This is the first time that I’m really putting this into words instead of a stream of consciousness, abstract depictions, or endless tears – although I am sure there will be tears shed throughout this. The mommy guilt is mired deep in my thought process of this experience. So, here we go. For better or worse, let’s go on this journey together.
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” – Ernest Hemingway
As I write, I sit here and bleed. I bleed from my heart, my body, and my mind. Miscarriage is something that no one talks about; a forbidden topic. No one talks about all the questions, the pain, and the unforgivable grief clothed in tears. There is a cone of silence and pure isolation that no one can remove. But now, because I am writing this, you know that it is all over, and you know that my life has changed… forever.
For whatever reason, miscarriage is viewed as an extremely taboo subject. Almost as if not talking about it will make it disappear. So, as my contribution to breaking the stigma on miscarriage, this is my story…
Three years, three months, one week, and five days ago our family got the biggest surprise of our lives. Just shy of eight months after giving birth to our first daughter, we found out we were expecting again.