A blog about babies: the babies I lost, the babies I never had, the baby who made me a Mama.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Lighting Candles; or, October 15th

Last night, when I told Lawyer Guy that today is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, he sort of wearily sighed and said, "Isn't that every day?"

Point taken.

But his saying so helped me realize that, no, it isn't any more for me. I actually have days--or long stretches of time within a day, at least--when I don't think about the m&m and losing him or her. I never have a day without thinking about our struggle and our desire to get pregnant, but I do sometimes cease to think about the pregnancy we lost.

This sort of feels right. I grieved so hard for that baby for so long and it felt like the weight of my sadness would crush me sometimes. Now the moments when I feel overwhelmed by the sadness of the miscarriage are less frequent than the times I think of it with acceptance and peace.

This isn't to say I'm "over" what happened. I'm frequently taken aback by how much remembering that baby still can hurt: recounting our story to Dr. Man and Dr. Wonderful at our initial consultations, for instance, and in each meeting feeling myself fight back tears I hadn't realized I needed to shed. And maybe part of my acceptance and peace comes from the fact that we've just started down this new path to having a baby and I'm optimistic about success. After several months of disappointment and stasis, I may have a very different outlook. The only thing certain in this process is that the situations we encounter and our emotional responses to them will never be predictable.

I'm going to light a candle tonight in memory of the baby I was just beginning to suspect I carried at this time last year. This time--late October, as the world drifts into autumn slowly like a turning leaf--will always belong to that baby, so I'm glad that October 15th falls within the anniversary of his or her short life.

I do love you, m&m. Not the way I thought or hoped or dreamed I would, but the only way I can.

10 comments:

  1. Every day indeed. I am glad you are finding some peace. While I have not felt true, painful grief in a long time for my losses, I still wonder who they would have been, and I am sad about that. I suspect that will always be the case.

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  2. Thinking about your loss and all the little m&m's that should be here and aren't.

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  3. I woke up thinking about you this morning & this significance this day holds. This is such a beautiful post and it sounds like you are in the best possible place-- still grieving for m&m, but so optimistic and positive about the future... it's how it should be. XOXO.

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  4. The grief can still hit hard sometimes, but peace is a good place to be.

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  5. Thinking about you, Sloper. Hope you get very, very good news in a week or so.

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  6. thinking of you today. i went back and read up on your posts from a year ago and it made me really sad. i know a bfp will never erase the memory of baby m&m, but i hope that time and healthy babies will help to heal you even more :o) xoxo!

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  7. Much love to you today SS. That last sentence is especially beautiful.

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  8. (((((Hugs)))))) This made me cry. Beautiful and achingly honest. Thank you.

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  9. I don't think you ever get over it completely. But I do think the horrible, dark days become slowly replaced by a certain peace and acceptance. Not every single one of them but enough that life becomes bearable again. Hugs to you.

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