I am more than my miscarriages

Life changing news. I wrote about it because that's one of the best (maybe the only) ways I can get a grip on my emotions.

When I was younger, all this emotion and writing and pouring myself into an outlet was secret. There were notebooks and random stashes of folded up paper that lived in my back jeans' pockets that I would pull out and fill with angry, bitter poetry. A lot of anger. A lot of bitter.

This is where I come now. I try to make sure my thoughts are fairly well put together before I hit "publish." This is a space where I feel I can get out all my feelings - whether they're about stupid shit my kids are doing, the random places I find sippy cups, my love of cloth diapers, or my incessant need to finish writing the novel that should have been done months ago as soon as possible (because ASAP just makes more sense than an actual deadline when I have two small children) - but I also like to consider it a safe place for others to join some of these conversations.

Usually everyone just comments on the link I post on my Facebook page. That's fine.

Tonight, while I reflect on our loss - a child who won't get to spend Christmas with us next year - I also reflect on our gains throughout the year.

Let me get really honest for a moment. I hate that miscarriage is such a touchy subject, to the point that really it seems a lot of people think it's one of those things "we don't talk about." Why do we spend so much time openly mourning our old, but sometimes refuse others the right to publicly mourn someone they created and weren't able to meet at all? It goes along with the thought that waiting to share the news of a pregnancy until 12 or 13 weeks is better because then you're in some randomly decided pregnancy "safe zone" where miscarriage or stillbirth isn't supposed to happen. Even if we don't talk about it, it still happens. Be a network of love for those who have lost a pregnancy or a child and let them mourn. It's normal. Even if it hurts to talk about it, talk. Let it hurt. It's normal.

I have spent the last two and a half weeks mourning and going through all the stages of grief. I'm afraid someday before I'm ready to be OK someone is going to get bold and tell me to get over it and move on, and that alone might be the one thing that makes me snap.

I hit my anger wall last week and it was bad. Really bad. I yelled and screamed, at the kids and the dog and the car in front of me in car line (that fucking car line) and my mom because there isn't one single person or thing to be angry at and I think that makes it all hurt a little more. But my kids, as young as they are, understood. They've been little rocks with such broad shoulders. There were a lot of hugs and "It's OK, Mommy. We know you're sad." It wasn't "I know you're mad about things," they said "sad" because that's what it was - it was an irreparable sadness that hit from out of nowhere and manifested itself as anger over granola being spilled all over the carpet and toys being strewn all over the front room.

After a few days of just being angry, it got better. Until it wasn't better anymore.

In the span of 24 hours I began reading a book, a book whose first chapter begins with a 22-year-old girl going in for her anatomy ultrasound only to find the baby's heart had stopped (I read the entire book and it's a gorgeous story about grief and overcoming and moving forward, I just wasn't prepared for that first chapter). Then two moms I know announced their pregnancies. Then the final results for my last ultrasound were posted to my hospital patient portal thinger and I forced myself to read and reread the clinical talk about my dead baby. And then we got a Christmas card with another pregnancy announcement ... and I literally wanted to crawl into the bottom of a bottle just to make the hurt stop, even though I know that's not an answer. I hadn't even felt like drinking to relax until that point. I didn't feel it was right. Not yet.

But in that moment, I pulled open the refrigerator, grabbed the last beer in the house, popped it open and had my first drink since before finding out we were supposed to be having another baby. It tasted good and it hit hard. I made dinner and texted back and forth with two of my best friends who talked me down, who reminded me that it's OK. It's OK to mourn and hurt because eventually the pain will fade.

Those conversations alone reminded me that I'm more than my miscarriages, more than the novel I haven't finished and more than the former reporter who's "just a stay-at-home mom" now.

That's where the reflecting on our gains comes into play.

Through this loss I have found so many blessings - the first being that despite whatever problems there were from the moment this pregnancy happened, I was able to carry that child as long as I was supposed to. Not everyone gets the chance to carry a baby, not everyone has the opportunity to feel life grow within them. I've been blessed four times now. Four. And two of them are sound asleep in one bed upstairs after finally falling asleep with the anticipation of Santa being on his way. God willing, we might get the chance at least once more when the time is right.

Regardless of how far apart we are geographically, I have friends who have been so present in the last three weeks for me, friends who send me a quick message just to see how things are going, friends who have continued to talk to me about normal everyday things, friends who have said to me "vent. I'm here for you." I am blessed. I am more than my miscarriages.

Above all, this year has shown me how good my husband and I are together. Where he's calm, I'm a freaking basket case; I'm black coffee and he's cream and sugar ... saying he's the yin to my yang is going a little far. Maybe. You get the point. We've been through so much in the last 12 months - not more than we've endured in the past but still quite a bit - and even after back to back pregnancies and losses, we are stronger than ever. This would break some couples, this could truly damage some marriages. Our losses have been blessings because we held one another up and became stronger. My faith is stronger (regardless of my love of the other F word) because of how Ron has stood by me, stood by us. If this was a test of our love, our commitment to one another, it's only proven to make us love one another more. Love deeper and stronger.

This Christmas, I reflect on all we've accomplished this year, all we've gained, all we've lost, but more than anything ... I'm choosing to reflect on how much we love.

Merry Christmas.