You are the Person I Wrote this For

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.

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And P.S., this is my life right now:

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On October 15th, Break the Silence…

October 15th is tomorrow.  A day that marks ‘Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day’.  I’m re-posting a post from a couple of years ago because my online reach is far greater than it was then, and because of that, there’s an opportunity for greater awareness and less taboo.  Sadly, many friends have shared in this experience over the past year, so this is for them.  Here is my story:

*****

I struggled to write this post.  Really struggled.  Not just with the emotion of it all, but with the feelings of vulnerability and complete exposure that this topic brings out in me.  But that’s why it needs to be written…..to break the silence, prevent the stigma, and end the taboo surrounding miscarriage.

I had a miscarriage last year.  We lost our baby on April 6th, 2011, at 11 weeks and 6 days gestation.  One day shy of the magic ’12-weeks-pregnant’ mark where the stats on miscarriage decrease dramatically.  I was wrapped up with the excitement of another baby, and we were already envisioning life as a family-of-four.  In a cruel twist of irony, we had signed the papers for our bigger-with-an-extra-bedroom-house the weekend prior.  I had told friends and family of my pregnancy, even casually mentioned it to acquaintances, and sorted through bins of my maternity clothes.  And then it all ended.  My miscarriage was very sudden, very graphic, and very traumatic.  There was no doubt what was happening to our baby as we rushed to the ER, and as I laid on a triage bed next to my heartbroken husband, the loss overwhelmed me.

Those next few weeks are a haze of tears and despair.  My mom flew out to support us, and helped me get through the physical and emotional struggle of the first few days.  I ended up with a D&C surgery two weeks later, as I was deemed to have experienced an ‘incomplete miscarriage’.  The day following my surgery, I flew to New York City to spend the weekend with my two best friends.  And as I reflect on that difficult time in my life, I can see that’s where my heart began to heal.  Sister-like friends have that power.

That baby would’ve been due on October 27th, 2011.  I was dreading that day on the calendar, which had already been circled in a big red heart when we initially found out I was pregnant.  But as October 27th approached, I found myself blessed with another pregnancy; my beloved Casey was born on March 2nd, 2012, only 11 months after the miscarriage.  My gratitude for her is exponentially greater after feeling the hopelessness of loss.

There are three things that helped me get through this:

1. A memorial.  We carved a cross on a big tree in our favorite walking trails in remembrance of our lost baby.  That tree is a source of comfort for me, and a place we visit as a family several times a year.  My 3.5-year-old calls it our ‘special tree’.  I like to think of it as our ‘healing tree’.

2. Time.  While the grief and pain from this experience is not gone, it has lessened.  Time heals.  And my heart has healed a lot in 18 months.

3. Talking about it.  When this happened, I told the details to all of my family and friends.  I told my parents and my in-laws.  I told my sister-in-laws.  I told my girlfriends.  Talking about it helped me to process things, but it also helped to break down the stigma.  Miscarriage is still a taboo topic, and people don’t know what to say when it happens to someone they know.  It will happen to someone you know.  Up to 25% of known pregnancies result in miscarriage, 80% of those occurring in the first trimester.  Don’t say nothing.  Acknowledge the loss.  Because saying nothing only perpetuates the silence.

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Month.  On October 15th at 7pm, I will be joining many other people around the world in lighting a candle to remember the babies we’ve lost.  And I will be hugging the babies I have, thankful beyond measure.

candle


Break the Silence….. Again…..

I’m re-posting my blog post from last year, from the week of October 15th.  I’m doing this because my online reach is far greater than it was a year ago, and because of that, there’s an opportunity for greater awareness and less taboo.  October 15th is ‘Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day’.  Here is my story:

*****

I struggled to write this post.  Really struggled.  Not just with the emotion of it all, but with the feelings of vulnerability and complete exposure that this topic brings out in me.  But that’s why it needs to be written…..to break the silence, prevent the stigma, and end the taboo surrounding miscarriage.

I had a miscarriage last year.  We lost our baby on April 6th, 2011, at 11 weeks and 6 days gestation.  One day shy of the magic ’12-weeks-pregnant’ mark where the stats on miscarriage decrease dramatically.  I was wrapped up with the excitement of another baby, and we were already envisioning life as a family-of-four.  In a cruel twist of irony, we had signed the papers for our bigger-with-an-extra-bedroom-house the weekend prior.  I had told friends and family of my pregnancy, even casually mentioned it to acquaintances, and sorted through bins of my maternity clothes.  And then it all ended.  My miscarriage was very sudden, very graphic, and very traumatic.  There was no doubt what was happening to our baby as we rushed to the ER, and as I laid on a triage bed next to my heartbroken husband, the loss overwhelmed me.

Those next few weeks are a haze of tears and despair.  My mom flew out to support us, and helped me get through the physical and emotional struggle of the first few days.  I ended up with a D&C surgery two weeks later, as I was deemed to have experienced an ‘incomplete miscarriage’.  The day following my surgery, I flew to New York City to spend the weekend with my two best friends.  And as I reflect on that difficult time in my life, I can see that’s where my heart began to heal.  Sister-like friends have that power.

That baby would’ve been due on October 27th, 2011.  I was dreading that day on the calendar, which had already been circled in a big red heart when we initially found out I was pregnant.  But as October 27th approached, I found myself blessed with another pregnancy; my beloved Casey was born on March 2nd, 2012, only 11 months after the miscarriage.  My gratitude for her is exponentially greater after feeling the hopelessness of loss.

There are three things that helped me get through this:

1. A memorial.  We carved a cross on a big tree in our favorite walking trails in remembrance of our lost baby.  That tree is a source of comfort for me, and a place we visit as a family several times a year.  My 3.5-year-old calls it our ‘special tree’.  I like to think of it as our ‘healing tree’.

2. Time.  While the grief and pain from this experience is not gone, it has lessened.  Time heals.  And my heart has healed a lot in 18 months.

3. Talking about it.  When this happened, I told the details to all of my family and friends.  I told my parents and my in-laws.  I told my sister-in-laws.  I told my girlfriends.  Talking about it helped me to process things, but it also helped to break down the stigma.  Miscarriage is still a taboo topic, and people don’t know what to say when it happens to someone they know.  It will happen to someone you know.  Up to 25% of known pregnancies result in miscarriage, 80% of those occurring in the first trimester.  Don’t say nothing.  Acknowledge the loss.  Because saying nothing only perpetuates the silence.

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Month.  On October 15th at 7pm, I will be joining many other people around the world in lighting a candle to remember the babies we’ve lost.  And I will be hugging the babies I have, thankful beyond measure.

candle