It's easier to endure a lonely loss in the community of caring friends.