Something to Hold On To

[This entry was written on December 27]

I have been struggling with the fact that I am not carrying anything tangible out of this experience. I have nothing to prove that this baby was ever here. All I have is this raw emotion, the devastating grief. I wish I had something to clutch in my hand and cry over. Something to lift to the sky as I ask, “Why, why did this have to happen?” When you lose someone, there is a service and a grave and the clothes and the pictures… There is a public display of grief and just as public, the overflow of support and care for the people who lost someone. But for me, losing this baby feels like a big secret. I am not saying that my grief is more difficult handle (I do not dare to image what it is like to loose an actual child), but it is just different. I feel like the loss is so big, and yet there is nothing I can show for it. I have to go on with my life pretending that nothing happened. Because as far as most people are concerned—nothing did happen. I was out sick for a few days, and that’s that. So in a way, I feel like I am living a lie. Living with this horrible secret that I can’t share. Watching everyone’s life go on while mine is a big dark hole. Going through the motions and pretending to be fine when I feel so hollow inside.

I debated whether I need to have something tangible to make me remember this experience. Would it give me closure—or would it just constantly remind me of the pain?

I saw an angel figure holding a little child—“An Angel’s Embrace”—and I broke down, right there in the Hall.mark store. I felt so mad at this angel for taking my baby away. I was so jealous and so sad that I couldn’t give my baby this embrace, that I couldn’t hold my baby close with his/her arms draped over my shoulders. So I didn’t buy it. I didn’t know if I wanted to have something that would make me cry every time I looked at it—but more than that, I didn’t want something that would make me angry. I cried every time I pictured it.

Yesterday, I saw a bracelet—a silver band that said, “Expect Miracles.” As soon as I saw it, I knew that this may be the tangible object I was looking for. Not a figurine to place on a dresser, but something that I can have with me all the time. Something to remind me of what happened. Something to give me hope. “Children are miracles,” wrote a friend of mine—and this bracelet reminded me of that. This last pregnancy was a miracle, and losing it was equivalent to losing faith. It seemed so unfair—we went through so much just to get pregnant… How could we lose it? Couldn’t we have a “get out of jail” card because we’ve already encountered so many challenges? Lying in the hospital bed before the D&C, I thought that there was no way I could ever go through this again. It would completely break me. I simply could not handle doing this again. And that made me think that perhaps we would not try again. To make sure we never have to go through this again. That’s the only way to make sure—because if I didn’t get a get out of jail card this time, why would I get it again? Who can guarantee that this won’t happen again? And for weeks, that’s how I felt. Completely terrified of the thought of trying again. But when I saw this bracelet yesterday, I realized that I am no longer afraid. I am ready to expect a miracle again, I simply have to expect a miracle again—or I will never find my way out of this black hole. I am still terrified of the thought that it would take another year—or more?—to get pregnant. I am sure the first time I get my period after we’ve been trying, I will be disappointed. But at least I am ready to try. I am looking forward to my period coming in the next few weeks, and I am ready to start trying. And when we do finally get pregnant—whether it is in two months or two years—I will be cherishing my miracle. I will be protecting it. I will be praying for it. And one day, I know I will carry it in my arms—not just as a bracelet on my wrist.

And I will get the “Angel’s Embrace.” Because I am not angry anymore (although may still a bit envious). I think I can find peace in knowing that an angel is taking care of my baby. I am getting closer to finding the peace within—and recovering my faith.