The Grief That Worsens

Shit's about to get real, my friends.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and am taking to my blog to "talk it out" a bit more.

As a side note, I'm so behind with blogging. This is what happened before with my failed blogger attempt - I get behind, and it becomes overwhelming, and I just stop trying to catch up...just stop altogether. I don't want that to happen.

Anyways... as I've discussed on this blog, I miscarried in May. It still pains me to type that. And as I said early on, it feels like a bad dream.

When it first happened, I was surprised with how well I handled it. It was a painful (to say the least) blow, but I felt hopeful. And why wouldn't I? The doctor gave us no reason to assume that there is anything wrong. Miscarriages (sadly) are quite common, so I figured we'd get past it and be pregnant again fast.

That was 4 1/2 months ago.

Now I've been through a decent amount of grief and loss in my life. I lost two grandpas, two grandmas, a very close family friend, my sister, and a few other close family members before I was in junior high. Since then, I've lost others, and walked with friends as they've lost close family and friends. In other grieving experiences, it gets better. Of course the loss is always there...it never goes away...but time heals and you learn to live again and move forward.

Miscarriage is different. At least for me. Like other grieving experiences, some of it gets better. The trauma, shock, and pain of the loss lessens. But in many ways, it gets worse.

Each month that passes is another month that I'm not pregnant. Each month that passes brings more insecurity and fears (What if something's wrong? What if I can't get pregnant again?). Each month brings more announcements of other pregnancies. Of babies that would have been born after mine. Each month brings me closer to my would-have-been due date...such a dreaded day now. How can it be just a few months away?

By now I would have been in my 3rd trimester. We'd know if it was a boy or a girl. We'd be feeling kicks. Linnea, I'm sure, would be brimming with pride about being a big sister. The nursery would be near completion. All our friends and family would know, and strangers would know too because the bump would be obvious.

But instead... no baby. Fears. Uncertainity. Smiles through the pain when people who don't know ask about future kids. Private tears when I find out that someone else is pregnant and it's not me. Insecurities about any pains, oddities, symptoms that might mean something. Months that cycle obsessively from "waiting game...to trying...to waiting game...to "I not pregnant again?! FUCK!"...to waiting game).

I read a quote on a related blog that has really stuck with me... "Hope is hard." Amen. When the months pass, and there's less and less to put your hope on it is hard. Damn near impossible sometimes.

So what do you do?

Well, if you're me...you take baby steps forward (pun not intended...). You try to put things in perspective. You let yourself be happy for your friends who have babies in their bellies. You work on being thankful. You say (a lot) of prayers. And you get through it. Day by day.

If you are a believer, please say a little prayer for me. Most days are okay, but there have been some rough ones.

Hope is hard.