October 15th is soon rolling around again. October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.
I had a devastating miscarriage in 2011 and I often pour my heart out about it around this time of year; the purpose being to try to lessen the stigma of miscarriage and the awfulness that surrounds it. Every year, when I publish ‘Break the Silence,’ I have women email me to share their stories of grief and loss. Sometimes these women are complete strangers who found me through WordPress. Sometimes these women are patients who haven’t told me about their experiences. Sometimes these women are friends, sometimes good friends….. and most times I have no idea they’ve been through this pain until I receive their email. So this tells me that there is still stigma, there is still silence, there is still suffering, and there is still work to do.
If you have not yet read my ‘Break the Silence‘ post, I hope that you will today.
However, this year, I’m going to approach things differently. Today I am going to tell you about what can happen after a miscarriage. Today I’m going to try to give you hope that there is another side, a happy side, beyond all of your sadness. For me, that happy side came in the form of my daughter. My rainbow baby, some would say; a beautiful and bright spot that comes following a storm.
I’ve written about her many times over the years, from what she taught me on maternity leave, to her fiery strength, to her happy disposition, to my hopes and dreams for her….. but I haven’t written about what that little girl does for my heart. I mean really, really does for my heart. You see, she helped me out of my deep sadness into an even deeper happiness. The thing is, she thinks I hung the moon; she’s my shadow, my sidekick, my little buddy. When her little feet pad into our bedroom at all hours of the night and she whispers, “Mommy, can we snuggle?”, oh my sweet girl, of course we can.
My miscarriage is still in the back of my mind, but it’s not at the front, like it used to be. It still hurts to remember, but it doesn’t hurt as much, not like it used to be. I don’t remember the anniversary of our loss every year, not like it used to be. And I don’t tear up when I talk about it, not like it used to be. So if you’re reading this and you’re nodding your head in understanding or crying your tears in heartbreak, well then, you are the person I wrote this for. Email me, talk to me, and I will share your sorrow.
And P.S., this is my life right now:
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