Same Skin, Different Way…

Today is my 169th post. To date, it will be my most difficult. Today three years ago, I miscarried. It was a boy. He should be my living son. Not my devastating memory.

On March 21st, 2012 the world as I knew it stopped spinning and, when it resumed, it was completely different. Or, maybe the world was exactly the same – I was the one who was completely different. The truth is however, whether either or both are true, every day since that day has been tinged just a fucked-up shade of sad.

Please do not get me wrong, I have laughed since March 21st, 2012; sometimes quite loudly and often uncontrollably. I have gone about the days and the seasons since then, doing my things and I have enjoyed so many beautiful moments. Since then, I have made and achieved goals and, I continue to make more. Since March 21st 2012 what I have not done however, is stop mourning the loss of what should have been my beautiful little boy; my second child.

So today I do what I have done so very often since that horrible day – I cry, my heart shatters yet again and I continue to wonder why my God chose that moment to look elsewhere. Sigh. Please, can you all bear with me a few moments while I share parts of this? You see, I keep praying that the more of it I “give away” is the less that will stick around to haunt my heart (I keep praying).

I woke up on March 19th, 2012 and my body felt quiet. To this day, it is still the only word I have that describes the moment I suspected my baby had left; but that was only confirmed two days later – March 21st. I remember trying to communicate this feeling to both the man at the other end of that creation and my sister; I also remember the dismissal I received from the ER doctor, who, when I told her in the only way I could at the time, that I was there because I woke up and my body felt “quiet”, sarcastically said to me, “so you’re here because you feel good?” Truly; that is what she said. Oh, and that is in conjunction with her refusal to perform an ultra-sound or sonogram, or whatever the fucking thing is called that could have told me if my baby was in distress or even still alive! Instead, she dismissed me and told me to go to my primary doctor two days later – March 21st.

My God! Please give me a minute…. Okay; sorry. On March 21st they confirmed that there was no longer any heartbeat emanating from my son; and with those words, my heart stopped. Since then, it has resumed pumping the blood that I need to live, learn and love, but a significantly different woman and mother walked out of Methodist Hospital than walked in. My smiles are different. My laughter is different. My talks are different. My dreams? So very very different. My love is different. My hope is different. My insides are different. Honesty, the only things that remained the same on my walk out of the hospital were my love for my daughter, Aneesa and for that little boy they told me would never be born.

So three years later, I still mourn; and, I still wish that I was able to have brought him here. There is such a very big part of me that considers this loss a personal failure; proof of my inadequacy as a woman. Think about it – there are many aspects of this life that women are kicking all sorts of ass in; matching and at times, surpassing our male counterparts. But this? The ability to get pregnant and give birth is one of the fundamental purposes we were placed on this earth! No matter what else we achieve, ensuring that our population carries on into the very very distant future is placed squarely at our feet (with a tad bit of help from some sperm, that is). And, I failed.

Now, trust me when I say that I have had the many conversations with myself and listened to the intended comforting words of others who point out all the realities, such as, age, health, commitments, frailty of that relationship, etc etc. I have even suffered through the trite, “everything happens for a reason” bullshit! Again I say, “of course it does”! I have heard many things over the past three years; and, I have valued all the attempts (even the clumsy, uncomfortable ones) at comfort. So, I thank you.

Listen, I’ve got nothing here. Typically, I can find a way to take an experience or occurrence, divorce myself from enough of it to be able to highlight what I feel should be the “take-away”. I’ve got nothing here. Because truthfully, the only “take-away” I have ever gotten from this experience, is heartache.

20120306_121655“Dear Lord, I would have loved to have held my baby on my lap and tell him about you. But since I did not get that chance, would you please hold him on your lap and tell him about me?”

6 responses to Same Skin, Different Way…

    • Let's AdDress This... – Author

      Thank you. I received and benefitted from your wishes.

      Like

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