I have three children. Three beautiful, amazing, wonderful children here on earth. I have others on the other side of the rainbow. Each successful pregnancy bookended by loss. Except the last. I knew after he was born that my journey with infertility and loss was over. He was the bright ending to 10 years of heartbreak.
People assume that having children, be it through birth or adoption, equals healing. That there is some ability to replace a loss with a healthy baby. Maybe that is true for some people but I often find that my own pain lies dormant. That it hides beneath baby giggles, first steps and warm cuddles.
That is, until something causes it to come creeping back into my heart. Some painful reminder that I have suffered a great injustice in this life. An indescribable loss of life. A deception perpetrated by my own body.
And my heart breaks like a crystal vase on tile.
Shattering what healing and peace I had started to feel.
I find myself wishing that there was some magical cure for this ailment. This deformity of my heart. I dream of some kind of pixie dust that I can sprinkle all over myself and the multitude of other Mom’s walking down this same broken path.
A month ago, a Mom friend of mine found out her fourth baby has trisomy 18. As I read her posts, my heart tore open and my scars began to ache for her. I experienced literal flashbacks of high level ultrasounds and hushed technicians. Not because I have experienced anything even remotely similar to her (I haven’t) but because I have been in that room.
I have felt the sadness where there should be joy. I have watched as the technician tries to stealthily turn the screen away. Hoping you didn’t notice that something was wrong. I have taken that long walk past happily pregnant couples while trying to hide the anguish bubbling up inside. I have prayed for strength just to make it to my car.
The pain of pregnancy loss is creeping. It hides dormant in a woman’s heart. Never fully vanishing. It is awakened by the painful announcements of other Mom’s broken hearts. Creeping up when we least expect it.
On the eve of October 15th, Pregnancy & Early Infant Loss Remembrance Day, I allow myself to reflect on my losses. To recall the pain. I call upon all of us mother’s of loss to speak up. To share our stories.
There is no shame in our bodies inability to conceive. There is no shame in our losses. There is no shame in admitting that sometimes we just hurt. That sometimes the creeping pain of pregnancy loss is more than we can bare.
Only in the light will we begin to heal. Only by accepting that a part of our hearts will always live on the other side of heaven, will we truly learn to appreciate the rain.