Everyone manages grief differently. But first, repeat after me: there is absolutely no right or wrong way to grieve, only acknowledging your feelings for what they are, a loss. Miscarriage is a loss of what could have been. It leaves an everlasting imprint on all of those who have experienced loss. For some those feelings of grief manifest into guilt (also repeat after me, it is not your fault), anger, avoidance, and for many depression. We continue our Pregnancy and Infant Loss guest series with Karie, who shares with us, what she would like you to know about miscarriage, and the complicated feelings that happen after a loss.
Karie: There’s many things I want to say but I feel guilty for the anger. My miscarriage was 6 years ago so I tell myself “I should be over it by now”. For me, the hardest part is waiting. Waiting to try again when the time is “right”. Ever since I lost my unexpected little one, I have felt a void. But since this was an unplanned pregnancy, the decision was to wait but that void remains.
Each year it hurts and the void is there but I’ve learned to cope with it. Until recently, it has resurfaced and challenged me almost every day. I’m now approaching 30 and plan to start trying soon but now that the time is closer I feel anger and feelings I haven’t felt for awhile. I feel taunted by other mothers, even though they mean no harm, when they say things like “You just can’t understand until you’re a mom” -thanks for reminding me, or “You’re so lucky you don’t have kids”- you mean I’m lucky mine didn’t survive?
They mean nothing by this, but it stabs me right in the chest.
When I think about being possibly pregnant in 6 months, it brings back a lot of painful memories I’ve stashed away. I still remember that joyous moment of waiting to hear my baby’s heartbeat that was replaced by a concerning look on the sonographer’s face and complete silence expect for the existing breaking heartbeat of my own. I remember those days to follow of going to have my blood drawn and holding on to a hope it was just too early to hear your heartbeat. I was so angry with my doctor while waiting for that call to put my mind to rest with the final answer, until I had that final answer and then I wanted anything else in the world but that answer. I recall that I own a What to Expect When You’re Expecting book which I stashed away in a closet high up out of reach along with other early baby gifts. I recall the prenatal pills I threw out and replaced with the pain meds following the DNC. I remember the feeling of regret of telling so many people about my pregnancy that when I told them felt like a small group, until I had to tell them all the baby was no longer. I remember those days of going to the bathroom to change my liner with the constant reminder of what I lost pouring out of me. This part was strange for me because it didn’t scare because it felt appropriate for how I felt and served as a way to remind me you were there because the world kept spinning like you never happened.
The thing the lingers the most is the curiosity of what you would have been like. The fear of did I somehow hurt you. I’ve obsessed about every little moment from one time I twisted my back to crack it, did I hurt you? I drank a can of pop, did I hurt you? I was stressed out because you were a surprise, did I hurt you?
You see it’s been 6 years, and yes I’ve healed, but I’m still a little broken.
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