This December has been more forlorn than usual. I am used to feeling harried with the preparation of Christmas and birthday parties all lumped together. I am used to feeling frustrated as our bank account doesn’t measure up to the demands of my creativity. I am accustomed to family drama this year, and hurt feelings as someone doesn’t get what they want. All of these things usually leave me feeling drained and wishing for January, as dreary as she is.
However, I’ve been feeling even more upset than usual. Something hovered outside my conscious, waiting for me to discover it. When I did, I felt like I was being punched in the gut. My dreams turned to death, and the face of my child that I never got to see. I kept dreaming that I was pregnant–and since we are TTC these dreams seemed expected, at first. But in the dream I was pregnant with a child I’d met before.
And that’s when I knew. I was in mourning, grieving for the baby we lost a year ago, before I’d ever even hit the second trimester. The loss of my Jordan was something that I took very hard. I had decided I didn’t want any more children before getting pregnant with him. Since losing him, I have been trying ever since to no avail. This further insult, my body refusing to comply, was enough to send me into a black funk.
Though I have since recovered, I have to admit that it surprised me to be mourning my child a year later. What surprised me most was that my heart forgot to communicate with my brain and let me know why I was so sad and upset. Christmas morning I realized I might have had three children opening presents–OK, one looking on as his sisters opened presents–and that is pain that I don’t know if I’ll ever escape. If you have ever experienced a miscarriage, let me know: does it ever end?