I have come to hate that word. Miscarry. It sounds like I dropped something, or missed doing something I was supposed to do. Any woman who miscarries knows this feeling, what I feared for days and weeks has finally come to pass, the child has died even though I tried to do everything I could to prevent it. I have a mix of emotions. If I sound angry, well, part of me is angry.
Why? Why does this have to happen?
I knew that if I announced a new little Trasancos had entered the world, then I’d have let people know if I miscarried too. It’s almost embarrassing because miscarriage makes you feel like you failed somehow, but telling people about this child was my way of celebrating this life.
As a family, we’ve worked together marching back and forth to the doctor, getting medication I needed at the pharmacy, having blood test after blood test with young kids sitting all over the waiting room, hoping for a healthy sonogram, and experiencing the sadness of realizing there’s nothing more we can do except say good-bye.
To us, that little embryo is in many ways no different than the nine year old with beautiful flowing hair streaking behind her as she runs through the fall leaves and asks a million questions about hunting deer this winter because she actually thinks she wants to try it. Just as she is simply being her unique self, so too was the embryo. We love them both, the same, but differently because of who they are.
Our child lived on earth, and will live in eternity too. God created a new body and a new soul, and now we entrust him or her to Our Creator. With the raw clarity of suffering, I am thankful for my children who are still with me, the grown ones who don’t usually think they need their mother’s guidance, but still seek it anyway when they want real answers, and the young ones who clamor around me all day begging for snacks and toys and attention. They all need me in different ways, even as I have to learn to let go in so many different ways too.
Oh motherhood! Isn’t every single day of motherhood an exercise in learning to let go?
These children, all so different, all so mine. I love them all so much. I’m just trying to hang on to each one of them for as long as I can. I guess that’s what you say when you miscarry — I was trying to hang on for as long as I could.
Thanks to everyone who prayed
and shared this life with us.
Sites That Link to this Post
- Desiring Baptism : Stacy Trasancos | March 24, 2013