I didn't get this up "officially" on time yesterday, though I did post openly on FB and I did remember to light my candles. I know none of you "missed" yesterday either, with the flurry of blog postings about Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. But a part of me feels a twinge of guilt -- I didn't forget, but on here, it sort of looks like I did.
The thing is, this day is very different today (or yesterday), than it was last year. Or the year before that. I'm not going to lie -- I am able to face things much more calmly as Baby MoJo (the Fourth) turns somersaults in my uterus. But I have not -- cannot -- forget the path that brought us here. Perhaps I even feel the loss of my other babies a bit more acutely these days, now that I am getting a better sense of what I missed those other times. Despite my lack of posting anything non-pg related lately, I've not forgotten where I've come from, or how it feels on the other side of this equation. (Quite honestly, I'm just busy and exhausted, though I didn't come here to write excuses about not writing).
But here's the thing: pregnancy loss changes you. I've been fortunate enough not to experience the loss of an infant or even a full-term pregnancy -- I can't imagine how life-altering and core-shaking THAT would be. But I -- we -- have lost a lot. I'm not now, nor will I ever be, the person I was before my first loss. And certainly not the person I was before my second, or my third. Nor are many of you. This journey is long, and difficult, and none of us are guaranteed our happy ending. And last night, and today, the ones weighing most on my mind are those of you who are still fighting, still hoping, still wishing for the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm not all the way there yet, but I do realize that I'm closer than ever before. And I'm incredibly grateful for that. At the same time, I miss my babies -- the little hands I never got to hold, the sweet faces that I never got to kiss. Pregnancy doesn't cure infertility, and it certainly doesn't end the grief of loss. It does make days like yesterday bittersweet, a day of sadness tinged with the rosy edges of hope.
To my little loves: you may be gone, but you are not, and never will be, forgotten. Momma loves you.
And to the rest of you out there, you're in my thoughts today, as always. May you find some peace in knowing that you are not alone.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
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Thanks for this post. I, too, feel the same say you do. Last night, as I sat rocking my Miss A who had a bad dream, I was taken back to this day three years ago, when we had lost our first baby, but weren't expecting. I remember the desperation and weight that I felt as I mourned the cheeks I never got to kiss and the hands I never got to hold.
ReplyDeleteAs I sat rocking Miss A, my heart hurt less, but it still hurt. I still mourn the baby we never got to meet. Being pregnant, or even having children, doesn't make the hurt go away. It doesn't diminish the lives of our other children. It just makes it a little easier to bear.
Sitting here nodding along to every word. You said it far more elegantly than I could ever have. Thinking of you and you family.
ReplyDeleteI didn't realize that was what yesterday was. I've often thought (perhaps perversely) that I am fortunate never to have been pregnant - in the sense that I never (so far as I know) lost a child; only the possibility of one. And that was life-altering enough. I cannot fathom the strength and courage of those who have lost a child - let alone more than one - and continue on. Extraordinary women, all of you.
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