Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words – and never stops at all.
I’ve been reluctant to write this post, not wanting to have to go “there”. Of course there are many things that I don’t share here on my blog, but there are also those things that hover over my soul and get in the way of me writing authentically until I free them from that nagging hover.
Even now as I sit here, staring at the screen, I don’t know where to begin. There are no words, yet I know I have to say them. Have to take steps forward, one at a time. This is one more.
A little over a month ago, I found out I was pregnant. It was a lovely surprise, and my husband and I were immediately enamored and excited and gushing about having 4 kids. Since this is not an announcement post, you can see where this is going…
For 10 days, I was pregnant again. An then just like that, I wasn’t. The miscarriage started when we were out of town, away from the comforts of home and the bed that I wanted to hide under.
I had absolutely no idea I could become so profoundly attached in just 10 short, beautiful days. Ten days is so much time, yet hardly the blink of an eye. Enough time to make plans and imagine life. To fall in love. Just enough time to grieve.
I tested early, and while I’d like to say if I hadn’t tested I wouldn’t have known — I can’t say that. I would have known. Physically, my body was sad and groaning and mourning as it lost the baby. My heart went from broken to numb to broken again.
This was such a hard thing for me, because this whole experience made me clam up and hide away and want to not let one drop of emotion seep out into the real world. In other words, the opposite of how I normally am. I only told a tiny amount of people, many of my good friends will be finding out as they read this now. I can only say that the “what should have been’s” were and are still, unbearable.
All the little things, like seeing sweet young babies, talking about others who are pregnant, everyone but me moving on and forgetting, even getting a pitch in my email that is towards pregnant women and thinking that should be me. The tiny stabs add up.
After all this, I do not despair. The pain is grief, and it’s just been 3 weeks since the loss. What has not been lost, is hope. This experience filled up my heart, overflowed it, then emptied it out so rapidly that my head is still spinning.
And we are so very grateful for that butterfly, which was a moment for all of us as a family to say goodbye to what we had lost. It lingered enough to give us all love, and then slowly flew away.