Years ago I lost a child.
I don’t talk about this often, and I am not going to share the details now. I will say that I struggle with the fact that my life is what it is, without a child, and I wonder what it would be like if I’d given birth…if I had been given the chance to give birth, to a child.
That choice was stolen from me, and without going into further detail, I will say that it’s one of the things that I regret the most.
I didn’t know my body the way that I know my body today, I didn’t know the signs, and because of that, some bad stuff happened – choices were made, and I miscarried before I even knew for sure that I was pregnant.
There is a lot of shame, guilt, depression, anxiety, and fear that I will never be trusted with the life of a child inside my womb again.
A lot of wondering how God might feel about what happened, and whether or not God blames me. I blame me, not to a certain extent, but to a lot. I blame myself.
Most women who lose children do blame themselves. It is our job, we think, to protect our unborn children, to keep them safe, nurture them and bring them into the world, and when we’re unable to do that, the blame lands solely on our shoulders.
There is nothing that I can say to make you feel better if you’ve lost a child, except that you are still a mother. In almost 99% of cases, women who have lost a child due to miscarriage have done everything they could possibly do. In a lot of cases, abuse, and trauma are the reasons for the loss of the child. Not always, but certainly in my case.
When I tell people that I’ve lost a child, sometimes they try to make me feel better by telling me that at least I’m not with “him” anymore, at least that tie has been severed. I’d have put up with a thousand versions of him, if I could have my child.
I struggle with this, not every single day, but mother’s day specifically. He, She, They, or Them, would have been about sixteen now, falling in love, dying their hair, being rebellious, and testing limits. But they would have been alive.
I don’t have baby blankets, or toys to snuggle up to, I don’t have memories of my would be child to hold onto. I have nothing, but the memory of the blood, and the…what I suspect was the placenta, falling into the toilette. What I have is the memory of my ex refusing to call 911.
The worst part of all of this isn’t the loss of the child, it’s the fact that when you lose a child, there’s nowhere to really go to talk about the fact that you’ve lost a child. There is no one to hug you and tell you that it’s going to be okay. There is no one to understand, because we don’t talk about it, so no one ever knows unless you tell them, and those moments of intimacy where you feel safe talking about it, are few and far between.
The truth is that it happens to a lot of women, and it’s something that we need to talk about more, we need to find ways to celebrate the loss of a child, the knowledge that a child was almost inside of you, that another soul was bonding with yours, was suddenly torn away from you, for one of a million reasons is incredibly debilitating.
It can destroy everything about your life. In some cases women have lost two and three or even up to six children while trying to remain pregnant. It can destroy your soul when your doctor, or your partner lets you know that child you were hoping for is suddenly gone.
I know how it feels, because I remember laying awake that night, deliberately reminding myself over and over again, that I was almost a mother, that he had taken that from me, and try as I could, with him, I couldn’t pretend anymore. He left willingly, which I am pretty sure was his plan to begin with, but the fact that I no longer have to see him helps.
In most cases you can’t always blame someone when you’ve lost a child, but in my case there is absolutely someone to blame, and I hold onto that anger, because it’s all I have left.
I want you to know that you are not alone. I want you to know that it’s not your fault. I want you to know that you are still a mother. You still carried a life inside of you, and you have every right to honor that life in anyway that you see fit, as long as it doesn’t cause harm.
You are a mother.
Sending all my love,
Devon J Hall
2 thoughts on “You Are Still A Mother…You Still Carried A Child”
You are. (hugs) Sending you my deepest sympathies for this loss, so similar to my own, also very early. I can only hope that some day you do have the opportunity to mother- your own child, adopted, 4 legged, or differently abled.
Thank you Ellen, so much, I appreciate this. ❤
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