As of today, it has now been five years since my fifth miscarriage.
May 2nd should be about raising virtual wands in memory of those who died in the battle of Hogwarts. I should be reading Harry Potter to my preschooler and watching the movies after she is in bed. We should be making Princess Leia style buns for her to wear on Star Wars day. We should be planning crafts for Mother’s Day.
But May 2nd, 2013 was about a night spent in the ER, being hazy on pain meds that the doctor kept giving me since there was nothing else he could do, and trying to make sense of how I had finally gotten a pregnancy out of the first trimester just to lose her.
May 2nd is forever marked as the day that hope died and I stopped believing in miracles.
May 2nd is the reminder of all of I have lost and, as the lead in to Mother’s Day, the reminder of all I will never have.
Can I be real for a minute?
I have been dreading writing anything for this anniversary. It’s easier to stay numb, to not allow myself to feel. At work, I have the customer service face on, so that no one knows how much pain I am in, emotionally or physically. My online life is all about other people’s grief and so my own gets pushed to the side, un-expressed but yet always there. My life has become about taking care of other people’s needs and I have to remind myself sometimes to take care of my own.
But I have also just been dreading the honesty of this post. People want kitschy happy posts of 5 Things I’ve Learned About Grief, or 5 Ways For Grief To Make You Better – Not Bitter. I am not one of those writers and this is not one of those posts.
I have learned a lot about grief and loss in my life, but I still wish I had never had to learn it. I don’t think grief has made me a better person and don’t really care. I accept that this is my life but that doesn’t mean I like it or always choose to see the good in it. I just have to cope with what is.
I choose to use my time trying to build resources to help others, the resources that I wish were around when my losses were first fresh. But I would so much rather be one of the naive people out there who don’t have to think about pregnancy loss. I dream of being one of those happy people who can’t imagine what it would be like when all of your children die in pregnancy.
I refuse to believe that this is some sort of plan of the universe, that I was destined to suffer these losses so I could develop the empathy and understanding to help others. Life is hard enough without having to believe that it is so intentionally cruel. As Patton Oswalt says, “It’s chaos. Be kind.” That’s enough of a philosophy to live by for now.
I am in no way knocking those who have found meaning or purpose in their bereavement journey; their journey is their own, just as mine is. Every loss is unique, as will be our methods of coping with it. This is my journey and I don’t have to try to be a superhero of grief. I don’t have to be grateful for being forced to learn lessons I never wanted to learn and I don’t have to try to find the silver lining so that others can be more comfortable with my grief.
So if anyone else is out there, feeling pressure like they should be handling their grief better, with less bitterness or be “over it,” I understand. I hear you. Your grief journey is your own and only you can walk it. Be gentle with yourself.
To everyone else, be kind.
And to my darling Emerald girl, I miss you.
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Maureen, as always you are so realistic and so honest. We love you and your precious babies.
Thank you so much <3