I wasn’t going to write about it this year. Our loss. Three years later. It’s not that we didn’t remember. Or that we don’t. It was just I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have the words. I didn’t know what to say.
The sad reality is, I’m a member of a club in which nobody should or ever wants to be included.
Miscarriage. Infant loss.
I sat in church alone as I heard the pastor say that we should keep a family in our prayers at the loss of their baby.
Immediately, I knew who it was. Immediately, tears. For them. And cussing to myself (yes, in church because no words are good enough).
I wanted to take it all away. Their hurt. Their pain. Their confusion. Their questions.
But the truth is, nothing can do any of that. Nothing can come anywhere close to it.
The whole service I cried for them. I cried for us.
I went to the pastor after the service just praying it wasn’t them. (Not that I want it to be anybody). But it was. It is. I truly had no idea what to do or what to say. It was like I had forgotten what I wanted and what I needed. And, I even wrote a post about it (I had forgotten until just today): What to say and do when somebody experiences this loss. (Dinner is a winner. Wine was included. Communicated and arranged with the husband or relative. Just a drop and run.)
It’s so hush-hush. They didn’t want to tell anybody. We didn’t want to tell anybody! Why? Why are we so uncomfortable telling people about it? Why do we hide? Why do we not acknowledge a miscarriage in the same way we would if somebody lost their one day old? Or their one week old? Or their three month old? Or their mother? Or their grandmother? Why is there shame associated with it? Why do we feel like it’s our fault?
Why? Why? Why?
I don’t know the answers. I only know that nobody truly understands this until/if they go through it. They survive it. Eventually, somehow, they/you get to a day where it’s a little easier. And then a week where it’s a little easier. Then sometimes, a day sneaks up on them/you and it’s just a crappy day.
Maybe that day is the same week you are remembering your loss when that friend asks you how to tell their child. Or when you are trying to figure out what to do or what to say to them. And remembering that nothing you can say or do will really make it any different, but just knowing that people are there for you helps.
Maybe that day turns into a week when you/I find out yet another friend is suffering a loss of her unborn baby. It just brings it all back. Back to that very same day you/I found out that y/our baby had grown wings.
So, this week, this month, I remember for you. I remember for them. I remember for us. Because right now, they are living their own personal hell and it’s spinning and sucky and just plain hurts.