Anger. It’ the overriding feeling in my heart right now. It’s been over a year since we first experienced this kind of devastating loss, but this time I burn with anger.
Miscarriage: The Second Time Around
The double pink line. It’s such a beautiful moment. You’ve just peed on a stick and then you realise you’re growing a little soul inside your womb and suddenly the stick is like a magic wand; granting you your one and only wish.
You don’t expect it to end in blood and tears. Even after our miscarriage last October, I had all the hope in the world when I saw the lines appear on the stick. and within a very short time the joy, hope and love I felt was torn apart.
It started with a little cramping, some pink discharge and then my body did what it had no choice but to do. It bled. It bled my heart and soul. The red, growing stickier, thicker and heavier. The loss seeping out and all you can do is clear it away and keep going.
Except I didn’t, not at first.
At first I wept.
Then behaved normally.
I smiled a lot. I went out and about, shopping and acting as though I was on my period. In denial of the truth. During this time there were flashes of anger. There was also a part of me that wanted to get ridiculously drunk. Or have a fight. My response this time was akin to my reaction after my father died. Limited tears because the anger and denial burnt so bright.
Why us? Why this time? Is there something wrong with me? Did I do something? Why? What are the answers? What do we do now? Can we face trying again? Can we go through this again?
I’m still not finished. The blood still comes. Day 5 and I’m writing this because I need to. I need to talk, to vent and to reach out to anyone else who has experienced this devastating loss.
I feel relieved we never told the children this time. I couldn’t face the look in Molly’s eyes if I had to tell her it had happened again. That can wait until she’s older. There’s only so many times I can see her heart broken by this kind of news. Once is plenty.
I don’t know what else to say right now.
I don’t have the words. I just have the need to be normal. The need to believe there’s another chance somewhere in the future for us. And then I feel guilty for feeling these things. I should be mourning, no thinking about the future, or should I?! I don’t think there’s a ‘normal’ reaction to loss. Loss of any kind. I think normal doesn’t exist.
And now, neither does our baby.
Only in our hearts can these lost children live, tucked within the beating darkness.
Safe at last.