How do I feel? Better to say the least. I know what it feels like to laugh again easily. Grief doesn’t keep me up a night crying alone anymore. If my husband only knew the countless times I got out of our bed in the wee hours of the night to go downstairs and sob uncontrollably. I know his heart would be broken, shattered to say the least if he knew the times I suffered in silence. I would always grab my bathrobe at the end of the bed. The same bathrobe I walked around pregnant in with Naomi, Elle, and the baby I never met. The same bathrobe I wore the night I started miscarrying. The same bathrobe I took off before my husband drove me to the emergency room. (Sigh.) I thank God (tears) for allowing me to wake up again without feeling the weight of the world sitting on my chest or the unbearable empty feeling in my uterus. It was hard trying to fall asleep at night and even harder waking up to the reality of such a great loss. Especially that first week. The first week was HELL!!! Wow, looking back at that time I can’t believe I came out of that. But then again because of my faith in Jesus, I can.
Ya know, you really find out who you’re married to in a crisis. And gosh am I blessed.
March 7th 2022 we found out we lost our baby. It was a Monday. A rainy, chilly, gloomy day. How I had no idea what was about to happen. But the weather set the tone.
The look on the doctors face. The nurses face. The quietness and stillness of the ultra sound machine. Suddenly without warning everything around me felt so cold. I know people feel it and even mean it when they say, I’m sorry. But how uncomforting and tiring it is to hear over and over again. It does nothing. But it does mean everything.
“There’s no heartbeat.”
It was so, final.
That’s it and that’s all.
I remember the scent of my husbands cologne and the feelings of his cammies when he reached down and hugged me. The way he spoke in my left ear. I could feel his lips on the tip of my earlobe. His voice raspy. He sounded heartbroken. His words mild yet encouraging. Him just wanting me to be okay. I didn’t walk out the hospital the same way I walked in. That was the longest ride home and the longest night ever. Everything felt heavy and seemed to move in slow motion. Even taking off my clothes and shoes. I remember my husband asked me did I want something to eat. He sounded so far away, but he stood right in front of me. I just cried. I cried so much.
And that was only the beginning…
When you go through trauma and grief, it’s like your whole entire life flashes before your eyes right up to the day of devastation. I thought about the day when I first met my husband. All the times in between that. The day I got married. The first I got pregnant and the second time. A compilation of my life at full speed up until that very moment I did not heat a heartbeat.
Healing has been both agony and graceful. Both happy and sad. Both fulfilling and the feeling of emptiness. Regardless, it’s all essential. It’s restoration. It’s rejuvenating. And lately it’s been so refreshing.
By the time mid summer came around I was starting to get pieces of me back. I didn’t dread getting out of bed. I didn’t flinch at the thought of reality as much as I did the first couple of months of grieving. I cried less. The dark cloud that loomed over me had started to drift. But I still didn’t feel whole. I mean, I really didn’t expect myself too. I wasn’t rushing the healing process. I don’t believe in faking to be okay. That’s a burden in itself. I was fragile enough. Once I learned I was doing well physically, I did begin to feel better emotionally. But I still needed something. For months I couldn’t grasp it.
But what I needed was me. And I know to some people that may sound like, huh? What do you mean? See, “I don’t wanna miss my mark. Whatever God has for me to do on earth in the realest way, I do not wanna miss that mark. I just wanna do that, everyday.” And for me, when I had a miscarriage, I lost me in a sense. It’s a piece of me that is gone. Foreva. That I will never get back. All I have left is the moments in which now are memories that I will take with me throughout life. But that loss, it amplified my love. My appreciation, my gratitude, my feelings, my words, my actions, my every single thang. My being. My life. Who I am. What I am. And who I wanna be. Life really came full circle for me. How somethings juuuust do not matter. Some responses juuust do not matter. Some reactions juuust do not matter. Some thangs juuust do not matter. I don’t wanna waste time. Because time is all you got until it’s nothing left. When I think back on that Monday morning before I knew that my baby, our baby did not have a heartbeat. I feel like that whole day my life was a stop watch. Like, the timer of my happiness, my joy, my looking forward to was ticking away. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. BOOM! A countdown to grief. Just like that. I don’t wanna waste time. That pain changed me. In how I react. In how I respond. In how I live day to day. What I give my time to and who I give it to. Now, don’t get me wrong, life happens, feelings occur and old habits die hard. But I don’t use, “I’m not perfect” as an excuse to continue to do thangs that waste time. Take time. Because time, once that’s it, that’s it. It’s gone. It’s done. It’s final.
So yeah, I take me serious. I take my healing journey serious. I take my pain serious. I feel it. I see it. I am it. Grief changed me. In the realest way. And although it hurt me to the core. I bled literally and figuratively in pain. A hurt that I’ve never felt. And it changed me for the better. And I’m thankful for it. God makes no mistakes. I trust Him. His Will and His way. (Exhale.)
This peace. This strength. It wasn’t me. It isn’t me. It’s all God.
Talk soon. 💋
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