Sunday, December 12, 2010

Imagine for a moment that you are walking with a dearly, dearly beloved person by the edge of a cliff. Now imagine that beloved person being pushed off the cliff in front of your eyes and you can only stand by helplessly and watch it happen. And now imagine that, every month, you are forced to go back and stand at that cliff's edge, and remember how it felt to watch that person fall.

That's what it's like when I get my period every month since I lost my baby.

I remember distinctly the drive to the hospital that day, sitting in the back seat of my sister-in-laws van, my mother in law squeezing my hand. I remember the waves of intense cramps in my lower abdomen, and the feeling of panic and disbelief, mixed with the fading hope that the doctor would look and tell me everything is OK.

What I remember most, though, was lying somewhat upright in a chair with my feet up in straps and a friendly female doctor who smelled like she had just finished a sandwhich searching in every direction inside of me, both of us staring at the monitor by my head, waiting for that tiny beating heart to show up. I remember when she looked to the left, where I knew my baby had been nestled, my heart pounding fast when I saw emptiness. Eventually she said, "No, I'm sorry, I don't see anything at all."

It was a small, dark room, and my husband was sitting at the other end of it, just out of sight. There was a curtained-off area where I pulled back on my clothes, sobbing quietly, still in shock, not wanting to cry in front of the doctor, but not able to control my tears. I remember how quiet it was in that room, even though there were three of us in it. Ramon sat with the doctor waiting for me to finish dressing, and the only sound was of my crying.

When I sat down with them, she asked me if I had an ultrasound photo of my baby. I nodded and pulled it out of my bag. She looked at it and I'll never forget how she looked at it and said, "Eindeutig." She had printed out the picture of my empty womb, and seeing the two pictures next to each other was heartwrenching.

She typed out a description of what had happened while Ramon and I sat, stunned, still not fully believing what was going on. I don't remember exactly what she said to me while the diagnosis was being printed ("Abortus Completus"), something about it happening to many women and not to give up hope, and not to use a tampon for the bleeding. She supplied me with two large packages of enormous maxi pads and gave me my two ultrasound photos and the printed diagnosis.

I don't know exactly why I am sharing all of this's been over a year since we lost our baby. A part of me worries that I'm writing things no one wants to read, something so personal and sad that it should be kept to myself. On the other hand, there's this urge to get it out, to tell that story. It haunts me again and again. Those moments that run like a movie in my head, especially at the beginning of the time of month where I feel that familiar cramping, and am reminded that I still don't have a baby, my womb is still empty.

Last night, when my husband and the dogs were already deep asleep and snoring, I listened to melting snow drip on the windowsil and cried, wondering if my baby knows how much I miss him, how much I love him. I know he is free, flying with the angels. But does he know that my heart is broken? That I think of him every day? That I wish I could be cuddling him to my breast, smelling his soft head, feeling his hand gripping my finger?

This is such a lonely place.



  1. Dearest Dawn,
    I am so very sorry that you are feeling alone and heartbroken. I truly wish that I was there for you, to help you in any way I could to help you through each waking day. There is no time limit to grief and feelings of loss, because 12 months have passed does not mean that you should be ‘over it’, far from it. Take your time; it is something that is different for every person. Do what you feel you need to and want to do to help your heart feel whole again and little by little, I know that one day soon, these overwhelming feelings will not be so crushing and the loneliness will subside as you will experience all of those things that motherhood brings...I truly believe that all of your dreams will come true one day soon.
    All of my love to you dear friend

  2. You will see your angel baby in heaven, but for now that special tender spot in your heart is painful. Our daughter lost two and we're all sad about those precious ones. I'm going to start praying for you, for I feel sure you are the finest mama and will hold a downy newbie in your arms very soon.

  3. Oh dear, sweet friend, your words will touch many who need to hear them. You have touched my life with your words, your insight and your many gifts. I'm a grandma now, have never felt your pain, but all women can relate, I read about your pain, your loss and your hope. Grieve as long as you need too, you WILL be blessed again.

  4. Hello,

    I think it's important to talk, to write about your little angel baby (your blueberry, such a sweet name) -- I believe it's important and meaningful and special to record for all to know how special this little life was and how much you miss your baby.

    It honors how much you cherish this baby.

    I'm sorry for the pain - I pray that your hopes will be fulfilled soon. We are virtual strangers but somehow by reading your words, I feel very close to you and will continue to pray for you and your husband.

    As a dog lover, I'm so glad you have these two darling doggies - and it makes me happy to think of the unconditional love that they bring to your life.

  5. oh my heart aches for yours. I'm not sure I have any comforting words for you, but please know you are loved, thought of, and prayed for thousands of miles away, here in Wisconsin. May some type of peace comfort your weary heart and may you never give up hope of your dreams coming true. Though the journey has been long...I believe it will be for you & Ramon and those sweet furry family members of yours too!! many hugs sent your way today....

  6. I'm so sorry for your loss, Dawn. I think of you and your little Blueberry often. I can't even begin to imagine the pain you feel. I may not have helpful or healing words for you, but I'm thinking of you and sending you a gigantic hug from across the world.


  7. dearest dawn
    i'm sitting here trying to think of what i can tell you....but just wish that i could give you a hug instead. it's amazing how memories can flood back and it's as though no time has passed at all...the wound so raw. i remember words like 'abortion' casually tossed that hurt me to hear and how i wished they could have had the sensitivity to recognize how wrong that word choice was. though my child's life may have been insignificant to all of them, just another day at work, it was very significant to me.
    i'm so sorry my sweet friend for the loss of your beautiful baby. i hope you find comfort in knowing how loved you are and how we all hold you in our hearts...we care so deeply for you and support you in your journey...
    sending love

  8. I lost a child in much the same way 5 years ago and it was the only chance I had of having a baby as I was 41 and I still feel the loss. There is no time limit to grief and we each experience it in our own way, I am hear if you need to talk and I wish I could come to Austria and wrap my arms around you and give you a big hug.

  9. Christmas coming must be a poignant time for you Dawn, I am sending best wishes.

  10. Oh Dear Dawn...I'm so sorry...I just know you how painful this is and wish there was something I could do to ease your pain. Please know you are in my prayers...

    xoxo Gert

  11. dear dawn,
    this makes me have tears as much for the sadness as for the joy of what the future will bring.

    the pain you feel will ease, i promise honey. you'll never forget (i know you don't want to), even after your second child comes along, you'll remember the baby you lost with fondness and much love. and even be able to smile someday.
    21 years ago i was pregnant with my fourth child, which turned out to be triplets. around 6 months i lost 2 of my babies. i had a very hard time carrying my healthy baby to term, but i knew i had to for his sake and mine.
    keep the love and belief in your heart that there is a baby in your future. you are a mama already.
    xo lori

  12. Oh're such a beautiful person. When I read this entry I felt goosebumps creep up my arms and tears come to my eyes. I wish I could help you, comfort you. I think it is good to share. Don't hold back. We are all here - as are your family. It is an awful thing but the grief shows how much you love and care and deserve to have a little baby. You will be a wonderful mother...just hang on to that thought. Your lost baby is probably mourning for you equally...and I suspect he is always close. xxx

  13. Dear Dawn-
    I'm always so moved by what you write, even the little stuff. The honesty and artlessness and simplicity with which you express your loss and your emotions make your writing a gift to all who visit here. Don't think you're writing what no one wants to hear. You're healing yourself and others. I have not lost a child, but I am a mother. And part of mothering, I think, is the tremendous knowledge of what you have to lose. And I can relate in a very strange way to the importance of your period. I had a long and painful labor, my baby was posterior. And now when I have my period, it's like a little birth, so painful, and so different from before. It reminds each time me what it was like to fear I wouldn't make it, to face mortality and fight and to emerge, reborn, with a baby in my arms. You are so strong and sweet and, as Lori wrote, you are already a mother. I wish with all my heart that in the future, each period will remind you not only of the baby you were parted from, but the baby you hold in your arms.

    Peace to you, and thank you for sharing with us.


  14. <3 thinking of you always and especially now.

  15. I cant even begin to understand how you must feel, my thoughts are with you at this time, and i wish you strength alway.

  16. I am so sorry for your loss and the pain that this brings. I will keep you and your husband in my prayers.


  17. when i hear you describe this, my heart breaks for you...don't ever feel like you're over-sharing, i think it's part of the process to be able to talk about it. and i bet that someone out there is feeling the same way and is thankful for you being brave enough to share.


  18. Dearest Dawn,

    I'm so sorry for your pain. It will take time, but I believe that if you look back over your life and see your experiences woven together as in a tapestry, you'll find the thread of this experience to be one of the richest and most beautiful, because the essence of the pain you're feeling is a deep, pure love for your child. It's the kind of pain that reshapes us and brings us face-to-face with the deepest love inside us. I pray the pain will ease. The love will abide.

    With love,

  19. ((HUGS)))
    I've been there - 9 times for me. Hang in there - keep trying & waiting. I remember a doctor telling me I wouldn't believe until I had hold in my arms a baby. Finally we got a pigeon pair. They are now big kids 14 & 17.

    Lots of love Leanne XXX

  20. Prayers and thoughts going out to you, Dawn. I hope you will be blessed with wonderful happenings this new year. xo

  21. Dawn,
    I just happened to find your blog tonight and it brought me to tears to read of your pain. I have experienced this pain once from a miscarriage and once again when I lost my first born son when he was 28. You will always miss your little one, even though you never got to kiss his face or hold him in your arms, I'd like to share a verse with you if I may..."I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow." Jeremiah 31:13
    God bless you and your husband.

  22. My first, too, is an angel baby. There is healing, and peace, and joy! He is so faithful to complete a good work in us!! May your newest angel fill your heart to overflowing! Your blog is so dear, so full of loveliness!



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