The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;
The stiff Heart questions–was it He that bore?
And yesterday–or centuries before?
The feet, mechanical, go round
A wooden way
Of ground, or air, or ought,
Regardless grown,
A quartz contentment, like a stone.
This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow–
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.
~Emily Dickinson
Our daughter is named after Emily Dickinson. We had several other names picked out for other possible children. They didn’t happen. 3 miscarriages did.
Anyone who has read this blog for any amount of time has read my processing of these. I’ve read other blogs about miscarriages. There is one internetfamous blogger (Julia maybe?) who had something like 12 miscarriages before she got her twins. I honestly can’t imagine. Each time I lost a pregnancy at 8, 9 and 10 weeks it was horrific. Aside from the physical pain the emotional loss was cause for a shutdown.
And there were tests and there were no reasons for the losses. They just happened. Because of age.
And there was that one cruel and thoughtless OB at Willow Creek Emily Hinton, who sent me back out into the general waiting room after telling me there was no heartbeat and it happened because I was old.
And then came the doctor visits and the suggestions for hormones, some of the same ones that made me loony, really really loony. And tests and more tests and it couldn’t go on.
And I started to give up and move on and try and find what was next.
Let’s skip the M.A.T. program shall we? I’m glad I tried it, but Wooboy was that the wrong thing.
And now working again and finding out I’m still skilled, actually even more skilled than I’d thought.
And today I let it all go, with J’s help. I went through our three saved boxen. The clothes, the toys and the accoutrement. I took out what I need for the Bean to have when she grows up, very little actually. A dress or two I wore when I was pregnant, because I remember how cool it was that my mother had one of those and I wore it as a teenager as vintage emo kind of clothing (my mom is very skinny, I’m taller). I want Bean to have something I wore while she was gestating.
Oh…I think about how amazing that whole thing was and I feel such sadness that I’ll not have that again. The spine and skull on the ultrasound, seeing the toes or little hand go across my very large stomach. The jig J and I did after we heard the heartbeat and saw her the first time at 10 weeks and all the grownups stared and thought we were quite odd, but we were so very happy. The weird dancing she’d do when I’d drink gatorade. The fact I could actually feel, once in awhile, like I was doing something older than time and well, miraculous. That as much as I didn’t want to get all new agey and hippy dippy–that I was connected to all women and all children there for awhile.
And I have a pain deep in my heart. I love being a mom, probably better than just about anything except being married to J.
But it is done. A good friend and someone who will be a kind, happy mother has taken those things. I have let the universe take hold of this now. I hope I don’t have to hold onto this wish too much longer, I’m trying, oh I’m trying to let go.
