Finding the Light

I woke up this morning and immediately rested my hand on my belly.  “Baby B isn’t there anymore”, my mind screamed.  Each morning I wake up and have to remind myself of what happened.  I am thankful that my mind is quiet while I sleep, but mornings usually feel like getting hit in the heart by a Mack truck.  When does this stop hurting?  I’ve come to the realization that it will never stop hurting, it will just hurt less.

Brian and I have kept ourselves busy this week.  We have stepped out into the world with brave faces, and fake smiles.  We are still going through the process of sharing our story with others.  Although we didn’t publicly announce our pregnancy, it feels like we had told the whole world.

It took Brian and I 6 months to conceive.  You spend part of your life trying not to get pregnant, so when you make that decision to start a family you think that it will be easy.    I know 6 months isn’t a long time.  Some women try for years and years until they are successful, but when you want something so bad, it feels like an eternity.  We were so excited to share the news with the people closest to us.  Each time we have to tell someone what happened, we either hear the pain in their voice, or see it all over their face.  For Brian and I, it’s like reliving our nightmare all over again.  One of the first things Brian and I decided was that if we do get pregnant again, we are not going to share it with anyone. But lately I’ve been thinking, why wouldn’t we want to share that news with everyone we know?  We made a child.  It would be a miracle.  Is that really something to not share? It makes me think that we would start that pregnancy off in fear.  Maybe with each person we tell, it would bring us happiness, joy, tons of positive energy, and hopefulness.  I picture Baby B up in heaven cheering on her mom and dad.  Maybe Baby B would want us to share our miracle.  To help us not feel so afraid.

It’s really hard not to be brutally honest right now.  Brian and I were talking last night and he said that every time someone asks him how he is, he feels like such a liar when he responds, “I’m good, how are you?”  We still want to shout to everyone we see that we’re not alright.  I refuse to tell anyone I’m doing well right now.  My response is always the same,  “I’m okay.”

My husband has been my strength through all of this.  He is seriously an angel.  There isn’t a bad bone in this man’s body.  When I say that he is perfect, I truly mean that I cannot find a single imperfection about him.  Sure, he drives me insane, but I love that he drives me insane.  I honestly believe that he was made for me, and when we finally found each other, it was like two puzzle pieces coming together, and I finally felt complete.  I hate that this happened to us, but I hate so much that it happened to him.  I hate that someone as kind as him, as sweet as him, as perfect as him, has to go through something so devastating.  I’m not saying that I deserve what happened to us, but he really doesn’t deserve what happened to him.  I remember walking down the hall after we received the news, and I looked at him and all I could say was “I’m so sorry…I’m so sorry.”  I feel guilty because I wanted to travel our first few years of marriage.  At one point I thought I was ready for children, but I changed my mind and told him I needed a little more time.  I think I just wanted a little more time with him.  With it just being the two of us.  I keep thinking that maybe if I hadn’t been so selfish, maybe if we had started trying in the beginning of our marriage, maybe if I had said traveling could wait, maybe this wouldn’t have happened to us.  It wouldn’t have happened to him.  I feel like we’ve lost so much time without a child in our lives now.  I feel as if I’ve taken that away from him.

I had my 2 week postop appointment with the doctor last Friday, and she told us everything looked really good.  The pathology report came back and there was nothing abnormal with the tissue from my uterus.  Brian and I practically skipped out of the doctor’s office.  We are able to start trying again after one menstrual cycle.  We drove straight to CVS and purchased ovulation tests, pregnancy tests, a basal thermometer, and new prenatal vitamins for him and me.  I refuse to give up.  I refuse to let fear take over and stop us from having a child.

The guilt that comes along with a miscarriage is an awful thing.  It’s something I wrestle with daily.  I know that it’s nothing we did.  Nothing I did.  But your mind can be a dark place.  The key is to find light within every day.  I find light in falling asleep next to my husband each night.  I find light in dinner and shopping with my mom.  I find light in seeing my fur babies.  I find light in cuddling up on the couch at my parents house eating a delicious bowl of pasta.  I find light in knowing that today isn’t as bad as yesterday.  I find light in knowing that tomorrow hasn’t happened yet, and although the unknown can be scary, it can also bring along wonderful things.

*I found the featured image on Pinterest.  I am unsure of the artist.  If anyone knows, please share the details so that I may give credit.

2 thoughts on “Finding the Light

  1. So sorry for your loss. Reading this made me cry. I cannot begin to imagine what you are going through but keep getting up each morning and keep writing. Tomorrow will be better than today.

    Liked by 1 person

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