CD1 miscarriage, poem

October 5, 2011

Invisible

To me, you were born.
Your heart pounded.
You heard my voice.
You opened your eyes

and saw the dawn,
and the moon fading,
and the snow falling.

You stretched and grew,
and ran like a bird flies,
chasing sunshine with
invisible wings.

You sang loudly
off-key, and we
traveled on together.
You skinned your knees.
You laid in the grass
beneath fireworks
and held my hand.
You made me laugh.
Your heart yearned,
and your heart broke.
You ached and cried,
and lost your faith,
and gained it back again.
You let go of my hand,
but kept your wings.
And when the sun finally set,
you sang softly
off-key, and we
traveled on together.

change

You hear all the time that all things change and you can't avoid change. Nowhere has that been more obvious to me than with my baby.

There's nothing I could love more than him, which is why it is so jarring to wake up one day and his personality is barely recognizable. The sound of his voice is different. The way he laughs is different. His cry is different. The way he nurses, his appetite, his reactions are all different.

When I tried to communicate how lost I feel, Andy said, "Do you think I came home from the gas station with the wrong baby?"

It could be a growth spurt. It could be his (two!) teeth. It could be the natural way these things go. The same thought kept occurring to me today -- this could be the way things are now. The crying and apparent anger and unhappiness might be more than just holiday confusion and teething. This could be the baby's personality for the foreseeable future.

After spending half an hour crying for no obvious reason, something he never used to do, he's now sleeping, and I'm breathing deeply and finding anchors -- comforting things that haven't changed, that I can count on to stay the same.

My love for my baby hasn't changed. If anything, I love him more in his time of need.

My love for my husband hasn't changed. If anything, it's stronger in my time of need.

My home is still here. My job is unchanged. I am still me.

For better or for worse. In the laughter and the tears. I can't promise I won't break down and cry whenever he does, but that's okay. We're a family and we have each other.

35w 1d lost

I hope everyone in my world can forgive me if I'm a wee bit sensitive. "Wee bit" as in I started a fight over a sentence in a car seat manual. As in I cried half of last night over something stupid and then started scrubbing down the kitchen in an attempt to refuse to talk about it. Yeah, I roll like that now.

Although my emotional state isn't rational, it is still real. I can gain perspective and see that what had seemed absolutely heartbreaking yesterday should not have been. Because really, it was just stupid words and no one is out to hurt me intentionally... But it doesn't change the fact that my heart did break. Does that make sense?

How horrible must pregnancy be for someone who truly is alone, instead of just feeling alone with all of this.

Tomorrow is our first baby's due date. Fate reminded me today via iPod shuffle with one of my favorite songs, Last of Days by A Fine Frenzy, which I cannot listen to without thinking of the baby I would never get to know or see or hold. I've posted the song before, but I just want to post it again, for the little lost one. You'll never be gone, not for me.

the sun is in the east,
rising for the beasts
and the beauties
if only I could tear it down,
plant it in the ground to warm your face

I built myself a castle on the beach
watching as it slid into the sea

the world carries on without you
but nothing remains the same
I’ll be lost without you
until the last of days
until the last of days

through wars and harvest moons
I will wait for you.
the world carries on without you
but nothing remains the same
I’ll be lost without you
until the last of days
until the last of days