It’s been a little over two months since I lost my baby in a miscarriage.
But strangely, it feels like an eternity has passed since those long, painful hours that consumed me.
I feel very distanced from that raw, vulnerable woman who couldn’t bear to be parted from her son who was the only thing that brought warmth back into her heart.
That is, I felt very distanced.
When I found out a dear friend just lost her baby in almost the exact same circumstances that I did.
And in the blink of an eye I was there again.
And then tears filled my eyes to think my friend was there now.
After talking with my friend, I decided to post something that I have been very hesitant to post, because I didn’t want to offend anyone.
But I’ve decided to post it with the intention of trying to help those women who have never had a miscarriage.
Those women who may have been like me before mine.
Who have no idea what to say to someone who has one.
Who may even avoid a person or avoid talking about a person’s miscarriage, because you don’t know what to say.
Because it was only after having my miscarriage that I realized the things I thought were okay to say really didn’t help at all…..
“Don’t worry, you’ll get pregnant again.”
I used to think those were very reassuring words.
Words to cling to.
But when I was fresh in my grief, those words held no comfort for me.
I wasn’t worried about getting pregnant again.
That didn’t matter to me right then.
What mattered to me was the pregnancy and baby that I used to have and didn’t anymore.
The pregnancies that would come later had no power to bring back the one I had lost.
And what I wanted right then was the one I had lost.
“Don’t miscarriages happen because there’s something wrong with the baby?”
But I didn’t care.
I still wanted my baby.
And I still missed my baby.
“At least it happened early on.”
But what matters is it happened.
And when it happens, there’s pain.
There may be less pain than if it happened later.
But there’s still pain.
“Miscarriages are very common.”
But it doesn’t make them easier.
(Except for the fact that other women understood how I felt and I didn’t feel alone).
“Oh, Heidi, that’s awful and I’m so sorry.”
Time and again, I was amazed at the power of such simple words.
Just the direct acknowledgment that I had gone through something terrible.
And the expression of their sorrow for me.
That was all I needed.
That was enough.
Now, I truly hope that I haven’t offended anyone.
Because honestly, I was never bothered or offended by anything anyone said to comfort me.
I was always touched and grateful when someone went out of their way to try to make me feel better.
But I was also very surprised at the thoughts I had in those early days of intense grief and anger when I sat alone by myself.
And I’ve only written them to try to help others understand a little.
And to remember.