The sadness of a mother with a broken heart cannot be compared to anything. It’s a kind of sorrow that cannot be explained unless you have experienced it. I remember waking the morning after we had found out our baby had unexpectedly died in my womb, and I wailed. It came from somewhere deep inside me. I have never groaned like that before or since.
The previous morning was totally different. I awoke as a mom-to-be who was twenty-two weeks pregnant and expecting to find out if we were having a boy or girl. However, the ultrasound showed there was no heartbeat. We drove home completely numb and feeling a little lost.
Questions
On this morning after hearing the bad news, I awoke knowing I had a dead baby inside me that I somehow still had to deliver. But the physical part was only the most acute problem. I also had to deal with the shock that our life was completely different and all of the questions that went along with this “Plan B.” Plan A was to deliver in April. Plan B was, . . .well, quite frankly, I didn’t know what Plan B would be. How long would it be until I got pregnant? Or how long would we have to wait to even begin trying? What if this happened again? Maybe we should adopt? What went wrong? We were supposed to have been parents in a few months, but the time of all of this was adding up to another year at minimum. All of this was difficult to bear.
Awkward Days
I got through Christmas, hoped for an Easter miracle, and then came the due date. It was late springtime, and I marveled at all of the duck mamas I would see swimming with their tiny new babies—somehow that encouraged me that someday I would have mine—for them it just happened.
Then it was Mother’s Day. I felt like a mom even though I didn’t have a baby to hold. The truth is, she would have been born by then, so I would have fit the description, but to the outside world I did not have children yet. My heart and mind knew she had lived and was real. I loved her and connected with her, and even though she did not experience anything in this world, I knew her little life had touched mine—I decided I was her mom, because I expected her to be born.
Our church was so thoughtful to give plants to every woman in the congregation that day so I was not forced to deliberate silently about the oft-asked question, “Who is the newest mom here?” It was also hard to answer the common question “Why don’t you have kids yet?” because I sort of felt like it did! This can be difficult if you lose your first baby—or your second, or third. But even if you have a child in-between, you never forget your lost babies—so then the awkward question becomes, “How many kids do you have?” Or maybe the Mother’s Day photo brings up sad feelings as you look at your family, but feel like there is someone missing—and your heart aches. Please know you are not alone, and don’t feel guilty for being thankful for the kids you have, but sad at the same time for the ones you’ve lost. These are all natural thoughts and feelings.
Next Mother’s Day, I give you permission to think of yourself as a mom, even though you are not parenting a child. Even if your baby never took a breath outside the womb, you quite possibly fell in love or connected in some way, and we celebrate and remember their little lives.
In the next segment of this series, I’ll touch on several things that really helped me get through this difficult time—knowing you can be helped as well!