Miscarriage is cruel like that.

I was having a baby. Now I am not. My insides have been ripped out and my heart is shattered into a million tiny pieces. I have cried, snotty and red, in the middle of public places and to the most intimate of friends. I have never felt this hurt before. Family deaths, marriage strife, relational upheaval…nothing compares to the death of a child. My child. That sounds so foreign. I had a child and now it is gone. Rather, I had two children and now one of them is gone. My husband has sobbed, my friends and family have wept and my daughter has acted out because of the confusion of it all. Why did this happen? Not the scientific or philosophical answers to “why.” Just the “I don’t know, but I am so sorry it happened to YOU,” answer. That’s all anyone can and should say. There is nothing more to mend this broken mama heart. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand how my brain throbs and my smile betrays my heart as I try to carry on a “normal” conversation. How long is long enough? How long is TOO long…to grieve? To cry? To talk about it? When will people get tired of hearing about my family’s loss? Am I taking something away from my living child if I “dwell” on the passing of this one? Am I taking something away from my dead child if I don’t? How do I comfort my precious husband when I can’t manage to form a coherent sentence?  I don’t know. So many questions and no answers. I want to scream and cry and in the next minute I want to laugh and make “inappropriate” jokes. That’s sick, right? But my “role” in most relationships is smile-maker, awkward silence-filler, make everyone comfortable-ER. How do I ask for anyone to be around me when I don’t want to be around myself? It’s a lonely place….even if I’m not alone. Grief is funny like that. Miscarriage is cruel like that. I miss her and I didn’t even get to meet her.
It’s a waiting game, I guess, this thing called grief. After all, “time heals all things,” right? So while I wait, I write. Here are the only truths I know, in verse.
 

Missing, by Cara Cherry
We were expecting a beautiful baby,
Not these broken hearts.
We prayed for the completion of our family,
Not a missing part.
Are you healthy and comforted now,
In our Lord’s loving hands?
That’s all I can hope for,
With this hurt I don’t understand.
Eventually, the world will spin again,
And “normal” will resume.
This anguish that tears at me,
Will lessen, I presume.
But, always you’ll be on my mind,
Forever in my heart you’ll stay.
Angel, with me for a minute,
Now, eternally in Heaven you lay.
 
 

 

Comments

  1. I am so sorry you’re going through this. You have my support and empathy, should you want or need it. ♥ -Nikki

  2. You’re poem is beautiful. I wish I could’ve come up with something that beautiful when I lost my son. A lot of people don’t know what to say, because they’re afraid to say the wrong thing. It is unexpected, sad, and different for every person. I didn’t have a miscarriage. I carried my son full term, gave birth to him, and said goodbye to him 13 hours later, we had no idea he wasn’t well.

    There is a community of support out there, since many women experience our loss and do understand, and there are a lot of hands to pray for your comfort.

    I am very sorry for your loss, every day does get easier, slightly. Please feel free to reach out if you need someone.

    • Cynthia, I am so sorry that you lost your sweet baby and that anyone should know this kind of heart hurt. It really means a great deal that you reached out to comfort me and that you shared about your own loss. Thank you.

  3. I am so sad and angry for you having to go through this. I am “here” for you if ever you need a long distance hug. Squeeze C a little harder and a little longer. Maybe that will help your heart a little. ~ Rachel

  4. My sweet friend- I love you. I am praying for God to bring comfort and wrap you in His arms. No words will make the hurt go away. Just know I love you.

  5. I am so sorry for your loss.

  6. Beautifully, heart-breakingly honest you are. I am very sorry to hear about your loss. Know that you are not alone and that these feelings, these raw feelings are normal — feel them.

  7. Thanks, Lauren. I am so sorry for your losses as well. Thank you for your transparency.

  8. ((Hugs)) Thank you for your sweet words on my blog page and for sharing your post with me. It helps to know we’re not alone. Know that I’m praying for you and your aching heart too.

    -Jessica @ThankfulForThorns.blogspot.com

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