It feels odd to write his name because, honestly, I have never written it down as HIS name before. I call him that in my head, but never before have I written it down and laid claim to it as his name. We don’t even know if he was a boy but my heart tells me that the child I never met is a boy. I have always felt that I would be the mom of 3 boys. I’m just not supposed to hold them all in my arms on earth. My miscarriage story destroyed that dream.
I know that my story is not unique. My miscarriage story is mixed among thousands of others. However, the point is in the telling. In speaking our instead of staying silent. I want to tell it for all the women who do not feel like they can talk about a child that lives in their heart. A child they possibly never even had the chance to hold. I want to give a voice to every child who does not have the chance to see the beauty of a sunrise or experience the joy of taking a breath.
A New Life
Logan’s story is a short one. We had decided to just not prevent pregnancy and see where it took us for one more child. We were fortunate and got pregnant the very first month. I was elated when the test once again showed positive. “Three. Three is perfect.” Were the thoughts that echoed in my mind.
I giddily shared the news with Hubby when he returned home from work. He hugged us. I commented that we are the perfect family of five. He was excited too.
We even got a sitter and went out on a date to celebrate. That is how we came up with his name. It was so easy. We saw it and there wasn’t even a debate or a “let’s keep thinking though.” That was his name.
It had never been easier to name one of our children.
Exactly 1 week after the positive test the spotting started. I tried keeping up hope. Then, it turned into a flow I just knew could not be good. I knew that was the beginning of my miscarriage story. I called my doctor when they opened on Monday, and he let me come in to have my blood drawn to see if there was still any hcg in my system. We got the results the next day. The nurse on the other end definitely lacked in bedside manner, (it was not my doctor’s normal nurse!) and she told me I was probably never pregnant. My heart broke at her words. Not because it was the confirmation that I was indeed miscarrying but already someone was telling me that my child’s life didn’t matter. That whatever time he was within me was meaningless. That it had probably never even happened in the first place.
Despite what she said I knew I had been pregnant and I knew my child had never made it past the very first stages of life. However, that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if I carried him for a minute or a whole 9 months. His life mattered to me and my husband. I grieved for him.
I spent the next few days pulling myself together enough to care for my other children while trying to figure out how to grieve a child that was only a part of our lives for a week. We didn’t tell anyone except my sister who had also recently experienced a miscarriage. My pain and grief hit me harder than I expected. However, it felt like the world would not understand because we were so early in our pregnancy. My miscarriage story doesn’t end there though.
A New Why?
As I read the stories of other women though my feelings changed. I found a voice for my child, for other women who are not yet ready to speak out or may never be ready. My grief, though great, had not consumed me, and I could tell me story opening the conversation up for other women to share.
I discovered that his purpose was to help me find a voice for those women who feel they do not have one. So I share my story. I talk about the fact that I miscarried. I rarely use his name but maybe now that I have shared it with the world it will feel more natural to say it out loud. His name has been my private secret. The piece of him that I have kept hidden in my heart because it and 1 positive test are literally all I have of him.
My husband cannot for the life of him figure out why I keep that test. He doesn’t understand that is the only physical reminder I have that my child was in fact real. That he grew inside me for however brief a time. So it stays tucked away in a drawer. But some days, when I am all alone and I think about what he might be like or how he might be playing with his brothers, I get it out and look at it. To remind myself that he was real and he was mine for just the briefest of moments.