A letter my husband wrote after our heartbreaking miscarriage.
Two Little Souls…
I sit here tonight, the last one awake in my dear family…heart heavy, with tears in my eyes. For today we found out that the little baby inside Greta, just 10 weeks old, was actually two. Identical twins that shared what was supposed to keep them alive…and in the end could not sustain their newly formed life. I sit here wondering what those two heartbeats sounded like, what lives they could have had. Yet smiling that they will always have each other. It’s hard to believe how much the heart can hurt for something that was barely living, for two souls I have not yet met.
My heart goes out to my beautiful wife who has had to carry these two little ones. I know her heart is hurting so much more than her physical pain… so great is the pain I see, and feel in her. I admire her strength, and want to save her from the pain I know I cannot. I again sit here wondering what these two little beings would be like…knowing the kindness given to them by their brothers would have given such joy brings a smile to the heaviness that sits within me tonight. And yet through the pain I see the blessing of the amazing boys I do have in my life. Tonight I look back with such thankfulness, for after sharing the days sadness with our two oldest boys I watched them cuddle into their mommies sobs, my sweet 6 year old asked his mommy what her belly felt like, she shared that it hurt…like what mommy, he said. Like needles sticking all around…with deep concerned eyes he touched his stomach and said that his belly hurt as well. Mommy said that it didn’t hurt as bad as her heart…”mommy my heart is hurting too”, he said. With tears in my eyes so many times today I feel most blessed for the family I do have…and for these two precious souls I do not get to meet. So with great pain, faith, and felt blessings, I say farewell to these beautiful unborn children, my heart going out to all parents who have lost children both born and unborn alike. And to the two young souls I have not met….I love you, and always will. Thank you for reminding me of the blessings I do have….Good night, and goodbye my loves!
This past week has been an extremely difficult week. This is the week I should be finding out if my babies are boys or girls. I should be prepping my older boys in the excitement. I should be going shopping forgender outfits and I should be planning a celebration. In fact, I’m not. I’m not doing any of those things. At this pregnancy milestone I’m instead trying not to blink for fear that the icy tears of disappointment and grief that are pooling in my eyes will spill over. If my sadness is masked by my lack of blinks it won’t be hidden with my burning hot cheeks, my red nose, my puffy eyes(I am not an attractive crier) as I soak in thisnew and different sense of longing. If this wasn’t enough also coupled with this week is the painful reminder brought on by my first period since the miscarriage. Since I lost them. You know blood is a funny thing. It is part of what gives us life, and yet, it in this case it’s a painful reminder of everything that isn’t.
My heart still hurts. I still find myself bringing my hands protectively to my belly expecting to feel it’s roundness as if my presence there can change what is no longer. My eyes magnetize to every beautiful pregnant woman around me focusing on her growing belly which of course seems like these days is everywhere I look. I long to put my hands on my belly and feel them there, safe. I long to feel their kicks. And damn it I even long for the morning sickness to assure me everything is okay. But it isn’t, and every time I’m only being reminded of my own emptiness.
This is still hard. I feel like with miscarriage it’s expected that you’ll get over it quickly. Maybe the thought is that it’s not like the babies were really here. I realized how quickly the perceived grieving period for a miscarriage is…maybe a week at most? And then you’re expected to push your grief aside and jump right back in to life with a smile on your face. Maybe I’m wrong in that assumption but regardless for me the pain is still real. Sure, it’s not as raw as it was 2 months ago; I’m not crying at the drop of a hat, or the mention of a new pregnancy and I certainly have more good days than bad but it’s most definitely there. I know everything I’ll be missing with the twins as I look at my 3 beautiful boys recalling all my experiences with them… I’ll be missing their tiny flutters inside my belly, their kicks and jabs as they grow, and the excitement leading up to their birth. I will be missing their beautiful birth story, holding them for the first time, covering them in kisses, getting to know each of their tiny little features. I’ll be missing comforting their cries, hearing their sweet giggles and coos, encouraging them to walk, to talk. I’ll be missing them calling me mama, rocking them to sleep, and kissing their booboos. I’ll be missing seeing them grow and learning their own unique qualities despite their identical looks. Instead, I’m just missing them.
But I am timidly pressing forward. Something I am incredibly grateful for are supportive friends. The ones that still ask how I’m doing, know when to be protective, and yet are also there with hugs as I bravely face discomforts because I want very much to be included in everything. I have beautiful reminders of my tiny twins that I hold on to and wear close to my heart that I can cling to when I am missing them. I’ve learned the hard way how to support friends through pregnancy loss, what not to say, and how heavy their hearts are. I am pressing forward knowing that there must be a reason for this. Though I can’t walk with my head held high yet, I am walking…one foot in front of the other. Confidence slowly finding it’s footing. Will these be our last babies? We don’t know. We felt certainty and finality over this pregnancy and our new definition of family so we’re carefully praying. Carefully waiting and hoping for answers. But never forgetting.
My heart still hurts, this is still hard, but I am timidly pressing forward.
Sadly so many women have gone before me in pregnancy loss. I pray that no one ever feels this type of pain again but with a heavy heart I know am I am not the last. I am not alone in this journey and yet, some days I feel like I am. And some days I want to be as my shoulders heave and I relinquish to the tears seeking solitude. My heart goes out to all the women hurting. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. To all the women that have lost babies. To all the women that are longing to be moms. To all the women that have loved and lost or not even had the chance to love. My heart is with you.
What I do know is that my heart, though full of the life and laughter of my 3 older boys and loving husband, will always have a void until we meet again.
As I stood in the bathroom, hovering near the pregnancy test, I could feel my heart beating in my chest. I knew I didn’t need to take any tests to confirm what my body had already been telling me. With 3 healthy pregnancies behind me, I knew. I was pregnant.
Though you weren’t a ‘timed’ pregnancy, you was most definitely a planned one. By that, we knew we wanted 4 kids, just didn’t know that it would be this soon.
From day one, everything about this pregnancy seemed right. It was God’s timing, not ours. It was in the middle of a move we weren’t even sure we would make until the month before. And we had an offer on a house initially that would have been too small for a growing family…and we beat the odds with our new house which would fit us all perfectly. The cards had all fallen in to place for this pregnancy to happen.
Though it took a couple of weeks for the shock to wear off and the idea of 4 kids to settle in, both your Daddy and I were elated, especially knowing you were so meant to be. I had a certainty about it that I didn’t have with any of the other kids. Within a week we had told your big brothers and they were so excited to tell all our family and close friends. We had already begun to imagine what our family would look like. We began making plans, arranging vacations, and ‘sick leave’ based on your impending arrival. July couldn’t get here soon enough…