This week is the one year anniversary of my miscarriage. I would love to say that it’s gotten easier with time, but it has not. The unique thing about miscarriage is that it’s not a loss at the end of something; it’s a loss at the beginning of something.

Pregnancy was a confirmation that all of the changes we made were worth it. We went through so much to get ourselves out here, to (basically) ostracize ourselves from every support system and way of life we’d ever known. Until we got pregnant we were just waiting. It was still an adventure. Still a “gamble” of sorts. We did this so we could have a family. Would it work, we wondered?

Once we got pregnant, it was like hitting the jackpot. Kind of like both of our lives had been leading up to that point. And all of our hard decisions and sacrifices were infused with meaning. It would work, we finally knew. We were here for a reason, and it was a good reason.

And then, not really.

So it’s been a year of hanging on. Of continuing to strive to make this work. Because maybe, maybe it’ll happen again, and the next time it will be different.

But you know what? Miscarriage turns everything sour. And a whole year hasn’t really changed that. I can’t be as happy for people who are pregnant as I was before. I can’t really look forward to being pregnant again. I can keep it under wraps, and recognize it as unreasonable, but while miscarriage has made me (and us) stronger, it’s also made me more bitter and afraid than I was a year ago today.

I will never be able to be as excited as I was during that first pregnancy, short as it was. I will always have a strong cord of fear to temper the joy. I won’t have that “invincibility” factor that so many new moms have; a result of no problems, of no loss.

I can only hope that, somehow, if a baby ever comes, for real, uninterrupted, this past year will have made a difference. Something positive will come of this.

Until then, baby steps.


8 thoughts on “Anniversary”

  1. I’m so sorry! Don’t know if you know this or not, but I had 2 miscarriages before my oldest and one suspected between the two. This is something I wrote after the second miscarriage…thought it might help you to know that everything you are feeling is completely normal and others have (and still do) feel the same. For me it doesn’t matter how many healthy babies I have the naive excitement of having a baby is gone forever.A miscarriage is just not a lost of a baby, it is a lost of hope, a lost of a dream, a lost of security, a lost of one’s self. People may not think of us as “Mothers”, and shouldn’t have these feeling, but we are, we are mothers who have never held their babies. You get comments like “Oh it wasn’t a real baby”, “You can try again”, “At least it happened now”, “You’re young and you can have other children”, or “It was God’s plan”. When hearing comments like these, you know that the person saying them doesn’t understand, even if that person is a mother herself, but you really can’t blame them because they really can’t have any idea of what you are going through. In that split second when reality hits you and you learn that your baby has died, the whole world seems to stop, and when it starts spinning again EVERYTHING is different. That is the biggest thing that I don’t think people realize. In the weeks, months, and years following a miscarriage, you may act normal to the outside world, but you are still crying on the inside. People assume you are okay, and people forget. They no longer walk on eggshells around you. They no longer think before they speak. They no longer remember that you were supposed to be pregnant or have a baby by now. They forget. But to us mothers who have experienced a miscarriage, you never forget, and with every turn there is a reminder: A baby commercial on TV, a song, a smell, a taste, the sight of a pregnant woman walking by, and then there’s all those sitcoms where everyone is so happy. It can be something not even pregnancy related that can bring us to tears. But it isn’t just that fact that we are sad. Now, because of the miscarriage we truly are different people. Our view of the world changes, and our outlook on life changes. Everything about us is different.Then there is a day when we become pregnant again, which, you would think, is a joyous occasion, right? Wrong. The naïve excitement of being pregnant is now gone. Gone are the happy, carefree days of buying baby clothes and maternity clothes, planning for a nursery, or spreading the news quickly and freely. All these things, it seems, jinx the pregnancy. So you wait, and wait, and wait some more, and just hope and pray that things will work out the next time. For some it will, but for others, like me, it happens again, only this time no one knows, so they don’t know that they should be sensitive. They are not walking on eggshells or watching what they say. They are the same as they were yesterday, not thinking twice before speaking, and not remembering.Now, luckily, pro-active doctors like mine are able to test to see if something is really wrong. Then, there comes the trip down a very lonely road, a road that no one talks about going down. You feel like you are the only person on that road, but the truth is there are many woman on the road, but everyone is silent. So, again, you begin to travel through a life where everyone thinks you are ok, when, at times, you are barely surviving, barely able to hold back those tears. You are forcing a smile at every turn and just holding on to that little bit of hope that one day you will get that positive pregnancy test again. Someday, the happy ending may come like all the sitcoms, but one thing that the sitcoms can never show is that the path that you took to get there is forever changed.

  2. Rae~I am proud of you for writing this. I am sure it was really difficult.No words, except know that I will continue to pray for you.~KatieJo

  3. Praying for you.The only consolation I had was the support of all the women -friends, family, acquaintances — who shared their stories with me. I never knew how many women go through this.You’re right, it never goes away. I still hurt whenever I pass the foufy little dresses in the kid’s section where I shop. Even when I tell my self that Lucy Rose would be 8 by now, and long out of foufy dresses, and it was far too early to know the gender.anniversary: May 13th. Birthday by estimated due date: December 5th

  4. oh rae, thanks for sharing this… so sorry to hear of your pain, and hoping that you can keep up that hope and positivity that you need right now… i’ve been on this route with my sister, and when all felt hopeless, the miracle happened for her! take care, and thinking of you from afar x

  5. Rachel. thanks for sharing this. I don’t want to cram advice down your throat or talk when i should be quiet, but i want to say a few things: Our first miscarriage was before Peyton. And I had a lot of the same thoughts afterwards. about not being so excited about the pregnancy that finally ‘stuck.’ I always had that lurking montster in the back of my head with Peyton. What if…? but then you do get excited.And its so easy to forget about the bad stuff. We had our second miscarriage in November. i would have been due June 6th of this year. We made it to 13 weeks. I had started to let myself relax. you know, they say if you can make it to the second trimester…and then on top of finding out we had lost the baby i had to have all sorts of procedures done. It was terrible and makes me never want to take the risk again. Is it worth all that pain to maybe have another? In some situations things get easier to deal with the second time. But this is not one of those. And no one can understand unless they’ve been there. I’ve been there. andI know a bit about how you feel… at the risk of sounding retarded, if you ever need anything, you’ve got my digits.-Anita

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