I have no doubt I was born to mother, in all of her visages.
I tried for several years to be just that, unsuccessfully. It was when I became resigned to the idea that I would birth a child that I then became pregnant with one.
Ironically, I did not see the blessing. I felt the timing was wrong; that I did not have enough money; that I didn’t live in the right place; that I needed a better support system, and the thoughts ran on and on ceaselessly.
I had just started a new job so didn’t tell anyone. I remember how exhausted I was in the first trimester and there were a couple of times my boss found me head down in front of my computer, snoring.
At 5 months I was not showing. At my ultrasound appointment my ob/gyn seemed to have trouble finding a heartbeat with the doppler. He looked concerned and didn’t make eye contact with me as he moved it around my belly. Finally, he found it but still looked concerned. He said the heartbeat was slower than it should be and that I should go home and rest. He was cold and detached in delivering this news and I did not know what it meant but also did not want to know so did not ask any questions. I did as he said and went home to rest.
My baby died the next day.
When I was in the hospital, I was in a ward of sorts that included mothers who had just had babies along with mothers who had just lost babies. As I lie in my bed I listened to the cries of newborns several feet away and my mourning began.
I asked my doctor why it happened. He remained quite cold and explained that sometimes there are just chromosomal abnormalities, especially in first births, and that this was mother nature’s way of addressing it. Where on earth did I find this guy and how was he still in business?
‘Miscarriage’ as a word sounds so unemotional, like something you might apply to a fallen bag of groceries. When you leave the hospital after a miscarriage, you leave eerily empty-handed, in comparison to what you are supplied with then you leave with a living infant.
Grieving a child that no one has ever seen is a silent solitary cause; a physical, emotional and spiritual pain acted out behind the curtains.
I named him Nathan. Today, he would be 17 years old.
What am I grateful for?
- Angelic love.
- Grasping the meaninglessness of planned timing in that ‘life‘ cannot be time-lined.
- Developing a mind that releases worry in acknowledgement of endless supply.
- Developing faith and hope, in things unseen.