It is not

It is not the sheer physicality of another miscarriage that’s distressing me. It’s not all this damn blood and the wincing pain and the hormone induced emotional crash. I cry, but tears of frustration and rage as much as sorrow. Probably, if I am honest, more frustration and rage. All of this is but a nuisance. It’s not pleasant and I could do without it, but that’s not the thing of it, at least for me.

Perhaps another way.

There were many deaths in Gabriel’s death. There was the death of the child we called Gabriel. There was a little boy with ten fingers and ten toes, a head full of hair, and the crooked Pearce ring finger on his left hand, he was here, on this earth, with us, and then he was gone. And that was sudden and shocking and horrible.

And there was the death of children, which came all at once and slowly. It came all at once with the diagnosis of pre-eclampsia and all of those wretched stats, and it has come slowly, as we have had failed cycle after failed cycle. As we have been pregnant enough to know, but never pregnant for long enough to tell anyone. Death as the inevitable comes screeching into present day. Another dead baby. Five if you were counting.

On Sunday I was vomiting in the Safeway parking lot, pleased as punch, because this is normal for me. I was, excited, happy, hopeful. And now, I am angry and embarrassed. Furious with myself, that I allowed my hopes to be raised, frustrated that I came up with a stupid little plan to tell people I was pregnant, and now I am only slightly crazy, wondering if my body deceived me. I was so sure, had such a sense that this was going to go well, and now, it was all for naught. I have caught myself, since waking up in the puddle of blood, telling myself that I am not pregnant anymore. I was, and I am not. In the same way that Auden told us to stop all the clocks, I cancel appointment plans, waving that nothing came to anything anymore.

It is not, for a moment that the rug was pulled out from me. This is more fundamental than that. It is questions of what I can trust, what I can believe. What is real and true. Was there ever a rug?

It seems to me it is perhaps this: Gabriel’s death was a knife buried in our back. It was a sudden, horrific accident. Pain like that is fast and rare. Another miscarriage is another slice in my arm, a fourth gash in a year and a half. It drips blood to be sure, but slowly. It’s easily bandaged up. It is a wholly different thing than a traumatic accident. I bleed, I get over it. It is not a large thing, and I tell people that I am fine, except.

Eventually, you lose the same amount of blood, either way.

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65 Responses to It is not

  1. areyoukiddingme says:

    I'm sorry…

    I wish there was something more I could say.

  2. HereWeGoAJen says:

    Oh. No. I am so terribly grieved. Much love to you and Mr. Spit. I will be thinking of all of you and this little lost one.

  3. loribeth says:

    Oh no, Mrs. Spit. 🙁 I am so sorry.

    I'll be thinking of you all day (& beyond).

  4. Tash says:

    "Was there ever a rug?"

    I understand this completely. I know it's not the same, and yet, it's on the same journey and somehow the events begin to intertwine so that one makes the other different than it would be in a place all to itself.

    Holding you all in my heart. Wish I lived closer to make you a homemade hot chocolate with a dash of bourbon and a ton of whipped cream.

  5. erin says:

    My thoughts and prayers are with you, sending hugs, love and warm soup via the internet!

  6. G$ says:

    It all hurts, it all rips away the bandages you had from last time, and last time and last time…

    My love to you hun. I wish there was more to offer.

  7. Heidi says:

    All of my love. I will be sitting here holding your hand, today and always.

  8. Sue says:

    Oh, Mrs. Spit. Yes, all of it. It not just this loss, but *another* loss, another bit of hope, of love, of so many things.

    I am so very sorry for this loss. Yet another loss. and for all the pain. Losing Gabriel, again.

    Holding you close, from far away.

  9. Bluebird says:

    Oh, Mrs. Spit. I am so, so sad for you.

    And to think that you can write such an elequent post through it all :). . . "Eventually, you lose the same amount of blood, either way."

    Dear friend, I'm honestly not sure how you have any blood left.

    I'm at a loss for words. Please just know that I am reaching out, wrapping you and Mr. Spit in my arms from afar. ((Hugs))

  10. Aisha says:

    I am so so so so sorry. *hug*

  11. TracyOC says:

    So sorry to hear about your loss. It's so horribly unfair.

  12. Julia says:

    Oh, crap.

    I am so very sorry. Would like to give you a hug and kick something for you. Hard.

  13. Sunny says:

    My heart goes out to you, Mrs. Spit.

    So, so sorry to hear of this.

  14. Jayme says:

    Well shit.

    I am so sorry. I know there is nothing I can say to make it the teeniest bit better. This just isn't fair 🙁

  15. meinsideout says:

    I am so sorry, my heart is breaking, is crushed for you and Mr. Spit.

  16. Martha says:

    Oh, C., I am so, so sorry. Please take good care, ((HUGS)) and prayers for your lost loves to both you and O.

  17. niobe says:

    This took my breath away.

  18. Virginia says:

    I'm so sorry.

  19. Brown Owl says:

    Oh baby girl, I am so sorry.
    My thoughts are with you always.

  20. Two Hands says:

    I'm so terribly sorry. I wish there was something I could do.

  21. Maureen says:

    I'm so sorry.

  22. luna says:

    Sorry is so inadequate. Holding you in my heart, Mrs. Spit, and the Mr. too.

  23. Kristin says:

    Oh hon, I am so damned sorry. Repeat pregnancy loss has a way of just ripping you to shreds. Thinking of you and saying a prayer.

  24. Debby says:

    Oh, dear Mrs. Spit. I love words, and I have them for many occasions, but times like this?…cripes…are there words for such a time as this? If so, I do not know them. I'm so sad for you and Mr. Spit.

  25. Aunt Becky says:

    Oh Mrs. Spit, I am so sorry. My heart is so shattered. This breaks me up inside.

  26. Kami says:

    I am so sorry. There are times when I feel that the nearly 4 years between Ernest's death and the birth of a live baby took a greater toll on our lives than that one horrific event.

    Like you said . . . smaller wounds, but they add up.

  27. ..... Carmen says:

    I've been off blogger most of this week, and a friend told me about your post. I am so very very sorry for your loss. Thinking of you and embracing you and Mr. Spit in prayer.

  28. Betty M says:

    I am so very sorry.

  29. Donna says:

    Just here with you, hoping you can find some peace and comfort.

  30. Heather says:

    I am so, so sorry for you and Mr. Spit. So sorry. (((((Mrs. Spit)))))

  31. Candid Engineer says:

    Oh Mrs. Spit, I'm so sorry to hear this. Hugs to you and Mr. Spit. Your post, as always, is as beautiful as it is heartbreaking.

  32. JuliaS says:

    I wish I were near by; I wish you weren't going through this again; I wish there were better words to say.


    Always my best hopes and prayers. I am so sorry – for all of it.

  33. Seraphim says:

    brokenhearted for you. Just borkenhearted. I am so sorry Mr and Mrs Spit. So damn

  34. Catherine W says:

    I'm so terribly, terribly sorry. xo

  35. M says:

    i'm so very sorry for your loss. i have no words, but know that you are in my thoughts and heart. i'm so sorry.

  36. jess says:

    Oh Mrs. Spit. I am so so sorry. My own petty sadness is so small in comparison to what you're experiencing that it seems like nothing. Nonetheless it's so hard that I cannot imagine what you must be going through. I am so so sorry and my heart is with yours, sorrowing over what could have been. I can only hope with you that God has a plan, and that as Job says: "Those who suffer he delivers in their suffering. He speaks to them in their affliction" That, "He is wooing you from the jaws of distress to a spacious place free from restriction." This is my hope and prayer for you and your husband.

  37. angie says:

    I am just so very sorry.

  38. Geohde says:

    I am so sorry.


  39. Mr. Spit says:

    If the subject were not so personally impacting, I'd again laud you for your wordsmithing abilities.

    As it is, it's truly another brick in the wall of our frustration and loss.

    No matter, I still chose you.

  40. Sigrun says:

    I have no words than "I'm sooo sorry". Hugs to you and Mr. Spit.

  41. Tanya says:

    I'm so sorry.

  42. Niki says:

    Horrible, simply horrible. Your pain radiates through your words, yet somehow they are still beautiful. My eyes welled with tears while reading your post because I get it. I've felt it. I feel it. I know. And I'm so, so sorry. Thinking of you and your sweet Mr. Spit … the tears fell when I read his loving comment to you. Sending strength your way.

  43. Jacquie says:

    I wish I could say more than sorry, it seems like such a silly word at the moment.

    ((hugs)) to you and Mr Spit.

  44. B says:



    more tears.


  45. B says:

    The death of children – slowly and all at once.

    So crushing.

    Sending strength

  46. JamieD says:

    Oh, Mrs. Spit. My heart aches for you.

    I wish there were perfect words to say and I wish I knew what they were. I wish you didn't have these wounds.

    Holding you in my heart and sending you much love.

  47. Heather says:

    This post made my heart ache.

  48. ScientistMother says:

    Hugs, lots of them. I am so very sorry that you are going through this

  49. Jacinta says:

    Kind Mrs Spit, I am just so sorry. So sorry. I can bet if the tables were turned, you would have just the right thing to say, but I am afraid I don't.
    I hope you have a good doctor who can help.

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