Friday, May 1, 2015

Surprised by Grief - Pregnancy Loss at 6 Years

This morning I was surprised by the key to the old farmhouse in my sewing-table drawer. As I looked at the address, a flood of regret and grief poured out. I lost my baby there, a baby I would never get to hold this side of heaven.

At first I wanted to stuff the feelings, find a way to ignore them. It's been 6 whole years since we lost our 10 week old pregnancy. Why am I crying? Haven't I got over this?

Layers of Grief  - By Christine Emmick
I ran to the kitchen to make myself some breakfast. Maybe my blood sugar was low. Yes, sure, that must be why I am so weepy.

I stopped myself. No, I will not run to food again for comfort. With my hands on the counter I began to cry out great sobs of unmitigated grief.

It's been 6 years. Six whole years since the bewilderment of an ultrasound tech's silent treatment. Six years since the very difficult task of telling my 4 year old that the baby in my tummy no longer had a beating heart. Six years since burying the discharge that held my little one underneath our redbud tree, the 3-year-old tree I had planted when we moved in to our farmhouse as a 3 year anniversary gift to my husband.

The one that was ripped out of the ground to make room for a barn when the farmhouse was sold. It was the same age as our marriage, and since that time, our marriage has not been the same. Was it the loss of a child? Was it a loss of the family history that the farmhouse held? Was it the ruthless ripping up of the redbud tree?

This story is one of grief, and regret. I am so sorry I sold that little farmhouse and allowed our child's memory to be ripped out of the ground like the roots of our tree. If I could have stopped it from happening I would have.

I tell this story not to cause guilt or point blame. I tell it to fully mourn the loss of our child, and of our marriage. Life's changes, change lives. We are no longer blissfully ignorant of child loss. We now know that the delicate beating heart can stop. We know the sorrow of mourning a child.

To those who share this experience, I hope you find peace and healing. For me, there is healing in the telling. Let's not be silent. Silence tends to sharpen our grief, even the well hidden sorrow.

This Sunday, May 3, 2015, marks the International Bereaved Mother's Day. Acknowledging the loss and sharing your story will let others know they are not alone, and also encourage us all on the road to healing. Click here to go to the Facebook event or click here to visit the Carly Marie Project Heal website.

All content is copyrighted by Christine Emmick, unless otherwise noted. Follow her on Facebook.

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