If you know me in real life and have found this blog, please honour my wishes and don't read on. I need this place to freely write my feelings to help me to heal and if you're reading, I'll censor myself. I have no way of knowing who is reading so all I can do is trust you to honour my wishes. Thank you.

(this doesn't apply to any of my fellow mums of angels I've been lucky enough to meet in real life)

Friday, February 5, 2010

What I wish I could say

Over at Glow there's a discussion about what you wish you could say but won't.

Here's the things I wish I could say:

I wish I could tell people who say 'I know how you feel - I had a miscarriage' that it's not the same. I know it's sad and devastating to have a miscarriage. But you don't know how I feel. You didn't carry a baby for 34 weeks, feel her move, prepare for her arrival, and look into her eyes. You haven't held your dying baby in your arms.

I wish I could tell the people who think I'm 'back to normal' after three months because they see me laughing and talking for a period of time that I'm nowhere near it and not sure that's even the goal. They don't see me crying everyday. They don't feel the pain in my heart when I see a women with a baby and think 'that should be me'.

I wish I could tell the friends who's kids I watch (which I enjoy btw) that when they joke about 'I hope they don't put you off having kids' that I've already been through a parents worse nightmare and if anything, it's made me more desperate to have kids. That having to tell them off for fighting, or deal with meltdowns is nothing compared to holding your baby for the first time knowing that they're dying, organise their funeral, and say goodnight to a photo and an urn of ashes each night.

I wish I could tell the friend that keeps contacting me and wanting to see me that she's done permanent damage to our friendship in more than one way:
- Walking up to my mother the day of the funeral (3 days after Matilda died) and demanding to know what happened.
- Texting me two days after that to tell me about something that happened in her life and not even including a 'thinking of you'.
- Texting me two weeks to the day after Matilda died and asking if I wanted to go out for lunch to 'catch-up'.
- After I responded to the above with 'I can barely get out of bed let alone leave the house - this is going to take weeks and weeks' sending me a letter 2 weeks later again wanting to catch up and wanting to know when I'd be getting back into cycling.
Now I don't want to see her at all.


  1. I dont blame you for not wanting to see her, she doesnt sound like much of a friend. Some people just dont understand or more to the point dont want to understand.


  2. I have written all these things in past blogs too, we all feel the same pain and it breaks my heart you are feeling this too.

    as for your last one, AMEN. I also had this happen to me, people have no brain I swear. Since then I have written these people out of my life, if they couldn't 'get it' then what makes me think they can 'get it' now.

    many hugs being sent your way

  3. Emphatic YESs all around. I brought up The Glow In The Woods topic to my husband last night at dinner. We were discussing the whole miscarriage vs. full-term loss difference. I know these both intimately because I had a 10-week miscarriage a few months before I got pregnant with Addison. And then, of course, Addison was full-term at 38.5 weeks and even lived for a week. I'm telling you, they are WORLDS apart. Yes, I was sad after the miscarriage, but it didn't change my world. The loss of Addison fucked up my world 100%.

    My husband really didn't see such a pronounced difference between the two, and that shocked the hell out of me. But then again, he didn't carry the babies. Obviously, he's way more devastated by the loss of Addison, but he even said, "A loss is a loss." Wow. And I told him that for me, I totally disagree.

    He is a man, for one, and for two, he is not that in touch with his emotions. I think he would prefer NOT to have any emotions ever (good or bad) in life. It's very strange.

    I am too chickenshit to write about this on my blog or on Glow right now, but I was glad the whole miscarriage vs. full term was brought up. It's been eating at me lately.

  4. I wish we never had to deal with any of this. Thinking of you. (((HUGS)))

  5. Here in the wee hours of the morning as only we babylost moms know. I'm so sorry that you were not totally 'heard' on Glow. I heard you then and hear you now. As I said on there, I too, have a friend with an early-ish m/c who keeps COMPLETELY identifying with everything I feel. I just don't feel it's the same thing...just as I only know what it's like to lose Will at 25 weeks, not completely full-term. She especially identifies with the fact that she carried her baby after she learned the baby died for 3 days. I hold my tongue b/c I cannot even express to her the grief of carring Will for 4 weeks now, with the hopeful prospect of carrying him 4 more months as he continues to deteriorate in my body.

    I read your post about hugging your OB and smiled, as I have hugged my peri...and you're right, surely we must be in a bad place to get offered such rare patient/doctor interactions.

    My heart aches for your pain. I know I can't help you with silly words, but I'll sit with you anytime you need...and I'm usually up in the darkest of night's hours anyway.


  6. Hmm, I read the posts over at Glow too. I had an early miscarriage after the twins. I went for an scan but there was no heartbeat, just an empty sac.

    I don't know. I find it so very difficult to imagine how I would have felt about that early miscarriage if I hadn't already lost a child at a later stage, a child who I saw die in front of me. Both such painful experiences but yes, different. I believe that the m/c would have been devastating if I hadn't already experienced the death of my daughter by then. And I suppose, in the eyes of some, she wouldn't 'count' as she was born so early. I often feel that those who lost a baby at term somehow have it 'worse'. But perhaps there is no worse, just different and it all hurts.

    I'm so sorry about your friends. The comment about putting you off having children must really hurt.

    And that one particular friend? I'm not surprised you don't want to see her.

    I just went back and found your comment about the photographs you have of you holding Matilda. Oh, my heart just breaks for you. I'm so sorry. I wish that things were different for all of us here. x

  7. Catherine - I sometimes think about how it must be worse to lose a child rather than a baby but then I think 'at least they got to have all that happiness first'. So I'm not sure if there's a better or worse - just different and like someone said over at Glow - we all lose.

    I was flicking past Matilda's photo's yesterday and I can still remember that last day like it was yesterday. People says the pain lessons and becomes less raw but I can't imagine ever being able to think about that last day without immense pain and tears. To hear your husband asking if your baby is still fighting when you know in your heart that they wouldn't be baptising if that was the case - I don't see how memories like that can ever hurt less.

    Eve - I can't even identify with what you must be going through so I think it's unfair of your friend to think she can.

    Hugs everyone.