It’s been 14 days since the loss of our baby was confirmed.
In that time I cried, yelled, shook, slept, medicated, cried, bargained, begged, wrote, cried, researched, and pitied.
I balanced on the fine line between grief and depression, unsure of which side of the line I was on, scared to sink too low.
I felt incredibly alone, guilty, and angry with my body.
This was the one thing it was supposed to be able to do and it didn’t.
It was after a week in bed, and the encouraging words from sweet friends who had been there, that I came to realize that miscarriage is still a taboo subject.
It’s a horrible word.
And some people will never understand the impact it has on a woman or her family, or the emotional rollercoaster a woman will go through after experiencing the loss of a baby.
The minute a woman finds out she is pregnant she is in love.
Her body doesn’t stop changing from that second, making her instantly aware of her baby. Her sense of smell is heightened; hormones change breast size and complexion; her uterus can be felt stretching through ligament pain.
It’s a miracle even in its most uncomfortable moments.
There isn’t a day that goes by that she doesn’t know she’s creating a life, and should that tiny baby be taken away she loses a piece of herself too.
She questions her ability to give life, and every other pregnancy after that will be a rollercoaster of wonder and doubt.
The guilt that follows the loss is horrendous and crippling; it keeps a grieving woman awake at night re-playing her pregnancy and what she could have done differently.
Friends pregnancies are celebrated but painful, a reminder of the baby that never was.
Days and months lighten the grief but it never goes away, it just becomes manageable.
That tiny life that wasn’t “viable?”
It was already born in the woman’s eyes.
There were plans being made, names being thought of, a room painted, clothes sorted, strollers picked out, and so much love already given.
It was her child.
And she will always grieve her loss.
Because she was already a mother.