Our Miscarriage

 

We never met you, but you rocked our world. You taught us so much without ever setting foot in our lives. We worried about you, we built a life for you, we loved you. We changed our lives for you, stopped eating cheese and drinking alcohol for you. Our minds wandered with you.

Pippa held her hand over the little window that would reveal your presence. I was sure she already knew because when she pulled her hand away you were there, two little lines, changing our lives. We hugged and kissed, sat down, and had lemonade.

Nothing changed immediately, I thought about COVID and work and whether Winston was ok. But little by little I thought of you, calling you Corona for fun, working from home with you sleeping behind me and Winston licking your face. I didn’t try, it just happened.

You made us so happy, so relaxed and content. Happy to do nothing, just change our behaviors and wait for you to arrive. I thought of badly teaching you languages, of showing you worms in our garden and cheering on Klopp.

You’d cry and make noise, but I’d never complain. We’d live in some kind of harmony, where I still played football twice a week and Pippa would swim and do yoga whenever she wanted. We’d head off in the car on little trips with young Winston beside you keeping you safe. You’d fall and get dirty, roll around in the mud. I’d laugh and play relaxed even though I’d worry inside.

We needn’t have worried because you never arrived.

With bleeding and scans the awful news was confirmed. Outside the hospital I waited for Pippa to come out. We hugged, and we cried, surrounded by mothers smoking outside. Back home on the couch, with no one around, we cried, and we cried, Winston hopped up to give us all the comfort he had.

We told our family and I told some friends. The more people we told the more sadness unfolded, as one in four said they’d been through exactly the same. So many people, I never knew had suffered the pain.

You’re a part of us now, woven into our lives. The lessons you’ve taught will stay with me for life.

Life can be cruel, unpredictable and sad. Lidl’s Big Baby Sale was the week we got the news. Not their fault, not ours, just an unfortunate reality. We sought distraction in Netflix, The Fall had us gripped, then Sally Ann had a miscarriage. Life can be cruel.

You taught me to cherish what we have, to not get caught up in the future and what hasn’t happened. I was waiting for a friend the other day and instead of losing myself in my phone I spent the time watching the trees and listening to the birds. I won’t pretend it was amazing but I wasn’t wishing away that time.

There was so much about pregnancy and miscarriages that I didn’t know because I never asked. How fragile you are, how luck plays its part, how there’s nobody to blame, sometimes chromosomes don’t blend. You taught me to ask questions because knowledge will help, to ask friends if they’re ok because sometimes they’re not.

You taught me to dream and look to the future, because in spite of the above there’s plenty of good. Remember the worms, the football to watch, the laughs to be shared and a life to be lived.

We spent last weekend planting bulbs to flower in the spring. There’s a special collection in a pot dedicated to you. I’ll sit and watch the flowers grow, the bees coming and going and the world going by knowing that you’ve played your part making our world a better place.