Here's the thing.
I know I can have another baby—at least, I'm pretty sure—but right now I don't want another baby. I want the one I had. I saw that baby on the ultrasound, and I liked that baby. That baby was MINE. I spent hours staring at the print-out of what essentially was a gummy bear, and cooing over it. I decided it was some kind of genius baby. In the picture we have, it's kind of sticking its arms out, like it's waving hello at us. Genius! Clearly! Having people tell me that it's for the best, that I'll have another, that what I'm going through right now is all hormones, does not address the difficulty I'm having with the whole idea of THIS baby being gone. Indeed, it seems to imply that the baby wasn't real or meaningful to me. Having someone define the words I wrote in the throes of all this as "good thing it died, because it might have been disabled" makes me want to tear that person's throat out. No. I lost my baby, and it was a good baby, and it was the one I wanted. I realize I never met it, and that I'm not making any rational kind of sense. I realize said baby might have been a genetically nonviable scramble of material. But only I can say that. As for you, you badmouth my baby and I will kick you in the teeth.
I'm a little angry, these days.










May 12, 2008
Reader Comments (307)
Having gone through this myself, I can only say that even having gone through it, I don't know what right things to say to someone else going through it.
I'm so sorry is about it.
People want to try to fix things, try to say something to fix things, because they love you. Trust in that.
You are loved in spite of the clumsy words.
I couldn't even think of another baby until we passed his due date and scattered his ashes. I got pregnant the next cycle. And our kids are NOT replacements.
Don't let stupid and callous people ruin your grief and healing. Carry on in your own brave and beautiful way.
3 years ago I "miscarried" very early in the 5th month of a slightly troubled but relatively healthy pregnancy. ("Something just went wrong. She stopped growing, her heart stopped beating. Sometimes that's the body's way of terminating a pregnancy that isn't perfect." Jesus. What? Jesus... I never wanted perfect, did I...?)
"You'll have other babies," "It was for the best," ... I hear those things, still. (Who? For the best for WHO? Why do people say that!? Can they even hear themselves?)
I still want my child. She was mine. A little girl, and her name was Madison. I don't want another baby, either, because one can't replace another. I want them for their sake, and I think (?) I can have them, but I don't want them to fill the hole she left. I want her. I want MY baby, THAT baby. She was going to be beautiful and sweet and smart, she was going to have round cheeks and green eyes, and she was going to look like my mother. I was going to keep her safe, I thought, but I couldn't...
I get what you're saying so completely right now. And I'm so, so sorry. I'm so sorry for your loss, for the tears and the hurt and the terribly literal emptiness. I'm so sorry. I wish I could hug you. (And believe me, the Straka Dance of Joy Hug? You've never seen the like. It could bring peace to the Middle East, that hug.)
I don't know you, but I love you, all of us here love you, and we're so sorry. I know the words are hollow, but if our sincerity were a light, they'd glow like the sun.
When I miscarried my first pregnancy - a very very early loss, BTW - my incredibly wise doctor said to me, "You have to mourn this loss as you would mourn any beloved person. From the moment you learned you were pregnant, this was a real person to you, a real baby, and you now must give yourself permission to grieve and recover. And then you'll go on, because that's what life does."
Truer words, my friend. Grieve well.
Steve and I are so very sorry for your loss. You're in our thoughts.
As trite as it sounds, my prayers are with you.
I lost a pregnancy at 19+ weeks and heard all the garbage you are hearing. It was my third pregnancy and I can still cry about it in a milli-second. And I love that baby. We're looking for dining room furniture and I'm secretly delighted that we'll buy a table that seats six even though we're a family of five, because to me, that will mean I always have a (symbolic)place at our table (in our hearts) for the wee one that didn't join us here on earth. That was 6+ years ago. And I'm not looking to forget, or minimize or explain how I feel to others...I'm just loving and aching for that little soul because I have to.
Be well. With lots of love, cg
You lost a child. A very very tiny precious child and I am so sorry for your loss.
Does your hospital arrange for a memorial service for babies that are miscarried? Sometimes it helps the grieving, validates it somehow. Maybe it will help you.
Hope you are doing a little better.
Hugs and warm thoughts.
Rebecca F.
I'm so, so sorry. For your loss, for having to explain yourself after, all of it.