Tear Soup...

• A miscarriage is a natural and common event. All told, probably more women have lost a child from this world than haven't. Most don't mention it, and they go on from day to day as if it hadn't happened, so people imagine a woman in this situation never really knew or loved what she had.
  
  But ask her sometime: how old would your child be now? And she'll know.
  - Barbara Kingsolver

My first two miscarriages were sad... unexpected... and maybe I never fully grieved since I was already expecting another baby well before the due date approached. Those babies could never be replaced, but the hole was less noticeable as I was dealing with another pregnancy already. 

This miscarriage has been quite a different story. Just a few days into my second trimester... The labor  (and delivery) was much more intense. I still have dreams about it. It was horrible... something no one should ever have to go through alone... yet most of us do.

This week has been on the horizon since December. A large tidal wave, off in the distance. I knew it was coming, but tried to ignore it. The undertow started pulling me in a few weeks ago. During a recent battle with severe migraines... the panic attacks started... then came a few episodes when I was literally 'out of my mind'... delirious. David had to fill me in the next day on the crazy things I was talking about.
The interesting thing is... the things I was talking about may seem crazy to someone else... but as David was repeating all the 'nonsense' back to me... it made perfect sense.
It's a dream I've had quite often over the past few months. My baby... outside my window... I forgot to name it... it wants to come in and I can't get the window open. That's where the dream always ends. ALWAYS. I can't seem to make it past that part of the dream, no matter how hard I try to hold on.

I tried to hold on that day. I knew the feeling all too well... and I just wanted time to stand still so I could have my baby inside of me for just a bit longer. It took all day... the physical pain of labor that ends with emptiness.  The physical and emotional pain are indistinguishable... it still is. I've been embarrassed to be sad. Ashamed that it's still so raw. Shouldn't I be over it by now? There are so many worse things going on in the world...and I have so much to be grateful for.

But no amount of gratefulness for what I have or logical reasoning will bring my baby back. My due date is tomorrow... and something's missing. Someone is missing. 

It's a lonely grief. No one seems to remember. I don't expect them to. I have dear friends that have announced pregnancies... had gender reveal parties... are due any day now...or even just had their babies. I am so happy for them. I would never want them to think that their joy somehow makes my grief worse. It's just a reminder. A beautiful, tearful, agonizing and glorious reminder of what would've been. Who would've been. 

I've been given the gift of three beautiful children to hold and love. I've also been given the gift of three children to love and miss. I've tried to somehow 'get it right' with each miscarriage. Thinking the sadness wouldn't linger so long if I just dealt with it better. 

I didn't know what to do the first time... so I tearfully flushed the toilet. I was too upset the second time... so I made David flush the toilet. By the third time, I knew I could never do that again... and I was too far along anyway... so we buried our baby under our window outside. It still haunts me... knowing my baby is out there in the cold. There's no right way to lose a baby.

I'm realizing that I don't need to pretend not to be sad. I don't have to hide the tears (although I'll probably still try)... and I don't need to paint over my sorrow with well-meaning platitudes. "Maybe something was wrong with the baby"... as if I couldn't love a child with something wrong with it. "God won't give you more than you can handle"... as if I'm being punished for 'not being able to handle life' any better. You should be grateful for the children you have... of course I am! 

Losing 3 babies has produced a deeper sense of gratefulness for the children I have... but 'being grateful' for the children I have doesn't make me miss this baby any less. 

I've been told that I 'share too much'... and I'm sure that's true sometimes. But it's said that 1 in 4 women have lost a baby to miscarriage... and I can't stand the idea of so many women feeling so alone in their grief. Mother's who's most cherished thing on earth was gone with a flush of the toilet. Mother's who would rather be going through labor today, then sitting comfortably in front of their computers trying to put their grief to words. 

Mother's who feel silly crying themselves to sleep for the past few weeks. Mother's that want to punch well meaning strangers in the face when asked... "You aren't having any more? Are you?" 

(ok... maybe that was a bit too much).

If you're grieving the loss of a baby you never got to hold... you're not alone. It's ok to be sad... and gently remind people why you're sad. (or not so gently is totally appropriate at times... Sally Fields 'Steel Magnolias' style if need be).

If you have lost a baby that you did get to hold, just for a few hours or days... please know that I can only begin to imagine your grief. Having gone through the lonely grief of a miscarriage... my heart breaks for those who have lost a precious baby to stillbirth... or infant death. Someone so beautiful and cherished... so few memories to cling to. 

Even the grief of infertility is something that needs to be understood more. I imagine it's a lonely place to be... a life-altering grief that seemingly goes unnoticed. 

Dare I even mention the unspoken grief of a regretted abortion? Yes, there is a grief to be spoken of and shared even then...

"There is, I am convinced, no picture that conveys in all its dreadfulness, a vision of sorrow, despairing, remediless, supreme. If I could paint such a picture, the canvas would show only a woman looking down at her empty arms."

Charlotte Bronte

If you know anyone whose lives have been touched by these losses... it's o.k. to acknowledge their grief and remember their baby. Don't worry about reminding us of our babies... we never forget them to begin with. Knowing that others remember and care brings great comfort. It's not something you ever get over... just learn to live with.

One of my favorite books explains it well... Tear Soup.

"For many years the custom of making tear soup had been forgotten. As peoples' lives became more rushed they found it much easier to pull "soup in a can" from the shelf and heat it on the stove. But several years ago Grandy got a taste of a well-seasoned tear soup. One of her friends made it from scratch after her child died."

"As soon as Grandy tasted the rich flavor of that carefully made soup, she promised herself never again to assume that quicker was better."

"She put on her apron because she knew it would get messy. It seems that grief is never clean. People feel misunderstood, feelings get hurt and wrong assumptions are made all over the place. To make matters worse, grief always takes longer to cook than anyone wants it to." 

"I've learned that grief, like a pot of soup, changes the longer it simmers and the more things you put into it... 

I don't think you ever finish. The hard work of making this batch of soup is almost done though. I'll put the rest in the freezer and will pull it out from time to time to have a little taste."

Remembering my baby today... and having soup for dinner.