Overwhelmed.
I cannot begin to tell you how much all of your emails and comments have meant to me. I read each and every one of them, and every one of them helped more than I can say. (And yet I'm still sadder than I've ever been. This seems mathematically impossible, but my emotions are terrible at math.)
Right now I'm feeling a lot of things, and soon enough I will write long and confused posts about this bizarre rollercoaster ride I'm on, but first I wanted to say thank you. To all of you out there, and to those close to home. I have an amazing family who have rallied around me, parents who came and cried with me and made dinner and cleaned my refrigerator, friends who visited and sent gifts and let me cry all over them and took Henry on extended playdates. I have an impossibly sweet boy who has remained, I am pleased to say, mostly oblivious to what's going on. (Although this morning he pointed out that I haven't played with him in months. I have some serious catching up to do.) And I have the greatest husband of all time. (Sorry, ladies, but I win.) And if I say anything more about how much he's done for me, I'll start crying again, and sheesh, my mascara is already messed up enough. (Yes, I applied mascara this morning. I had this delusion that today maybe I wouldn't cry. Ha ha! HAAArggh hmm.)
More later.










May 5, 2008
Reader Comments (96)
I haven't stood in your shoes, but I'm a mom and I think that what you're going through must be extremely difficult. No doubt. I think your reaction shows that you care deeply. I'm glad you've got lots of support. I'll say a prayer for comfort.
(On a selfish note, I'm majorly glad to see you're writing again. And also, considering you have beautiful eyes and dark hair, I think you should totally forget the mascara for now.)
Sorry to hear you've joined that club.
I used to listen to Reba McIntyre (sp?) and drive around and cry. Not safe, not deep, but theraputic.
I'm really sorry.
If you're into spiritual reincarnational explanations for why painful sucky things happen sometimes, I do that sort of thing and can recommend others as well.
Thanks for this gift of yourself you're giving even through your pain. Wow.
This too shall pass.
You, as usual, are splendidly expressive.
Hundreds of years and several children later, I still miss that first lost child. Ok, not quite hundreds. More like twenty. We really do love each and every baby we have individually. Awesome, this maternal love. It is worth the pain to experience this fierce love.
I love your writing - thanks for sharing with us.
xoxo
been down that dark way. just keep going straight, it clears farther along.
and work the refrigerator cleaners for all they're worth ;)
so sorry for your loss.
For what it's worth, I'm a week past my D&C, and haven't cried since... Monday? Well, not more than my eyes welling up before I can blink it all back, anyway. There's a line in a song that's been stuck in my head today - 'it still does hurt, just not as long,' that comes close to summing it up for me.
Your story was nearly identical to mine, just a week or two later. I'm so sorry it's happening to you; I've never been through anything harder. Even though I've only known about your (fantastic) writing for a few hours, it breaks my heart to read this. There's nothing anyone can say to make it better, or that isn't really awkward, but I'm sorry it happened, and I'm sending up prayers and good thoughts on your behalf. Be gentle with yourself.
I cried for months after my first miscarriage. After the miscarriage, I had an ectopic pregnancy that ruptured and nearly killed me. It was utterly devastating. Most surprisingly, to everyone, including us, I then went on to have 3 naturally conceived children--including a set of twins! I love my children with every fiber of my being, but I will never forget the pain of the miscarriage and ectopic pregnancy. I still think of those babies and mourn for them.
I will continue to keep you and your family in my thoughts. Brighter days are ahead. Blessings.
K