Saturday

Today is tough, because I really think it was last Saturday that William passed away. I don't know why. I just felt a little different that day. I felt really good nausea-wise, and I just felt...different. Empty. Like there wasn't a living person inside me. I only see that looking back. I figured I was feeling a little different because I was finally feeling good and feeling semi-normal. But really, I think that's what happened.

Today I went to Lowe's to get paint samples for E's big girl room. I was doing okay until a couple came over to the paint chips. She was about 7 months pregnant. They were picking out paint for their nursery. I wanted to yell at them and tell them what I was going through. Of course, I kept running into them in the store. They even ended up right behind me at the check out. Somehow I held it together until I got home. I picked up some beautiful yellow tulips too. A friend told me that she had planted some bulbs right after her miscarriage, and that was her way of remembering her children every spring when they started to bloom. I liked that idea.

We were up until 3am last night again. I hate going to bed. I put it off until my eyes hurt from watching too much mind-distracting TV, and then it has to be done. It's always when I'm brushing my teeth that I break down. I think it's just because I have nothing else to think about while I'm getting ready for bed. And there's something about seeing myself in the mirror that makes everything more real. It's like when I see myself I'm reminded that this is all happening to me and that I'm looking at a woman with a 3-month pregnancy belly who is supposed to be pregnant but who is carrying a dead baby. And then I break down into great sobbing fits with my mouth full of toothpaste and Ben runs upstairs and we talk and cry until 3 am. And then I beg him to go get E and put her in bed with me. And he does, and I hug her until I fall asleep and Ben puts her back in her crib. And then he wakes up at 6 and goes to work. And the next day it starts all over again.

Thoughts for Friday

Some reasons why grief after miscarriage is more complicated than grief after the death of a loved-one:

1) It's almost always very sudden and you don't know when it happens. You can't pinpoint a date or time of death. You will always mourn the day that you found out, not the day it happened.

2) You have to deal with the fact that you will never meet this person that you already love so much.

3) You're mourning the loss of a future for a person you will never meet.

4) There's nothing physical to bury or to memorialize. There's no body to have a funeral. There's nothing that other people can physically see.

5) No one understands what you're going through unless they themselves have been through the same thing before.

6) You have no good memories or photos of your child to get you through the tough spots.

7) You feel strange having extreme grief for a person you never met or touched and almost doesn't seem real, yet the grief you feel is very very real.

8) There's always the what if--what if I had been better about my prenatals? What if I hadn't taken that medication? What if I hadn't lifted E's carseat?

9) You've been through months of suffering, through extreme morning sickness, fatigue, etc. all knowing that in the end it will pay off--and now it won't.

10) You go through the physical pain of miscarriage and again, come out with nothing.

11) Because I have another wonderful child, I know what I'm missing out on.

12) I never got to hold him, but he's so real. I feel just like I've lost E. The pain is no different.

13) All of a sudden the plan that you have for your family changes dramatically.

14) You're grieving the loss of the innocence of pregnancy. You know that if you're pregnant again, it will be filled with dread and anxiety, not just the pure happiness and innocence it once was.

15) You're grieving the loss of the idea that you are in control of your life. You realize that all is up to God and we have no control.

Some things I've been thinking about.

Wednesday

I woke up repeating "Liam" over and over again in my head. He just seemed so real, so tangible to me. Giving him a name really helped me to give him an identity, to make him a real, living person, to make me sure he wouldn't be forgotten. It eased some of the pain, gave me someone to grieve.

I think I've been pretty much crying all day. This feels nothing like I would have expected it to feel. I feel like I've lost a living child, it feels just like if I lost E. This baby is so real to us. At least to me. Ben of course, is devestated, but it's nothing like what I'm feeling. I think that surprised me. I think he's more distressed by seeing me so distressed.

Why doesn't anyone talk about this? I wish I would have been warned. No one ever says how hard it is to lose a baby. No one. I wish people would be more open about this.

I've been checking my Facebook and email all day. I can't believe how many comments and messages I've gotten. I really feel very loved. Just missing the little one I love so much.

The First Day of Grief

I sobbed in the car all the way to my mom's house to pick up 2-year-old E. I couldn't wait to hold her in my arms, to have my child to touch.

They were sitting on the couch when I walked in.

"There's no heartbeat."

I could barely get it out before collapsing onto the couch.

I don't remember what was said. I calmed down, and we talked some more, and then we both started crying again. And sweet E, wonderful little girl, came running in from the other room where she was watching us, and looked up at us with those innocent little barely 2-year-old eyes and said,

"What's wrong guys?"

We both started laughing. Then she turned to me and said,

"Sorry, Mommy." And to my mom, "Sorry, Grandma." And she put her head down and pretended to cry too, for a good 30 seconds. Just the compassion of a 2-year-old was incredible. I'm so grateful for her.

My mom was wonderful enough to drop everything she was doing that day and come to our house. I didn't want to be alone.

After lunch I got on the phone and called to cancel my first-trimester ultrasound sceening. That was one of my favorite things when I was pregnant with E. It was supposed to be the next day. The nurse got my information, and I told her I needed to cancel my appointment for the next day. And then came the dreaded question.

"What's the reason for the cancellation?"

"The baby no longer has a heartbeat."

Silence.

"I'm really sorry. Thank you for calling."

Why do they have to ask questions like that? The other one I'm dreading is "What's the reason for the return?" when I go return the maternity clothes and few baby items I've bought. Those are terrible questions.

Mom stayed for hours and watched mind-numbing TV. Then she went home. And I started telling people.

I sent out an email to close friends. And then I did something that seemed so unfeeling, but the most efficient way to get the word out since we had told everyone already. I logged on to my Facebook account and posted simply,

"Sad news. No heartbeat today."

And then I cried some more.