The (mis)Understanding and Grief of Miscarriage

People look at me like I’m some over-emotional wreck. After all, I only miscarried. It isn’t like it was an actual physical baby for crying out loud. I mean, really, I was only barely 6 weeks pregnant. Most people don’t even realize they are pregnant at that point. I’m grieving like I lost a child I’ve known, raised, and loved for years. What the heck is wrong with me?!

I’ll tell you what is wrong with me. I AM grieving a child I’ve longed for and loved before it was even in existence. I AM grieving a physical child. My baby may have died when she was just the size of an orange seed, but she was MINE. My baby.

People don’t seem to get that. They don’t get it until they actually experience it. I get why women are so damaged after abortions. It is traumatizing when your body does it naturally, I can’t imagine the grief over a decided…willed…planned abortion. And I will forever fight for those little ones. Forever.

My first miscarriage happened at 15 weeks gestation. I went to bed one night with a little tummy ache. No cramps. Just a tummy ache. In the early morning I woke John up and told him I was driving myself to the ER because I had cramps…they weren’t bad at that point, but I knew cramps were not a good sign during pregnancy. I got there. Of course they took their time admitting me. The waiting room was empty and it still took 45 minutes to get me in there. Anyway…
I got gowned up and was waiting for the doctor. At that point the cramps were regular and semi painful. I was worried. The doctor came in and I sat at the edge of the bed as he asked me questions about how I was feeling. Then there was the “popping” sound. You know, the one where your water breaks during labor. I didn’t even need to tell the doctor what I was feeling. He heard it. You know what he told me? “It is happening. Just lay back and relax. It may take a while.” And he walked out of the room.
Now fast forward to last Tuesday afternoon…
Everything was normal. I was feeling great. Going about my normal daily activities of hanging clothes on the line. I felt a little bit of wetness. Didn’t think anything of it. Then there was some more. I finished what I was doing and went into the bathroom. Blood. Lots and lots of blood. I began to sob. I cleaned myself up and went to tell John. More tears. Lots more tears. I went into the clinic where the doctor that I saw told me that it is most likely a miscarriage especially since it is so early and that I should go home and rest. “Just lay down and relax. It may take a few days. So try to rest and let your body work.” Hmmm.
“Just relax”… “Try to rest”… Sure. I’ll try to relax while my body rejects a baby. Sure. I can rest while I think about all the “tissue” coming out of me. My baby. My baby that was but is no longer. The life inside of me dead. How is a mother supposed to relax and rest while her body…her womb – which is supposed to be the safest place for a baby – rejects the life inside. How is an expectant mother supposed to just sit back and “let it happen”. You can’t even imagine how heart wrenching it is to sit there and be completely out of control of the situation and FEEL your child die. If you could imagine that, then maybe you’d understand the grief of a mother over a miscarried baby. I realize there are circumstances that I may never know or are completely out of my control that brought this on. But that doesn’t make it any easier. Someone told me that one in four pregnancies end in miscarriage and most of the time the women don’t even realize they are pregnant. *here would be a great plug for NFP (natural family planning). Because I am almost certain that a large percentage of those cases are of women who are on the pill who miscarry. The pill – which is an abortifacient: it doesn’t prevent pregnancy…what it prevents is the attachment of the fertilized egg to the uterine wall. Thus aborting an already fertilized egg (AKA a baby). But I won’t go into that at the moment.* Though I am sure that this person meant well, it really dug deep. Like I am supposed to find comfort in a fact like that. That’s like telling grieving parents of a son who was killed in a car accident that someone dies in a car accident every 45 seconds. Like because it is apparently so common it shouldn’t be so hard to experience. Not so. It was my baby that died in my womb 4 years ago. It was another one of my babies that died in my womb one week ago. And it was my brother who was killed in a car accident 4 years ago. Though the grief is a little bit different, the loss is the same. The loss of a life. The loss of a LOVED ONE. And though her life was very short, she was very much loved. She was very much wanted. I longed for a baby for more than a year before we even decided it was time to try again. And then it took 4 months before conceiving. She was loved. She was very loved. Our hearts were so ready for her. Our family was so ready to welcome another child. And for whatever reason, she was not meant to be ours for very long. There is some comfort in knowing she will be waiting with her brother and her uncle and grandparents…she is loved where she is just as she is loved where she isn’t.

Lyla Jayne Backowski - June 14, 2011
Rest In Peace Sweet Baby of Mine

Happy Father’s Day Stephen…will you take care of her for me? Love her and snuggle her and keep her smiling until I can hold her myself.