Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Someone Is Missing.

Fear.
Hope.
Sadness.
Joy.
Loss.
Life.
I feel like I don't have a right to feel the way I do.

We lost our baby last July.
No one knows what to say to that. 
I know I didn't. 
Heck, I still don't.
Some people tried to be sensitive, but usually ended up prying too much and bringing it up when I didn't want them to.
Most people mumbled an "I'm sorry," and continued as if nothing had happened. 
In a culture where abortion is normalized, it sometimes feels like first term miscarriages aren't considered a real tragedy. 
But they are.
Our baby died.


After a lot of crying, I started pretending like it didn't happen.
I was really good at that.

Too good.


6 months later, I was sound asleep and I heard a baby cry so clearly that my eyes popped open!
I took a pregnancy test first thing in the morning and it was positive!

Then came the fear

I was afraid to be intimate with my husband.
I held my breath every time I had to use the bathroom, afraid to find spotting.
I sincerely thanked God every time there was nothing to see.
Once I was clear of the first trimester, when miscarriage is most common, I stopped looking at the t.p. in dread.
However, I still didn't call for a doctor appointment, afraid that they would look for a heartbeat and not find one.
I would rather cling to "ignorance is bliss" than not hear the hummingbird heartbeat on the doppler.

Finally, we got health coverage and I ran out of excuses to not see the doctor.
My very first appointment was for the sonogram. 
I hadn't decidedly felt the baby move yet, even though I was 18 weeks along, so I didn't know what they would find.

I silently waited in solemn anticipation as fuzzy versions of tiny arms and legs and spine and head showed up on the screen.
Were the images moving? 
Or was it just the the tech moving the wand around?
Then I saw the heartbeat on the monitor.
Until that moment, I hadn't let myself dare hope that there was a healthy baby growing inside my belly.
I didn't stop crying for the rest of the appointment, I was so relieved and happy!


...But I'm not sure if I've let hope in even now.
I'm reassured every time I feel her bumping around in there, but I still don't feel like she's a sure thing yet.
I'm having trouble getting myself excited for her arrival in just a few months.
I think I'm afraid that I'll fall in love with her, allow myself to hope... 

...and then we'll lose her, too.


I dread trying to talk to someone and getting a bunch of feel-good platitudes, or even scripture, or being "one-upped" by people who think they're helping by showing me how they can relate.
I thought talking about it with someone who understands might be good.
But who?
I don't want to drudge up past grief for someone who I know who has gone through this.
I can't talk with women who have just lost a babyIf I were them, I'd hate me just for being pregnant, let alone pregnant and sad.
Baby Blues and PPD moms aren't quite right for me either, though they'd understand the "I'm supposed to be filled with joy, and instead I'm filled with this crappy feeling" feeling.

I should be holding another someone in my arms by now, and instead I'm carrying a different little one in my belly.
Will I always feel like someone is missing?

As much as I'm looking forward to meeting Baby Ellie in October, I am still so bitterly sad that I don't get to meet the little one we lost. 
And I can't help but fear that I won't get the chance to meet Ellie either.

I don't know how to prepare for a baby that I have so much fear and sadness around.

Yet I feel like I don't have the right to feel this way.
God chose to take our baby and I trust Him.
I feel that hearing that baby cry in the middle of the night was a promise that I'll get to meet this one. 
I just wish that I could feel the way I think a pregnant mom is supposed to feel.



"Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked I will depart. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised." Job 1:21



 




Links: