Monday, March 14, 2011

In the book about miscarriages, I made note of a few places where I could relate to the authors thoughts and thought I would share them with you.

The writers print is going to be in blue. and I will do mine in red.

On page 71 the writer is upset because she was expecting a baby the same time as her sister was but the sister didn't live very close. So, they get together for a holiday and seeing her sister's big belly makes her loss so much more real. Then, one of the friends of the Mom ask about her upcoming baby and this upsets her because she lost the baby and this makes it all more real.

She writes, Infertility is is personal that I can't stand people prying. On the other hand, I want them to give me support. I want them to know what is going on, but I don't want to the the one to tell them. But If I don't who will? Why am I the one suffering,yet responsible for taking charge? Why am I in desperate need of solace, yet suppose to tell everyone what to do? Why do I feel absolutely certain that I'm not getting the support I need, yet don't know specifically what I want or how to get it.

I can really relate to the hurt being so personal and not feeling like I can really tell someone how adoption really is. However, I want support. I want people to care that I suffered a huge loss. I want people to know that I am in contact with my daughter, but I don't always want to be the one to tell about it.
I can also really relate to being in desperate need for a change but why do I have to make the first move. A lot of my grief has come from not knowing about my daughter and people sweeping her under the rug. Why do I have to break the silence as if I did something wrong.
In counseling, we went over several times about not getting the support that I needed and yet not knowing what I needed or wanted and how to go about getting it. I can hear the author screaming I am hurting damn it. I am not suppose to make sense.

On page 110 there is parts of a diary they call journal of death. She says it's strange to be reading it when they are six weeks away from delivering a healthy baby.

Family and friends are near. I am amazed at how many have lost a child this way. They say, "it happens all the time" or "it wasn't meant to be" Still I want a reason. I want to know what I did wrong?

Grief consumes us. We hold one another, make love in our mutal pain, want to make another child.

I get the grief consuming them. The need to make another child being so strong. Maybe, that why I became a young Mom at 18 years of age. Maybe that's why I wasn't careful. I needed another child. Not that having another one replaces one lost to miscarriage or adoption.

This is from page 108 comments from well meaning people.

You will have another one, try again they say.But to me one child can't take the place of another child.

As a birthmom, I heard that quite a bit. You can have another one. Or the famous you should be happy for the one or two that you have. It's rude and it sounds like the person doesn't think that I should even have the one or two.

Page 175 the reader has one daughter and tries for 8 years to have another child. They finally come to terms after several miscarriages that they are only going to have one child and sees how her daughter is half grown and needs to change her focus on being the best mom to her and treasure the time they have left as she grows up.

After a loss, we are told to cherish what we have. The irony of my infertility is this: I cherish exactly what I lack. The more I treasure my daughter, the more acutely I feel the pain of not having more children. Joy and grief melt into one, consuming me. But now, I have a new way to comfort myself as I travel in my healing. I close my eyes, breathe deeply, and in darkness, I see a painfully small poignantly delicate, ever-growing piece of lace.

I have had many joyful occasions robbed by the grief of missing my daughter. It could be a music program at school or something as simple as watching a group of children play. So, I understand what she means by the joy and grief melting into one.

I want to close this with that I firmly believe that even after reading this that I don't understand miscarriages and the deep sadness of it from years down the road. I don't mean to say that as in telling anyone to get over it. But seeing that just maybe that miscarriages and adoption loss are so painful that there is no way anyone can ever get a really good grasp on what it must feel like. I think the best any one can do is acknowledge the pain and be a good friend. Don't pretend to get it if you haven't lived it.

Again, I am sorry for the lost babies and mommy's and daddies that miss them.

1 comment:

A Life Being Lived said...

This is such a moving post. It is SO TRUE, even in adoption, you are expected to take charge yet you need comfort and support. You made the adoption decision so some people can't understand that you are hurting and need care and love and understanding. Some people think that because you chose it, you should have it all figured out. There are many parallel feelings in infertility and being a birthparent (in my personal experience). I am also so sorry for any parent who has gone through miscarraige or pregnancy loss.