Grief has not been kind to me. I am a huge wreck. My life is falling apart. Suddenly I cannot talk to my husband anymore, and I have absolutely no patience with my toddler. I am developing into a vile person. It's taking me into this dark, pessimistic bitch-the-glass-is-not-even-one-quarter-full type of gal. Yeah, nature ate a bunch of Indian food and decided to take a giant dump on my chest.
I don't even recognize myself. Emma asked for watermelon and cereal. After preparing it for her, she pushed her plate away and deemed the meal "yucky". I am such an asshole. I lost it and told Emma she could eat what I gave her or starve. And I'm pretty sure I said god damnit. And I'm 99.9 percent sure she started to cry; her little face scrunched up and she backed away. Falling to the ground, she covered her face. "So sad, mommy. So sad to you!"
It's not like I was aiming for mother of the year, but...gulp. There's nothing like breaking your two year old's heart to bring you back to reality.
Part of this darkness stems from the lack of control I have. I'm a planner. I'm organized. I like control. I believe we make our own luck; I believe in fate, opportunity, and making the most of things. I don't believe in intelligent design or that things happen for a reason. So to me, control is awesome. Structure, order, and routine are my best friends (next to Malbec). I've tried to have a more spontaneous outlook, and guess what? The laundry doesn't get done, no one packs Emma's lunch for preschool, and I end up running out of gas. I shit you not: without me planning things, our lives fall apart. Kevin is laid back and goes with the flow; he probably eats a giant bowl of "let's chill" every morning for breakfast. This is why our relationship works! He is cool and I am OCD. I'm totally cool with this: I'll never be the person that fails a class or ends up in some freak accident because I wasn't prepared. Yeah, judge all you want but if you ever got lost in the woods with me, you'd be happy to know I generally have the best snacks around and a fully charged cell phone.
I digress. The point is: I like control. A miscarriage, however, epitomizes lack of control. Everything is taken away. It's not knowing. The unknown is really fucking scary. My biggest fear is being out in the ocean at night, floating. Don't get me wrong: I like water and I like the night, but combining the two with floating in ocean is a nightmare. What's below the surface? There's no where to run. Fuuuuuuuck that! I'm at the mercy of Mother Nature (who, by the way, is probably a transvestite who wishes she could have beautiful ginger babies like Emma). Sitting around waiting for my body to pass ginger fetus 2.0 makes me a jerk.
It's hard to heal when you're carrying something like that around with you. It's hard to move forward and see the beauty around you when you're stuck in a sand pit of frustration and devastation and animosity and pain.
I miss who I was. I miss how optimistic and carefree I felt about pregnancy. Why can't I find her? It's because carrying a dead fetus is truly life changing. It changes everything, and not in the best of ways.
But there's hope. In the midst of some scary ocean with monsters and sharks...there's hope under the surface. I had a break through last night! Healing took place. There is much more that needs to happen, but instead of the usual two steps backwards into the darkness, an inch forward took place.
Yesterday afternoon, I started having contractions. Oh-holy-fuck-where's-the-advil type of contractions. As I stated earlier, I chose to not have a d&c (at the last minute) because I needed to be home and to endure this by myself. Anyway, the contractions were not exactly pleasant, but I promised myself I would remain calm. I did! 8 hours later, I breathed through it. It was just like labor, but a mini version. I chose to have faith in myself and my body. I needed the closure. I knew that until the miscarriage was over, this ugly heaviness was going to be carried in my heart.
Buckets of blood. Hours of pain. Clots. Contractions. Swearing. Cursing. Doubling over. Everything passed. In that moment, I felt instant relief; the waves of pain ceased, and there was a calm within my body. Peace surrounded my heart, as my body let go of the pregnancy.
I fished the little sac out of the shower. Placing it in a ceramic bowl, I stared at the golf ball size mess of tissue, fluid, and a tiny tiny tiny fetus. It was as if time had suspended in my womb, perfectly preserving the baby.
We buried little Jack or Amelia that night. I said good bye. I won't elaborate on what I said as I buried the fetus because it's highly personal, and I'd like to keep that part to myself. Nonetheless, it felt right.
I am content with my decision to avoid the d&c. Each woman must choose what's right for her. To some, it's having a d&c, and for others, such as myself, a natural miscarriage at home is in order. I needed to give up control. My body needed to let go of the pregnancy. I couldn't force this to happen, but allowing my body to lead me into a place of closure was truly cathartic.
Afterward, Kevin and I talked early into the morning. I told him everything I previously could not. The hopes for little Jack of Amelia. The dreams I had. How much sadness and grief I'm feeling. How much the pregnancy means. He listened and I felt heard. Heartfelt apologies were made, except it wasn't sophomoric like some cheesy Lifetime movie. Kevin opened his heart to me, and it was truly amazing to be connecting and really talking to one another again. He has a beautiful spirit. This is the man I am supposed to be with. In those moments of quiet intimacy, we saw each other for who we are. Forgiveness is such freedom. Letting go of the anger and resentment marks a new chapter in the healing process.
It's a long road ahead, but I am not feeling so fearful. I trust Kevin and know he is walking beside me, his hand in mine. The grief is not quite as raw; it is there, but there is peace taking root.
It's a great feeling.
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