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I’ve been thinking about writing this post and have gone back and forth about whether or not I should. Loss is a difficult topic to write about, but especially hard when the loss is not your own. As parents, we all hope that our children do not have to face hardships, but as living and breathing people, we know inevitably they will. We cannot protect them.
I have experienced loss in my lifetime, but I’ve not experienced a miscarriage. I am one of those lucky women who had three pregnancies and three children. So when my oldest daughter, Maggie, announced her pregnancy last November, I had no reason to believe that it would be anything but normal. We celebrated with her sisters. She was feeling nauseous and tired and enjoying it. Mid-December, I waited to hear about her doctor’s appointment. I crumpled when she said there was no heartbeat. The ultrasound showed the baby had not developed past 8 weeks. Her body, however, still thought she was pregnant.
The next day, I went with her to the surgery center for her DNC. Maggie cried quietly. I sat near her and listened. She talked about how she could now relate to her friends when it happened to them. There is a scary statistic that many first pregnancies end in miscarriage. She knew this. She knew that the baby was not viable. That something had gone wrong. That it wasn’t meant to be. But even so, a new child died that day. There was no way to deny the loss.
My daughter realized that through her pain and grief she was learning a life lesson. Little did she know how soon her counseling would be needed. A few weeks ago, she got a call from my middle daughter, Katherine. On the previous Saturday, Maggie and I had talked about how she was being weird, unusually cheerful. We thought something was up. But once again, a new baby was not to be. Katherine had taken a pregnancy test on Saturday and was waiting to tell us the following weekend when we’d all be together. On Tuesday, bleeding started and her blood test came back negative. A quick drop on the roller-coaster that took her breath away. She tried to see the positive side of things, but she was devastated.
There is so much joy and hope and love in watching your daughters get married and start their lives with someone they deeply love. We expect the best. We hope for new life. I’ve even been a little pushy about wanting to be a grandmother. I didn’t expect this heartache, this loss. I have no explanation for it.
Grief over miscarriage is a private grief. There are no ceremonies to offer condolences. In fact, most people don’t talk about it. The loss is buried deep into the woman’s soul.
As their mother, I grieve with them. As their mother, I hold their hearts in mine. I’m with them through it all, joy and pain, love and loss. I am holding onto faith that there will be new children in our future, but for now, I grieve with my daughters.
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