I felt the need to write about my recent miscarriage for both healing, and for other women experiencing the deep pain of losing a baby too soon. It blind sided me somewhat, and I didn’t know where to turn at first for guidance.
Back in February, I woke up feeling nauseous one night. I just knew right then without a shadow of a doubt that I was expecting. A pregnancy test or two confirmed it, and despite feeling unprepared for another baby, I felt a wave of peace. The usual fatigue and other pregnancy symptoms settled in and a long few months followed. It gave me comfort to dream about who this little one was going to be, what we would name the baby, and how the kids would be so excited. We planned to tell them on Veronica’s birthday which was the day after our scheduled ultra sound.
When the time came to hear the heartbeat for the first time, it had been a tough few weeks, and we were both eager to hear our little one. My sister had so generously offered to stay with the kids so Gabe could be there too.
I always look forward to hearing the heartbeat of my baby. It is one of the best sounds in the world. I was 10 weeks along, and it was supposed to be just a check up. The first midwife we saw did a bedside doppler on my stomach. She couldn’t find the heartbeat, but reassured us that it was probably still too early in the pregnancy to be able to. I immediately connected this to how I had suddenly stopped feeling icky the week before and in my gut I knew something was wrong. She suggested we just do an ultrasound. A nurse tech walked us into the room as I held my breath. She was so kind to us, and gave us only uplifting comments about how this was our 6th baby. (What an important role nurses and doctors can have during these times.) We anxiously awaited to see our baby moving around on the screen, and as Gabe and I were marveling over all the little features that had already formed, I noticed the nurse go silent. There was no heartbeat. There was no longer life. As she spoke the words, itt was a feeling of immediate loss and devastation. A surreal moment that our baby and the life that was supposed to be was no longer with me.
When you feel the aching emptiness that you will never hold your baby, it feels as though someone has taken the wind out of you. It feels right then and there that your heart has a gaping hole. Gabe also was devastated, and the nurse allowed us some privacy as we consoled each other. I think it is important to remember, the fathers hurt too. He held my hand in silence the whole way home, and we tried to process the news in between the hustle of our very busy home.
We decided to wait for the baby to pass naturally at home which happened a few weeks later. It was by far the hardest experiences of my life physically and emotionally. It opened my eyes to the excruciating physical pain, grief, and trauma women experience in miscarriage. When you are pregnant, you immediately give so much to your baby. The nausea, fatigue, aches, and growing body seem a small price to pay for the gift of a new life. However, when that life doesn’t come to full bloom it is something so difficult to process. You struggle to make sense of your empty arms. It is one thing to suffer physically for the sake of a new life, but it is another to suffer physically as a result of a death. Gabe never left my side through the labor pains and the tears. He physically and emotionally held me up when I was too weak to do it on my own.
I also felt God so near. He showed up for me in the past few weeks in such personal ways. Through letters from my sisters, words from my mother, meals, flowers, and messages from friends, kisses from my children, the kindness of the nurses, and the embrace of my spouse. Pain and suffering can drown us if we let it, but they can also be our teachers. Throughout the last few weeks I have never experienced the depth of the love of God as I did through this time.
Before we lost the baby, I had told Gabe I thought it was a girl. Just an instinct I had. I knew it would help me in the healing process to have a better semblance of who our baby was to have a name. I fell asleep one night with a prayer to know who my baby might have been. Right before I woke up the next morning, I had a very vivid dream that I was gazing at a tree with small green buds on it’s branches. It was covered in the most beautiful vivid pink ornaments that shimmered in the dawn of a grey-ish blue morning sky. I was trying to snap a picture of it in my dream to hold onto the memory. For me it felt like a confirmation and consolation. A little girl who wouldn’t come to full bloom here on earth, but was very much alive in the arms of her creator.
We went out today to find a tree to create a memorial for her. Gabe spent so much time looking for just the right one. And wouldn’t you know, we found a magnolia that happens to bloom vivid pink blooms in the Spring.
Although she came unexpectedly and left us unexpectedly she was still a beautiful song in our lives. I learned more from this baby in a few short months than I have in my lifetime. I see my children with a renewed perspective of the miracles they are. For this reason, we chose the name Cecilia Rose. Cecilia after the patron saint of music, and Rose (mine and my daughter Veronica’s middle name) because she came to us in the spring. So we lift our heavy hearts to sing a song of thanksgiving for this little angel. I am so grateful to have been her first home.
“We shall find our little ones again up above.” – St. Marie Azelie
If you are going through this and need someone to talk to about it, please don’t ever hesitate to reach out. A follow up post on this topic: Pregnancy loss and the recovery process.
