One in Four

Imagine you are standing in line with at least three other women at the grocery store.  Now, imagine that if you have not lost a child due to miscarriage, one of those other women most likely has.

I am one of those women.

I am one of the lucky mamas... I've only had one miscarriage, and I have three healthy boys.

My daughter would be about 13 years old.

I did not carry Grace past the first trimester.  I hadn't even seen the doctor yet.  I don't have a picture of her.  It is purely supernatural that I know my child is a girl, and that she has blonde hair.  If you'd like to hear the story, Noah and I will sit down with you sometime.  

Top Print: "MisConception" by
thevisualminimal.com
Bottom Print: linktr.ee/letteredhope

Grace's loss is one I still grieve.  I do not believe the loss of your child is one you ever finish grieving, no matter the age of your child, no matter if you met your child or not.  In my heart, I know she would have been led a very sick, painful life.  I also know God spared her, and she is healthy now.  I was so very sick when I became pregnant with her, and I was on so many medications.  I carry a lot of guilt for the irresponsibility I had in even becoming pregnant, and for many years I beat myself up for what I felt was my part in my child's death.  I've talked a lot in my blog before about the anger and bitterness I carried concerning our struggle with infertility, but I also carried so much towards God for taking my child.  For quite a while, even as bitter and angry as I was about our infertility struggle, I felt it was a just punishment for my part in Grace's death.  It was a long, hard journey getting to where I am now, at peace with Grace being healthy and happy, even though I do not get to raise her.  Yes, it is possible to miss a child I've never met.  I miss her every day.  I miss the moments I don't get to have as her mom, and I try to not think about milestones (Homecoming prep shopping is hitting me hard this season for some reason).  Shawn, and even our boys, have missed out on so much, too.  I find myself wondering what she would be like, how we would get along, what kind of things she would like.  I also try to not think about her too much, but I'm her mom, so it's what I do.  

There is always the inevitable, "Three boys, huh???  You gonna try for that girl?" Sometimes I shut it down quickly, announcing that we already have our girl, depending on how rude the person is, other times I'm more gentle, but I still explain that our little girl lives in heaven.  It's a delicate balance, honoring my daughter's memory while also honoring my sons' lives.  It's only been within the past year that I now tell people I have four children when they ask how many I have.  It's a question I used to struggle with--I usually end up comforting the person if the conversation goes past that and it becomes awkward--I felt as though I was denying Grace's existence.  I always heard her little voice asking why I didn't tell people about her.  Now, I do.  I try to keep the conversation short and simple, unless Grace is the purpose of the conversation.

I do not share this with you for pity or sympathy.  I share this with you because our voices need to be heard for the sake of other mamas who feel they are alone.  Every day, in every setting, it is socially acceptable to discuss every form of cancer and other illnesses, to discuss every other kind of death, often times right down to the gory details--but no one talks about miscarriage anywhere.  Not even our churches are talking about early child loss!  It is completely socially taboo.  I do not know that I will ever understand why.  When I lost Grace, I was so embarrassed and ashamed I even hid it from Shawn for several years.  Our marriage was not in a good place when Grace died, and I was so ashamed, I was afraid he would blame me for her death just as I blamed myself.  It took me even longer to talk about her with anyone else who wasn't super close to me.  Now, I know she is part of my testimony for other mamas.  I must talk about her for other mamas who have been told to just move on, to just get pregnant again, they can always adopt, to get a dog or a plant--for those mamas grieving their losses who have heard all the tired lines.  Please, PLEASE, do not ever say any of those things to a grieving mother.  Do not ever tell her that at least she won't have to deal with potty training, or go through the pain of breastfeeding, or the terrible twos, or to be glad she won't have a moody teenager in her house now (just a few of the things I've heard).  Do you have any idea what that mama would do for any one of those problems you take for granted?  Word of advice--if you don't know what to say, please do not say anything.  Just hug her.  Hold on to her for dear life and don't let go.  And please, PLEASE, do not ever reject her motherhood; she carried and loved her child, she IS a mother.

Making it even more difficult for me, my doctor dismissed my loss.  It was tragic for me, but to my doctor, "these things just happen."  I lost my child, and he just dismissed her life!  Grace is not just "one of those things,"!  Precious love, neither is your child!  Much of society also dismisses my loss--clump of cells, fetus, loss of pregnancy, miscarriage, etc.  The early loss of a child is not something which shows up in a newspaper obituary, nor is there a funeral held.  Unless you've already told others you were pregnant, or you were already showing, no one knows you've lost your baby until you tell them, unlike the death of a person who isn't there at church the following week after he/she dies.  This is another reason so many mamas suffer alone.

Precious mama, if you have lost your baby, please--cry.  Cry as much as you need to, then cry some more.  You lost your child!  You lost your dream.  You lost a part of yourself, and a part of your family. Grieve.  Name your child, even if you don't if your baby is a boy or a girl--give your baby a name.  It may sound simple to some--of course you should give your child a name, while to others it may sound strange.  Please trust me when I say it does help to be able to refer to your baby by name.  And it helps your friends and family when they ask how you are doing, too.  A name gives everyone a reference point.  You are no longer referring to 'the miscarriage,' or referring to your child as 'it' or 'the baby.'   Talk to someone.  Anyone.  Everyone.  Share your story.  Do not hold it in like I did.  There is nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about.  There is nothing you did--and I know you are so tired of hearing that.  And I know you are just as tired of hearing there is nothing you could have done, but love, it is the truth.  Know you are not alone in this.  Know you are loved.   Allow friends and loved ones to minister to you; there are no burials with early miscarriages, making grieving even more difficult, so allow those meals to come in, allow friends to take you for coffee, or to bring it to you, allow them to take your other children for the day.  Allow yourself to be angry.  Please remember this, also:  Make these allowances, but when it is time, allow yourself to come back up out of the pit.  Yes, you will wonder how you can go on, and your marriage may even be rocky, but love, you must allow yourself to come out of the pit.

Precious mama, this is a painful time for you.  Allow yourself to be loved.  Allow yourself to be held.  Allow yourself to know that as painful as it is right now, there will come a morning when you will wake up and hurt just a little less, and you will smile when you say your baby's name.

You are loved, precious mama.  You are so, so very loved.