2011 was my year of miscarriage. I had one in January and another in December.
It was also my year of poetry.
Yep, poetry. Poems were constantly writing themselves in my head while I recovered from the first miscarriage. My body wasn't expelling the baby, and so I elected to have surgery (a D&E) rather than be induced at 16 weeks gestation. Afterward, I had trouble getting my immune system running and I spent a lot of time in bed. I was depressed, but surprised by the fact that I had gone through something that I previously thought would take away my desire to live. Not only did I want to live, I wanted to celebrate every freaking person I saw...because just getting here, into this world, is a MIRACLE.
Poetry was my way to celebrate that miracle, and to be with the mystery of loss. I was keenly aware of the small beautiful things in my daily life and routine. My 4 year old son was the absolute embodiment of miracle. I had scattered thoughts, my feelings varied widely, and my memory became photographic. I remember telling an old friend that I was writing at least one poem a day for weeks after the miscarriage. In that moment, it occurred to me that my body, mind, and spirit had been so intensely creating a baby, and my creative energy needed a place to go. All the books and websites I read didn't quite connect with how I was feeling, and so I wrote my own words. I worried that I wasn't processing things 'correctly,' that I was avoiding the pain by not grieving in typical ways, but in retrospect I see that I was doing exactly what I needed to do.
I also did other things: a ceremony with family and friends to say goodbye and thanks to a baby we never got to hold, but whose presence brought so much learning and connection into my life; a bellydance class to help me move the emotion through my body (so amazing!); and allowing myself to be pampered by my circle of friends.
Since 2011, I have continued to write poetry from time to time, AND I have encouraged other moms going through loss to find their creative outlet. Some draw or color, some dance, some write, some cook, or garden, some brush my advice off. We all go through these transitions in our own ways. Our society is still very uncomfortable talking about loss in any form, but especially loss of a baby that was still in utero. My hope is that we each honor our own ways of processing the shock, grief, and disappointment that miscarriage brings, our lives made richer through this experience.
I Thought You Were There
I thought you were there
Inside of me
Growing, and soaking up
the feelings and sounds
of our life together.
I thought I felt you
flutter and kick
Thought you did a flip
when you heard the lullaby
I sang to your brother.
But I worried a bit
That I wasn't protruding
Or gaining the weight.
The midwife said
My torso is long and my pelvis deep.
And come to find out
You were dead for six weeks.
When I thought you were there,
You had already gone
Sweet spirit - not meant for me.
But, Actually
They say you must be broken-hearted
But, actually,
My heart has never felt so full
Of joy.
On a frigid snowy day
I radiate warmth
For all who have survived
Long enough to be born.
They say you must be in a dark place
But, actually,
The world has never been so bright,
Glistening as I notice
Each detail with amazement
The smiling baby in the doctor’s office
My son’s breath as he sleeps
So trusting, so safe, so healthy –
He’s alive!
They say you must grieve
But, actually,
I want to celebrate
I felt miserable when I was pregnant
Now I get my life back
I am not ashamed
Many friends lift me up
I can run, jump, cook again.
They say this is a journey
And actually, it is true
Miscarriage is a teacher.
I am learning about depth and breadth
In what it means to be a woman
To accept what I cannot control
To receive, not always give.
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