Faces of Loss


As many of you know, I lost my angel baby Emery on March 25th, 2011.  It has been 16 months since I lost her, but I still cry myself to sleep.  I was never prepared for what came after.  The doctors never gave me any pamphlets on bereavement and I didn’t have much of a support group.  Most people didn’t know what to say, or never mentioned it again.  For a long time, it seemed like everyone else had moved on, but I was stuck.  The doctors had sent me home to pass her despite my requests for a D&C and on the 25th, I held my lifeless little girl in the palm of my hand.  I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.  That was one of the most devastating moments of my life.  But it seemed that only I was really affected.  No one else was grieving like I was.  I didn’t know anyone who had suffered a miscarriage and I kept getting told “just get over it, move on.”

Now most people know that if you mix baking soda and vinegar in a bottle then put the cap on, eventually the pressure would cause the top to blow.  I was that bottle for quite some time.  Everyone kept giving me the “stop being negative, it was only a miscarriage, at least you have a child.”  And for a long time I kept how I was feeling to myself.  Everyone else was over it, maybe so should I.  But I had this nagging feeling that I wasn’t crazy, that maybe I was supposed to be this upset.  That was my daughter, I had carried her throughout her entire life.  From the moment of the positive pregnancy test, everything was about her.  My body was her safe vessel and I was the captain.  She breathed through me, was fed through me, lived in me.  Every thought I had, was in regards to her safety and well-being just as I did with my Princess.  And when she left us, I mourned her like I would anyone I loved.  But despite the short time we had together, I loved her whole-heartedly.  So every time someone would tell me how I was to feel, I would blow my top like my insides were baking soda and their comments were the vinegar and have a full on meltdown.  And then I was told I was the crazy one.  Had I lost a living child, would my grief been justified?  Was Emery a second-class citizen because she died before she left my womb?  And because of that, did she deserve a second-class mourning?  I grieved alone because no one else would mourn her.

It wasn’t until her angelversary that I knew I had to do something about this.  I was growing more and more angry with people.  Why didn’t they understand?  Who were they to tell me to let go of my daughter?  You let go of someone who love and tell me how it feels when someone says to get over it.  I knew I needed to find something or someone who understood.  I began searching the internet for groups and people telling their stories and I found Faces of Loss.  I was looking through its Groups page and I was able to find one in Toronto.   I messaged the group leader and last night I went to my very first meeting.  I have never felt more accepted.  These women understand my heartache and my grief and all those crazy thoughts that went through my mind.  They gave me ideas as to how to communicate with Hubby, how to grieve and ways that I could commemorate Emery’s life.  I am so grateful for this group and wanted to write about it so that if there are any other women out there looking for support, it IS out there.


12 responses »

  1. I’ve never had a miscarriage, but I remember full well how much and how deeply I loved my daughter from the very moment I knew she existed and I can’t even begin to imagine how I would have felt if I had lost her. No one can tell another person how, when, or for how long to grieve. You feel what you feel and you have every right to feel it AND to express it. I’m so sorry for your loss, but I’m glad that you found a group you can connect with.

    Another place you might like to check out is http://bandbacktogether.com. It’s ran by a blogger named Becky Harks, from Mommy Wants Vodka. They have an excellent section on miscarriage and grief and there’s a wonderful online community of people who have experienced what you’re going through.

    My thoughts are with you, my dear.

  2. I am so sorry you had to go through all this and couldn’t find a way to grief properly until so much time had passed. I’m glad you found the group and glad you are getting support and are able to share your feelings. I had a miscarriage 7 years ago. It happened very early on but I still think of it at times. I have three beautiful, healthy children and having them does make it better. But I don’t think it’ll ever go away!!!

  3. This is such a brave post and I’m sure it will help many people out there. I haven’t shared this experience but I feel defensive on your behalf towards those who told you how to grieve (or NOT to grieve)!! You carried her inside you so your bond was greater than with anyone else and I’m pleased that you have found such a valuable support group. There’s always someone in the world who shares similar experiences to us and it can be so helpful to find them. You sound like a lovely mum to me.

  4. people suck, what can I say? The way I see and feel it, you did lose a living child, and thus have every right…..nay, NEED to mourn just the same as those whose children expired on the other side of the womb. Who are they to tell you to get over “it”. So heartless.
    When I thought I had lost Zoo Zoo…..she would only have been about 8 weeks and I can say with absolute certainty the pain wouldn’t have been any less had she been 8 years. She’s still my child. Actually, Dr’s suspect that I may have lost her twin…..and while they, and I won’t ever know for sure, even that possibility leaves a little ache inside. I don’t think we just mourn that less of life, but we also mourn all the possibilities that life should have realized. All those moments the child will never experience, and we will never share. That’s why you can’t just “get over it”. A lifetime was lost.
    Missed ya today at the reunion. Lots of love to you all!

  5. I caught myself taking a deep breath after I had finished reading this post, not realizing I had been holding my breath. Such power, pain, emotion. I am so glad that you have found a group of people where your feelings and experience can be safe and understood. I am so very sorry for your loss of your lovely little Emery.

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