My first experience with miscarriage came unexpectedly, leaving me more bewildered than heartbroken. My partner, Alex, and I had just begun to digest the news of a positive pregnancy test when we faced the abrupt loss, leaving us both in a state of shock. We didn’t discuss it much. I shed a few tears, while Alex immersed himself in work, and we simply moved forward.
The second miscarriage occurred at nine weeks. By then, I had known I was pregnant for about four weeks, and we had shared the news with family and friends. I felt the typical signs of pregnancy—nausea and fatigue. At our first ultrasound, the doctor noticed a heartbeat that was weaker than expected and scheduled us for a follow-up a week later. “You might just be earlier along than you thought,” they reassured us. But upon returning, we learned the heartbeat was even fainter.
“You will need a D&C,” the doctor informed us. Holding hands, we made the necessary calls amid streams of tears. Yet again, we found ourselves at a loss for words. I cried a bit more this time, and we filled our days with work, home improvements, and caring for our toddler, Leo.
The following weekend, Alex returned home with a trunk filled with vibrant flowers and plants, yearning to cultivate a sense of life in our home. We invested considerably in gardening supplies, planting a variety of flowers and vegetables, including a tall hibiscus. While Leo napped upstairs, we engaged in this ritual. Alex did most of the planting while I observed silently. He filled large pots with flowers in shades of yellow, orange, and red, and planted tomatoes along the house. Centered in a mound of soil, the tall hibiscus stood proudly, surrounded by clusters of colorful impatiens.
As he dug and tended the garden, words were unnecessary. We both understood the significance of the hibiscus—it symbolized the child we had lost, a silent tribute to a soul we left behind in the sterile environment of the hospital.
Months later, I experienced another miscarriage, and once again, our conversations remained minimal, focused solely on necessary arrangements. Despite being a couple known for our lively discussions—both lawyers with a penchant for debate—our words seemed insufficient in the wake of such profound grief. What could we possibly say? The emotions felt too immense for mere language to convey.
There were distractions, however. Leo, at two years old, offered endless anecdotes ranging from humorous to challenging. We discussed the economy and my partner’s demanding job, then later contemplated moving out of the city. Although I never verbalized what the hibiscus meant to me, each time I saw it, a sense of peace washed over me—raw and tarnished, yet comforting.
Eventually, we moved and rented our house to a group of young adults, and the hibiscus withered away. In truth, it likely wouldn’t have survived regardless of our presence; the soil was poor and my gardening skills lacking. A couple of years later, while tidying up the property, I noticed a semi-circle of bricks surrounding the spot where the hibiscus once thrived. I paused there to bid farewell to our little angel without lingering or discussing it.
Earlier this year, we sold that house, and as I awaited confirmation from our lawyer, memories of the hibiscus and the sorrow buried in the earth flooded my mind. I envisioned Alex on his knees, digging, planting, and nurturing—an enduring image of love that transcended words.
Perhaps it was in this silence—in not discussing our pain—that we grew closer together and stronger as individuals. In the unspoken moments, we each mourned in our own way, on our own timeline. Through caring for that hibiscus and for one another, we discovered love as an action rather than a feeling. By refraining from offering words of comfort, we managed to truly witness each other’s grief and resilience, which may have been the most significant gift we could offer one another.
For those navigating similar paths, consider exploring resources like Resolve for family building options or this resource for insights on pregnancy loss. If you’re interested in home insemination, you can read about it at Make a Mom.
In summary, the journey through loss is often shrouded in silence, yet it can foster a deep connection between partners. Even without words, couples can learn to navigate grief, finding strength and solidarity in their shared experiences.