Pregnancy Loss: Chrissy Marie & Gretchen
Motherhood Musings: Collection 3, Volume 2
Welcome to collection of Motherhood Musings, you can read other collections here. These words are around pregnancy loss, grief, and healing. I am a strong believer in other people’s stories helping us heal and navigate our own experiences. Go gently as you read, pause if you need, and remember you are not alone.
You can find the first piece in this collection, here.
Chrissy’s Story
Less than 24 hours ago, I thought I was still pregnant - 10.5 weeks to be exact. My husband and I went to our first ultrasound 3 days ago. Seeing the little bean on the screen felt mildly reassuring to the part of me that had been holding hope at bay. Last week I’d even journaled how this pregnancy “didn’t feel real yet.”
“I thought we’d hear the heartbeat today,” Alex turned to me at the end.
“I did too. Perhaps we’ll get to next week when we see my midwife to go over the scan?”
I’d never had an ultrasound before. This was my first pregnancy. The tech let us take a picture of the baby on the screen and we left without any cause for concern. “It looks a bit eery - skeletal,” I thought silently when I zoomed in on her face. Without naming that aloud, I sent the pic to family and friends who knew and were celebrating with us. The image still felt like hope, and I was just starting to let more in.
Then yesterday morning my midwife called from her home, apologetic. She’d just gotten the scans.
“Did they tell you what they found?”
“They didn’t.”
“The baby is only measuring 7.5 weeks instead of 10.5, and they couldn’t find a heartbeat. Have you had any cramps or bleeding?”
“No.”
And then I knew.
I’d had a missed or silent miscarriage.
As I share this, my body hasn’t initiated symptoms yet.
Even the loss doesn’t ‘feel’ real physically. “
I know it doesn’t make sense,” she apologized as we talked next steps and I temporarily dissociated from the pain.
But in some ways, it did.
I’d had a sense of caution since the start. My own mom had 5 miscarriages in between 5 live births, and while miscarriages have historically been kept close to the chest, I know SO many people who’ve navigated them.
There were little signs here and there.
Using mantras like, “my baby is safe” stopped resonating after a while and instead I switched to, “For as long as you choose to stay, I’ve got you, and I’ve got me.” I had dreams of miscarriage and death a week before when I now know baby must have passed. The last few weeks I’ve been seeing an unusual amount of repeating numbers; generally a sign of good luck - but instead a part of me sensed, this is baby saying hello, but not from the womb. In fact, the original email Emma sent out this morning about her own experience with loss dropped into my inbox at 5:55 a.m. I’m choosing to interpret this as, “I am held through it all.”
I’d even made a piece of spirit baby art the week she passed, while I was still unaware. I’d glued a little heart shaped clover leaf to her chest. It was green and vibrant. When I pulled the piece out to show a friend a few days later, the clover had dried to a dull grey. I swallowed a sense of dread and brushed my fears off to anxiety. But it wasn’t anxiety. It was a knowing.
After hanging up with the midwife, I cancelled all my obligations for the day and let myself start to feel everything.
I’d like to share the layers of what emerged as I journaled.
Parts of me are disappointed, and so so sad
Parts felt this was coming
Parts don’t want to feel other people’s sympathy if it feels bigger than my own sadness
Parts don’t want to go through morning sickness again with a new baby
Parts are worried loss will happen again
Parts are disappointed I won’t have a Christmas baby
A part of me feels embarrassed because - what if people blame me
A part of me balks at that part and thinks its ridiculous because “blame is useless here”
A part of me actually just doesn’t like the perceived “negative” attention
Parts of me hate when I’m underestimated in my capacity to hold myself through hard times
Parts want to isolate in this pain
Parts want to share my process everywhere
Parts of me have no regret that we told so many people early
Parts really want to stop working a “job” and step into the role of mother, and are upset that this won’t happen when I thought it would
Parts are worried that I’ll hemorrhage when the miscarriage begins
Parts are worried a d&c will mess up my chances for future pregnancy if I choose that
Parts of me are excited to go lift heavy again at the gym
Parts are so frustrated at how fragile the process of pregnancy feels
Parts really wanted to get excited and allow in joy for the process, but felt like they couldn’t, and are angry about that
Parts are really excited for the next baby, who feels close as well
Parts are wondering, can I be joyful even in this?
Parts of me accept it all
In between journaling, I’ve been crying, and singing, and telling friends - all of which has felt so supportive.
An insight emerged in the midst that felt empowering: I’m getting to face everything that I feared. In a way, that feels like such a gift.
A few years back when we discussed calling in a child, I spiraled into sobs of panic. “What if we lose our child while they’re young? What if I lose my mind? What if I can’t come back from grief?” Parts of me didn’t trust in my capacity to ride the waves of pain that inevitably come with calling in deep love.
While this loss feels like a drip compared to a loss that might happen further down the path, it’s still profound - and I feel proud in how I’m being with it; creating space to feel, sharing when it feels supportive, and allowing the layers and sensations.
I spent time speaking to a few of my siblings as well. Our family has a unique way of using pretty dark humor to move through tragedy, and this was no exception. Coping this way is surely not for everyone, but I found myself belly laughing through tears as we cracked up over the cruel irony of the ultrasound tech letting us take and send pictures of a baby they must have known was no longer viable. I have the ability to pan in and out of pain in a way where I can find humor in it one moment, then cry through it the next. So while this may feel off for some, it was so helpful for me in the moment.
Later in the afternoon I took myself out for a solo lunch after moving through many emotions. On the way out I grabbed a tote bag I haven’t used in ages. At the table waiting for my food, my hands brushed against a little note pad at the bottom of the bag. I flipped to the first page, and a note from a few years back popped forth. I had written it shortly after finding out about the October killings in Israel. I was on my way to a dance event, and couldn’t stop thinking about those who were killed at the festival.
“Joy can be how I honor those in suffering or death. It is a prayer of appreciation for life itself and for the life they lived. Joy and sorrow are two sides of the same coin. I can no longer fear this. Feeling one fully allows for the other, and I can ride each wave fully in the moment, alive either way.”
This feels true for me now. I have equal parts grief for the loss of my hopes, expectations and excitements, and equal parts joy and wonder for the experience I had to build a life within me for a little while (and for the sense that another spark is on its way to my womb soon.)
And when I really surrender to the process of life moving through me, it’s all of it, all at once, up and down, in and out.
Anger and gratitude.
Hope and doubt.
Joy and sorrow.
And the beautiful thing is,
there is now more trust than doubt within me
that I can hold it all.
P.S. This week I will plant butterfly flower seeds in honor of what I sense was my little girl. I'd also like to share a few images. The first is the art I made the week she passed, when I had a sense she could be leaving but wouldn't find out til weeks later, and ignored it in the moment. You might be able to see how this translated into the painting. The second is a memorial piece that I plan on making later today for her. I also want to send waves of love and support to all of your reading. My heart is with yours through every texture of your experience, honoring every nuance of your journey. You are seen and held here.
Gretchen’s Story
I have experienced two early pregnancy losses, one at five weeks in between my two children approximately twelve years ago, and one just recently in December (I'm now remarried) at 6 weeks.
I am a planner and had already started lining up my hopes for being a stay-at-home mom/homeschooling mom to at least that one little one. My older two are 15 and 10. They knew of the pregnancy, and overall, everyone handled the loss very well, but then my dad died suddenly the next month, which was grief on top of grief. The last words I said to my father was about the pregnancy not working out. He was probably the most outwardly upset. My husband is younger and really wants a baby of his own. I do believe everything happens in His time, but I am 42 and fear I am now running out of time.
Focusing on what I have in the present has helped me keep things perspective with this second miscarriage. With my first miscarriage, I created a special little baby book for the boy I did have as well as tended to what I referred to as "my therapy garden." I would pick my son up from daycare after work and come home to tend to the garden as the neighbor child played with my son.
A loss is still a loss, no matter how many technical weeks you experience a miscarriage.
A few other stories
My story of loss - the weight of the ache
’ story of loss - Beyond the Celebration’s story of infertility - Dear Ms Olney, remember those who failed your “greatest feminine achievement” [OPEN LETTER]
If you have lost, I welcome you to share in the comments. I would love to know what healed your heart, what kept you going, and if you had more kids after loss, how you overcame the fear to try again.
Thank you to the women who contribute to this series. I am honored to hold space for your words and wisdoms. It is healing to write along side your experiences of motherhood.
I invite you to share this post with other mothers who may find healing in these words and experiences.
 | A guest post by
|