Hello, grief. It feels all too familiar, and unfortunately, it hasn’t been long since I last faced it.
Just two weeks ago, I experienced a miscarriage. This occurred only sixteen months after the heartbreaking loss of my 14-month-old daughter, Sophie. Life must go on; we will continue to live, love, and even find joy in laughter – yet the weight of sorrow feels more than sufficient. Because, truly, it has been enough.
When we decided to expand our family for a third time, the thought of miscarriage didn’t cross my mind. Perhaps it should have – being 36 years old – but it didn’t. I was preoccupied with other considerations, yet we chose to embrace hope. Soon enough, I found out I was pregnant.
That day, looking in the mirror, I noticed a radiant glow. I was aware of it; my partner confirmed it. I felt as if I had won the lottery. With my awareness of life’s fragility, I understood that nothing is guaranteed. Having gone through so much already, I felt as if I was holding a precious gift. I envisioned Sophie, hand-picking a sibling for us in heaven, sending them our way. In that moment, it felt like everything was perfect.
Then came the bleeding. It was relentless. Despite the growing conversations around miscarriage, it remains a profoundly silent ordeal. The physical pain caught me off guard. I had spent considerable time grappling with the emotional anguish, yet I hadn’t fully prepared for the physical suffering accompanying it.
The physical discomfort is overwhelming, messy, and feels almost like an affront to what I was already enduring. I navigated through town, emotionally shattered and physically losing my child – bleeding and cramping while picking up my toddler from daycare, experiencing clots while pushing a swing at the playground, rushing out of the grocery store empty-handed because I could no longer stand.
The emotional toll is staggering. It robs me of breath, fills my heart to the brim, and brings me to my knees. When I knew for certain I was miscarrying, I coped by imagining Sophie in heaven confronting God, expressing her anger, and defending her parents. I felt proud of her for this fiery spirit. I pictured our determined daughter insisting she knew best for us, chastising God for allowing our dreams to shatter.
Eventually, though, I shifted my thoughts to the many other mothers who felt like the luckiest women alive – celebrating answered prayers, eagerly awaiting morning sickness and fatigue, joyfully picturing their growing children. I pondered: “What if God knew one baby had to be sent who would not survive, one that would bring fleeting hope followed by profound sorrow?”
Then I paused and reflected: “What if Sophie volunteered for this? What if she understood that I would want another mother’s dreams fulfilled first, another mother’s prayers answered? What if she believed in our resilience, love, and patience, and asked God to send this baby to us?”
Tears streamed down my face as I cried proud tears – proud of my daughter in heaven, proud of her belief in us, and proud to love both her and her sibling with all that we have, no matter what life brings us.
For now, it’s been enough – the pain has been enough. But equally important, they are enough – these two children, this life, and this love that will always endure. Hopefully, love will continue to carry us through whatever comes next.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the profound emotional and physical pain of experiencing a miscarriage, particularly after previously losing a child. The author navigates feelings of grief, pride, and hope, connecting the loss to the broader experience of motherhood and the enduring love for her children.