When I was pregnant with Annie, I was constantly gripped with a sense of foreboding, convinced something was going to go wrong. I know now that most of that stemmed from my experience with Madeline’s pregnancy and sudden death. At the time, however, I was convinced it was because I was intuiting signs from my body. No matter what I said or how I acted, on the inside I was convinced that something was going to go terribly wrong. Maybe somehow I was preparing myself, that if something happened it would somehow hurt less.
With my last pregnancy, I had a similar sense of impending disaster. And while I definitely had some signs that contributed to that feeling, I think the biggest reason I felt uneasy had nothing to do with the pregnancy at all. In February, Jackie was told that her tumor had stopped responding to treatment, and that she was at the end of her life. Knowing that she was in her final days was all-consuming for me. No matter what I said or how I acted, I was gripped with a fear that this was going to be the day she died, because no one had any idea exactly how it was going to go down. My worry for her colored everything around me.
The end for Jackie was like slowly watching a paper bag drift to earth. The bag would dip close to the ground, but then a gust of wind would push it hundreds of feet into the air. Sometimes the trials she was on appeared to be working, and other times the MRIs showed that was not the case. I spent months squinting at that paper bag, willing it to fall slower, softly, gently. I ran below, hoping to catch it and help ease it down. I never took my eyes off that paper bag, even when my own suddenly slammed into the ground right at my feet.
I never let myself get truly, wholly sad about the miscarriage because I knew something else was on the horizon. I couldn’t help but compare the two losses in my mind, even though I knew it wasn’t fair or rational. But in the immediate aftermath of the miscarriage I kept saying over and over to myself, “This isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to you, this isn’t even the worst thing that will happen to you this year.” I was protecting myself, but also preparing myself. I stepped over my paper bag with the intention of coming back to it later…after.
Yesterday I came across the only ultrasound photos I have from the pregnancy, a hasty cell phone snap of still images on the computer screen taken at my seven week appointment. I didn’t ask for a print-out…I don’t know why.
It’s been four months since I miscarried, but the only emotion I feel now is guilt for not being horribly grief-stricken. Maybe it will hit me come December, when the baby would have been here. I don’t know. Maybe my paper bag is in an updrift. Hopefully it will fall gently to the ground.
Vicky says:
Maybe you can still get a printout?
So sorry for all you have been through.
Suze says:
The way you describe the paper bag, is so poignant and beautiful. My breath rose and fell, just like you descrbe the wind gusting it up.
Heather, your human spirit is aglow, even tho all you feel is sadness and grief.
Truly, when the time comes again, a new baby or a new Annie milestone to celebrate. A few paper bags will be gusting up, and this time you won’t need help stepping out of its way, the *wind* will be hearing whispers, you will be cared for, just as you’ve done for others.
Auntie_M says:
Yes! This!!! What Suze says!
Also: be gentle with yourself & your reaction to your miscarriage. As I recall, you were sad & you did grieve that loss…but remember: You have faced tremendous grief with Maddie. You were facing a new & tremendous grief with Jackie. The loss during your miscarriage wasn’t quite the same for you & that’s ok. Don’t judge your reactions or compare your losses one against the other. It isn’t fair to anyone–yourself included.
Much love to you!
defendUSA says:
Heather-
I am a scientific thinker. So when it happened to me, I chalked it up with scientific logic…I had no guilt, but I WAS really pissed that my body failed me. I didn’t cry in as much as I was just in shock thinking backwards about the loss of the tell tale signs of pregnancy…and this was 17 weeks. My husband was more grief-stricken than me and guess I was able to put it all in a “mindbox” and move forward. You just have to keep the faith that your paper bag will be drifting and lead you to the sunshine!
Brooke says:
The little reed, bending to the force of the wind, soon stood upright again when the storm had passed over. ~Aesop
I hope your paper bag falls softly. Hugs to you.
TonyaM says:
You are such an incredibly gifted writer. The paper bag analogy took my breath away and made me cry all at once. Cancer took my dad, and right now it’s very close to taking a young cousin and my husband’s mother. And you are absolutely right. That bag comes ever so close to the ground, only to be swept up again. It’s part of what makes cancer so cruel for all involved.
I’m so sorry for all you have been through. Hugs.
Lanie says:
Hoping for a soft, gentle landing. Beautiful post.
For me, after Jake died and then Sawyer’s unexpected death, I always expect the worst but hoping for the best. You wrote about this before – but when so many tragedies happen you become kind of “dead inside.”
Take care. xo
Lanie says:
P.S. I meant to add that “being dead inside” or the numbness is how I often feel. Try not to be hard on yourself for not feeling more grief about the miscarriage. Sending hope and hugs.
Heather says:
Oh, I knew what you meant! I often say the same thing. xo
giselle says:
Heather, you don’t need to be so hard on yourself. It’s ok to feel however you feel. You should not feel guilty or let your mind tell you that you should be sadder. You have suffered enough. I wish it could only be happiness for you forever.
Jen says:
This is beautifully written.
ColleenMN says:
You don’t always feel horribly grief stricken. Sometimes it’s disappointment and loss but not horrible grief. It’s different for each person, for each miscarriage. I have had two miscarriages and two children. I never experienced true grief, a loss – yes, but not deep grief. I was young and knew that miscarriages were common and not completely unexpected. I am a concrete sequential gal and logic really helped.
Michelle says:
The paper bag analogy was beautiful.
I wasn’t grief stricken after my second trimester loss. The only time I cried was in the hospital when I initially heard that the heartbeat was gone. I didn’t even cry days later when I had to go through a “mini” labor and delivery. My son at the time was still an infant who was still dealing with the aftermath of being a preemie with chronic lung disease. My focus was on him. Then, I was pregnant again so quickly afterwards that my focus switched to that pregnancy. I never experienced any lasting sadness or grief for that miscarriage. I’ve wondered who that baby would have become, and how our life would have been different with a little girl as the baby of the family instead of the little boy we have, but that’s the extent of it.
I think some people are just affected differently by the experience of miscarriage, and that’s okay.
Beth says:
Don’t feel guilty about not being grief-stricken – everyone reacts to pregnancy loss so differently. I had 2 miscarriages before I had my now 3 year old child – one early one and one close the end of the first trimester/start of second trimester. While I felt sadness about each, especially the second time, I did not feel a deep sense of grief. I occasionally think about what those children would be like, but did not even notice the dates when they were to be born. You’ve been through so much – don’t beat yourself up for not feeling the way you think you should feel.
Amber Bunn says:
Very beautifully written! I love to watch plastic bags drift in the air… now I will think differently when I see them. Please don’t feel guilt- I don’t think that is what God would want you to feel. I believe that it is simply your body, heart, mind, and soul all working together to protect yourself from the pain. I hope that when December arrives you are able to enjoy a beautiful Holiday season with your Family and not one that is filled with grief over your miscarriage. You are very strong… hang in there!
Alexis says:
I know I have written this several times but, I wish I could bring you cookies. I wish I could carry some of your pain so you could get a break and rest. You are all in my prayers.
I had a miscarriage between my second and third daughters. I went out to dinner to celebrate when I learned I was no longer pregnant because it was a surprise pregnancy that I didn’t feel prepared for. How horrible is that!!! I don’t think I let myself envision the baby, just my pregnancy.
Much love to you! Just be true to yourself and your feelings no matter what they are.
Bridget says:
Heather – let go of any guilt on how you should feel about the miscarriage. Everyone is different.
I did not have huge breakdowns with my 2 miscarriages. I knew several people who had had one before my 1st. I cried for a day and then decided I would just focus on having a healthy pregnancy the next time. I don’t allow myself to really celebrate pregnancy until well into the 2nd trimeseter because of my knowledge of how possible (and common) a miscarriage is.
On the other hand, I’ve had friends be completely grief-stricken over a miscarriage and the last thing I’d tell them was, “well, it’s no big deal”. It was a big deal to them. We all feel dffererently. Considering the loss you have endured over the last severeal years I would think it’s normal for a miscarriage to fall in the “sad, but not devestating” category, and that’s completely ok.
Hang in there.
Mommy says:
Love to you.
Erin says:
Heather, I don’t think you should feel guilty for the way you feel about your miscarriage. You have experienced so much grief and how you feel about your miscarriage just doesn’t compare. And that is ok. I had two miscarriages before my babies were born and I was definitely sad about what happened, but I didn’t grieve the loss of a child like some women do. To me, there was something genetically wrong with the baby and it didn’t form into a healthy growing fetus. I also wasn’t very far along and never saw a heart beat which made it easier to deal with. You can’t choose how you feel about something so there is no sense in having a sense of guilt. Your feelings are what they are. I hope this fall brings happiness into your life. =)
Glenda says:
Heather, you have a way with words. Beautiful post!
I hope your paper bag gently falls.
xo
Skye says:
Your paper bag analogy is probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read about grief. I hope your readers can help keep your paper bag afloat.
AmandaPN says:
I just realized today that I would have been 20 weeks pregnant already if I hadn’t miscarried.
soleil says:
Don’t feel guilty. If you were able to accept the loss and let go more easily than your other deep griefs, that is a blessing. If it catches up with you later, you will deal with it then.
I was terribly grief stricken from my miscarriage. And almost four years after I had my subsequent baby my emotional temperature is pretty much neutral. At the time I never dreamt that I could recover like that I don’t think I would from the death of such a close loved one. I just don’t think about it at all and I am glad.
Tara says:
The paper bag illustration is so appropriate and I love how you described it.
I think it is normal to compare losses. Although it isn’t anywhere close to the death of a loved one, when my husband got laid off twice in less than 2 years, I was devastated and scared. He finally got a good job again and I was so afraid he’d lose this one too. He came home one day looking familiarly crestfallen and upset. I immediately freaked out but all he said was that he had gotten a speeding ticket on his way home. He thought I’d be upset.
“Speeding ticket?” I shrieked. “Who freaking cares?”. I was just full of gratitude that it wasn’t anything worse. So much could be worse.
Of course, hubby thought I was crazy until I explained. I can’t help but make these kind of comparisons.
When I had a miscarriage earlier this year, it was harder going through the time when the baby would have been due. Much harder than the initial aftermath. There are ups and downs; you just feel what you feel. I think your feelings are completely understandable and normal.
Leslie K says:
You’ve had enough grief for 10 people. I pray that your guilt subsides and that the grief you think you should feel never comes.
Jill says:
I never comment, I read everyday and often think I should comment…but I never do. Today I am because I want to say thank you. Six months ago I experienced a miscarriage at 6 weeks and I was devistated. Last week I found out I was pregnant again…I am like you, so I read into every slight pain I had and assumed it was my body rejecting another pregnancy. Tonight it happened. I started having cramps late afternoon and sure enough, tonight I miscarried again. I am heartbroken. To read this post today of all days… But it helps in a way. Miscarriage is such a taboo subject and no one talks about it. Besides my doctor and nurse, the only other person who knows this is happening is my husband. It makes for a very lonely experience. I need to thank you for talking about it. I know that it has to be painful for you too, but reading about another person who has experienced it makes me realize that I’m not alone.
Heather says:
Oh Jill. I am so, SO sorry! If I can do anything, please let me know. My heart goes out to you.
Meg says:
Perhaps it’s the difference in losing someone you had known and loved, versus a teeny tiny someone you were just getting to know and love? Don’t beat yourself up – you are an amazing mom and friend.
FyshWyfe says:
Loss is a weird thing. We lost a baby two years ago. I packed up all the feelings and shoved them in the back of my heart until this past July. All of the sudden I was grief-stricken and guilt-ridden for not mourning the loss sooner. I felt awful for not including the baby in a family tattoo I got in the Spring. I shed more tears over THAT than I had in the previous two years. So I went and got another tattoo, of the baby’s would-have-been birth month flower, and I touch it often. I talk to it sometimes too. I finally feel like I’m healing.