I was thinking, I have been thinking, of my first miscarriage. Someone on Facebook commented that her daughter was about to turn 2, and I realized I had my first miscarriage 2 years ago yesterday. I looked back at my blog, not sure when the day was. You would think that those days would be entrenched in my mind, I would know the calendar moment, but I don’t. I guess I thought if I could just ignore it, if I could just move on, move past, suck it up and shove it down, I would be ok.
I remember the moments – each of four times as long and painful and sad. I have this image of myself in a corner, head bowed low, arms around my knees. When I read my blog, I am surprised at just how resilient I was. I didn’t whinge – not really. A handful of posts. The last 2 in November were sad, but mostly, it seemed I just carried on. Even in November, I stumbled a bit then carried on.
I tried to make the best of it. I tried to downplay, minimize. Not be a bother. We had already alienated so many friends. We had been cut out and off for being too much of a bother, too much trouble, too high maintenance. I choked down nasty responses when people told me these things happen for a reason, what’s meant to be is meant to be. I learned people say dumb things, if they say anything at all, and no one really says what I most wanted to hear –I’m sorry. So, I didn’t think about it and I tried very hard not to talk about it. I carried on. It’s what we do, after all. Chin up, eyes forward, march.
Last fall, we went to the Walk to Remember, and Mr. Spit commented as we walked along, with all the names of babies written out, about a family that had Baby Smith 1, Baby Smith 2, Baby Smith 3. Mr. Spit was confounded, how a couple could manage that much sadness, and I pointed out that we have them beat. Baby Spit 4, and Gabriel.I felt a bit guilty that I hadn’t really thought of it that way. I felt guilty that I hadn’t thought to ask the organizers to write down all of our babies.
And I guess, 2 years and 4 miscarriages later, I’m wondering why. There’s no medal. No one’s holding me up as a paragon of virtue and strength. I won’t get an award, a minted coin or even a commemorative stamp – there’s no reward for chin up, eyes forward, march. The people who were useless would still have been useless if I told them how bad it was. Others might have been able to be of assistance.
2 years later, if I had it to do all over again, I would be honest. With you, with our friends, with myself. It was hard. It is still very hard.
Oh baby, we would have loved you so. We wish you could have stayed.