Rain On Me

On Sunday April 5th 2015, I unwillingly became part of a secret society of women who have shared an experience too taboo and uncomfortable for most to talk about. Quite frankly, most people just don’t know what to do or say when someone talks about a miscarriage. Hell, I don’t even know quite what to say.  But I have to say something to break the horrible silence that surrounds this type of inexplicable loss.  

Truth of the matter is that 1 in 4 pregnant women experience the loss of a child in utero. I had no idea it was such a common occurrence.  More surprisingly however, is realizing that most women deal with the loss in silence. For me, the silence is suffocating. Although right now, life outside of these four walls seems impossible and terrifying, I have words stuck in my throat that are suffocating me. I have to let these out. I have to find a way to heal and written words have always been such a beautiful release for me.  It’s a start.

I cannot begin to tell you how overjoyed my heart felt knowing that the life I always wanted to bring into this world was growing inside of me. I envisioned a whole lifetime with my child. I dreamed of the places we would go, the many things we would see and do, the way he or she would look, smell, sound and all the things we would teach each other.  I was elated and so full of hope and excitement. I had a new found sense of purpose and my whole world expanded exponentially. My family was over the moon and I had fallen in love all over again with a face I had never even seen.

On Sunday morning I woke up to the cruel realization that my baby was gone. The life growing inside of me had ceased.  “I’m so sorry; I am unable to find a heartbeat.” I will never forget what those words did to my heart and all of the loss they encompassed. In one moment I felt like I lost my whole reason for breathing, like all the air had been sucked out of the room and I was left floating aimlessly in slow motion. To lose the one thing you want most in the world is indescribable. It’s like taking every loss I have ever had in life and stacking them all right on top of the other, handing it to me and saying “Here, suffer this all at once.”  My beautiful baby was gone and part of me went with them.

To say I miscarried at just shy of 11 weeks seems so wrong. I hate that word. I did not miscarry anything. I loved and sheltered my child beautifully. But the universe gives and the universe takes and there is a time for everything and it just was not our time to meet just yet.

I find comfort in little things:

*Yesterday, I Face Timed my niece so that I could Charlie’s face. His smile and his innocence bring me peace and hope. *Less than an hour after my family heard of my sad news, I opened my front door and found them all standing there, rushing in to hug and comfort me.

*My angel has an unconventional but a special name:  Comet. Rare, beautiful, fleeting, unforgettable; I speak their name and I feel comforted.

*Women who are much younger than me have to attempt artificial insemination three to four times before they successfully conceive. At 37 years old, I conceived on my first insemination attempt.  I can only hope to be that fortunate again.

*My faith has been tested all of my life. I have lived the last 10 years of my life leaning more towards Agnosticism than anything else. My love for science and disdain for religion led me to question my belief in a higher power.  My experiences over the past few months have once again caused me reexamine my belief system.  I undeniably believe in life as more than just mere energy. I believe in souls. I believe in intelligent design. I believe in a higher power. The specific details of my reasons are too special for me to share publicly right now, but I will tell you this: Surrendering to the unseen power behind all life has been a transforming experience.  The integrated complexities of the creation of life and of the universe are far too complex to have just happened by chance. I am reminded of a quote by Philosopher Antony Flew who converted from Atheism to Deism. He stated: “I now believe that the universe was brought into existence by an infinite Intelligence. I believe that this universe’s intricate laws manifest what scientists have called the Mind of God. I believe that life and reproduction originate in a divine source.  What I think the DNA material has done is that it has shown, by the almost unbelievable complexity of the arrangements which are needed to produce life, that intelligence must have been involved in getting these extraordinarily diverse elements to work together.”   

I’m not sure why it too my own pregnancy for me to take the time to truly ponder and marvel at the creation of life.  Sadly, all too often, we just don’t take the time to learn about something until it happens to us. We women are a miracle in of ourselves; that our bodies are a vessel capable of creating human life is something I have not given enough appreciation or consideration to in my life. I have studied, pondered and analyzed the miracle of birth and the complexities of DNA within the human body.  Mr. Flew was right …. We simply cannot escape the presence of intelligent (incredibly intelligent) design.

That is my very personal belief.

I come away from this experience learning a lot about life, human connection and about myself.  I also come away feeling sadness like I have never felt before and an enormous sense of loss; one that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.  I want nothing more than to have my baby back.  I would gladly give my child my last breath, my beating heart, if it meant they could experience this beautiful life I have the privilege of living. Every breath I take is a painful reminder of the breath that my baby will never take. Every day is a new hope that someday I look into my baby’s eyes and feel whole again. There is so much love in this heart of mine waiting for tiny hands to receive it.  I don’t know if I can technically be a mother without having a child to hold in my arms. But in my heart, I feel like I’m a mommy. I did not have the honor of meeting you, my child. But mommy will keep trying. I will keep trying to bring you into this life so that we can all love you. Your family here is crazy and crazy loud - but we love hard and we love deep and we can’t wait to give you all this love we have.

Thank you to my beautiful family. Thank you to my wonderful friends. Thank you Adriane for letting me cry on you this whole week, for holding me, wiping my tears and snot away, for feeding me, for helping me shower when I just don’t have the strength or will to. For holding me up when I just want to collapse and for loving me even when I get so mean.  You have been my rock and I thank you so much for finding your strength.  I love you for always…..

My words are still lacking. In the interim, I take the words of others.  I love finding words that manage to describe exactly how I feel. 

"There are some nights that the thought of you or even your name do not leave the sleeve of my shirt alone. It pulls like a kitten. Tonight is like that.

I no longer question if it is you trying to reach me, to communicate. I am flooded with desire to see you. To hear your voice. To pretend for a while that nothing went wrong. That it is all as it was before, undisturbed, unbroken, and unreal. That you and I are one; a living, breathing space.

I am trying to find the words. The same old words will not work here. They cannot.   This feels entirely too different to be expressed by the same words strung in the same old order. 

Gone. That is the only word I have right now.  I once read that "gone” was the saddest word in any language.  It speaks of everything that was and is no longer. It speaks of heart-wrenching absence. 

I feel like all of the air has been sucked out of my world. I am living in a vacuum chamber and my written word is ill prepared for such conditions. 

Do yourself a favor - throw on some headphones and press play. I assure you, if you're having a crazy day or you're feeling little restless, worried, anxious.... you'll gain a sense of peace after you press play. Music is such a powerful force.

In 2011, Ólafur Arnalds released a new song, one per day for a week. The “Living Room” songs were recorded and filmed in his living room apartment and released instantly to the public for free. “This Place is a Shelter” (which starts at minute 20:51) is especially beautiful and one of my personal favorites. It reminds me of one of the most wonderful people in my life and how she has managed to shelter and care for me in ways I never thought I'd find. I feel gratitude and much needed peace in these melodies. I hope you do as well.

If you want to view the videos and download the songs, you can do by accessing the following link: http://livingroomsongs.olafurarnalds.com/