Show Your Cards. Tell Your Stories.
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Last year, right before Mother’s Day, I wrote a blog post. One I loved. One I never published.
Today, I muster the courage to do what I couldn’t bring myself to do a year ago.
May 5, 2009
Mother Nature’s Day
Three years ago, I was mere days from what was supposed to be my first due date. It would have been a lovely time to give birth to my first girl (yes, I knew it was a girl), a few days shy of Mother’s Day. But, alas, Mother Nature had other plans.
I had gotten pregnant so easily, on that very first try. And I was both nonchalant and thrilled. We’d seen the heartbeat at seven weeks. Things looked good. At ten weeks, two weeks short of that proverbial safety zone, I broke down and spread the good news. Ever the modern woman, I announced via email: I was expecting! Now I was among the very first of my friends to go the baby route, so people were surprised and excited and showered us with congratulations. I lapped up the well-wishes.
One week later, Husband and I moseyed into my OB’s office for our next checkup. In the waiting room, I waited, giddy with anticipation to get another picture of our baby. I flipped through baby name books. I peed in a cup like a good girl. And when the nice nurse called my name, I hopped up and followed her back to our little room.
And even though I was trapped in the fog of my own excitement, I remember my doctor’s face and how it turned that ominous shade of white as she ran that wand over my belly.
There was no heartbeat.
Utter surprise. Anger. Devastation. Embarrassment. I got to go home and send another email. An update.
At the time, I was so mad at myself for jumping that good old gun. But, now, I look back and think: sending that email was one of the best mistakes I’ve ever made. Why? Because my pain was raw and real and good friends knew about it. And, no, they didn’t know what to say (because no one ever does), but they helped me through.
Today, covered in my second baby’s spit up, I can talk about my miscarriage without shedding a tear. Of course it was sad. And still is. But Mother Nature had her way and things are okay now. Better than okay. I have two little girls. My two little girls.
But back then, I felt confused and alone. I didn’t know miscarriages happened all of the time, even to young and healthy women. Why? Because no one talked about it.
So, here I am, talking about it. Why?
Because one of my best friends just texted me that her epidural is in and she is about to welcome her first girl. Because my third Mother’s Day as a mom is coming up. Because Toddler just handed me the stunning and sweet card above. Because this is life. Because words, however impulsively uttered, or clumsily expressed, can be cathartic. And helpful. And true.
And maybe, like I did when I sent that first email three-plus years ago, I will regret this. And regret it deeply. And knowing me, I probably will. I will file it away as another big, bad cyber-mistake.
But I have a feeling that this too will prove one of the best mistakes I have ever made.
Yesterday was Mother’s Day 2010. Husband was in North Carolina attending his sister’s business school graduation. He returns this morning. Yesterday, my girls and I had an amazing day. We spent the morning in pajamas watching cartoons. We had a turkey bacon breakfast on the deck. The sun was bright and the wind was bold. We ended up at my own Mom’s house for dinner. The day was good. Because I was here. In my Now.
With my girls.
Today, as I reread my words from one year ago, I am able to go back. To the heavy silence that should have housed a heartbeat. To the suffocating confusion. To the sting of goodbye and its inscrutable aftermath. Today, I reread my words and forgive myself – and fully – for not publishing them when I first wrote them. Because I wasn’t ready. Today, I reread my words and am struck by a realization, at once simple and far from it, that blogging and parenting and living? These things take constant courage. To put selves and sentences out there. To tell our stories, little and big. To love our creatures even when they are ideas in our brains and cells in our bodies. To love them unconditionally once they are here. To move through our days with an appreciation of their simultaneous fragility and force.
All of these things take courage.
Today, I am struck by another realization too. That it is so important that we do just these things.
That we allow ourselves to tell our stories – divine and difficult – on blogs or in private. That we talk. That we reveal the suffering and struggle that do not need to be kept secret. That we permit ourselves to acknowledge the stuff, the hard stuff, that unites us. If we let it.
That we parent with open wounds. Open minds. Open hearts.
That we live consciously and creatively and courageously, embracing our heartaches along with our happy days, revering the fact that all of these things, all of them, comprise the lives we are lucky to lead.
So, today. Today I follow through on last year’s vows.
Today, I talk. I tell.
I have two girls whom I love impossibly. Fiercely. But once upon a time, I was expecting a different girl. One who didn’t make it. And today, as I sit here flanked by the two blue-eyed girls who did, so healthy and so happy, I am ready to talk about it. Because it happened. It did. To me. And maybe to you or someone you know?
This year, I got a new card. A few, actually. The first was a beautiful card Toddler made at Preschool with the help of her wonderful teachers. I am struck by the joyful candy apple green, the imperfect globs of glitter. The purple glitter. Purple is her very favorite color.
And inside, there are words. Words that Toddler dictated. Inside, it says: Dear Mommy, I love you because you are fun. I love playing with you and getting ice cream together.
And then. This morning, as per Husband’s instructions from afar, the girls and I opened the gift he left. In the box, there were two little cards on top.
One from Baby. Full of artful scribbling, a regal red heart, and the outline of a chubby eighteen-month-old hand.
And one from Toddler. Decked in whimsical watercolor swirls, the outline of a three-year-old hand, a rectangle of paper ornamented with scissor cuts, and more words. Dictated this time to Daddy. I love you so much. Words a certain little girl whispers in my ear countless times a day.
And last, but not least, there was a card from Husband. A card that made me giggle. It has a little arrow-toggle-thing on the side and when you rotate it, the Wife’s tee-shirt changes from Hottie to…
…#1 Mom to…
…Super Mom!…
And I’m not sure whether I qualify as that Hottie/#1 Mom/Super Mom hybrid, but boy oh boy do I try.
I hope you all had a wonderful Mother’s Day. I wish you all the courage to show your cards and tell your stories.
[This post was inspired by the Courage topic of Momalom's Five for Ten. Click over today and tomorrow to find links to many more posts about courage and to learn more about how you too can participate in this wonderful writing challenge.]
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- How did you spend your Mother’s Day?
- Did you give or receive any particularly meaningful or amusing cards?
- Do you have any stories that you have a hard time mustering the courage to tell? Any blog posts you love that you haven’t been able to publish?
- Have you or those close to you kept quiet about a pregnancy until twelve weeks? Why or why not?
- Do you agree that many of the most important things in life take continuous courage?
Aidan, this is courage indeed, this post, your words, this very life of ours.
I love this: That we parent with open wounds. Open minds. Open hearts.
Yes, yes, yes.
Certainly that’s how I feel about mothering.
Love to you.
I’ve never understood why miscarriages are so “taboo” to talk about, why so many people keep them secret, as if they’re shameful. I mean I’ve never been through one so I don’t know the spectrum of emotions that go along with it. But it’s not like it’s something that’s your fault, it’s not some kind of flaw.
I do know what you mean about hesitating with certain posts though, ones that feel too personal maybe. I have a lot of those that I write and then want to just save to drafts, or outright delete, because they’re true but I think embarrassing. Lately I’ve been trying to just hit publish with them, but it is interesting — the things we think are ok to share, and the things that aren’t. It isn’t always as clear-cut as you’d think.
Happy belated mother’s day!
Aidan – you are indeed a hottie, a #1 mom and a super mom all in one. Your courage to share with all of us helps you be all of those personas.
You are so right, there is such a need to be open and shine some bright light onto these places… because they exist, and should be remembered and owned and embraced.
Beautiful… Happy Mother’s Day
It takes courage to visit things that bring pain, even years later. But I agree, it helps others and ourselves to be open about them. I’m sorry you’ve had this pain but grateful to you for sharing it with us.
And I love your beautiful cards!
I think it takes time to process raw emotions and sometimes that holding back is helpful. It puts it all in perspective until you are ready to talk. Your story reminds me of how WWII veterans never spoke of what they experienced until decades later. Until they found other success, they were unable to discuss feeling that was so distressing. It is like you, because now you have two beautiful girls and you are a survivor. Telling your story now is so helpful to others who are going through a miscarriage now. Thank you for the reminder; that there is light at the end of every tunnel of darkness and the dark moments only make the bright moments brighter.
I think you are right that it takes time to process and gain perspective about these things. I also agree that being immersed in such happy times these days makes it far easier for me to look back and go back to that darker time.
Welcome to ILI! Hope you continue to pop by my neck of the bloggy woods
Great post, Aidan. Thanks for sharing. I am a big advocate for women’s health education so I really appreciated this.
Thanks for sharing this, really. Women need to hear stories other than “it was so easy! We got pregnant the first month!” Women need to hear the hard stories too. They are just as true, and just as part of the courageous leap it takes to enter parenthood. Thanks for taking the courage to share this.
A raw experience shared with compassionate hearts. I too know someone who had a similar experience and is now the mom of twin two-year old boys who have changed her world in a truly wonderful way. As much as I am tempted to rationalize, it is not for me to guess why things happen. They just do. And as you say, it is life. We live through it, we live in it. The grains of sadness and joy etch into our memories and shape us. I am sorry for you loss. So much more than I can say. And at the same time I am happy for your joy. Thank you for sharing this very personal story with such candor and grace.
so proud of you for speaking out aidan. whether you shared this post 3 years ago, now, or years from now, you are using your voice and it is a powerful one. you are making an impact and i know, as a faithful reader or yours and from seeing your comments already, that so many of us are appreciative for your words, your stories and the courageous woman and mother that you are today and every day.
xoxo!
Happy Mother’s Day, and thanks for sharing your story. I just wrote a blog post called “Writing and Retrospection” that hits on what you’ve done here (given yourself some time to process a difficult experience before writing/talking about it). Way to be courageous!
Wow, Aidan. I had that same thing happen to me in between my two girls. I was 11 weeks along when my doctor’s face turned pale and was told there was no heartbeat. *sigh*
Thank you for sharing this. And thank you for mentioning the importance of sharing our stories. We’d feel so alone if we didn’t.
I’m happy you had a wonderful Mother’s Day.
Thank you for telling me this, T. I knew that when I published this, I would be reaching people who experienced similar things, but it amazes me that others went through almost exactly what I did. Hearing this makes me feel far less alone.
Time is an amazing healer, especially when the future holds such beautiful gifts as your two daughters and your happy marriage. I know from a different yet also difficult experience, which you were quite intimate with, what it is like to savor the beauty of now when years ago you weren’t sure it would ever be like this.
Knowing you I am sure this was hard for you to post. It is amazing to see how much being a writer has allowed you to be vulnerable; it is a gift to all of your readers.
On a lighter note, Happy Mother’s Day, A! Toddler is a budding artist, her card really is beautiful. As for me, we spent it on the boat and suffice it to say it was an eventful day- my husband had to rescue my parents who got caught up in the current during a swim and were drifting slowly to Cuba. Lovely! Aside from that it was a beautiful day though
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Aidan, thank you for having the courage to tell your story, one that I know was not easy to live or easy to share. Thank you, too, for having the courage to tell your stories here and for having the courage to send your first literary baby out into the world next week. I really do believe in the cross-inspirational powers that come from the random acts of courage we practice every day. I know that I am not alone in being inspired by you.
Aidan, before I had my Ben and Aidan, I had a miscarriage. It was the most devastating thing that has ever happened to us as people and as a couple. We had been trying to get pregnant for a long, long time, and then we did and everything seemed great. I told everyone immediately. Then I started to show and it was not until the day I went in for my last first trimester appointment, the one where most people usually get the “okay” to start telling people, that I found out the baby had stopped developing. There I was, with even the beginnings of a pregnant baby belly, having already been pregnant for nearly 12 weeks, when I found out there was no heartbeat, no development for weeks. Hubby and I literally collapsed onto the floor of our bedroom together when we got home, broken, crying, devastated. Having told everyone, everyone knew. And amazingly, it was the very best thign I did because everyone helped me through it…even people I barely knew shared their personal stories, their similar stories, their triumph stories. I talk of my miscarriage often and openly, because it was in knowing so many others understood that I was able to get past my own. I think there is courage in honesty.
P.S. After having had my Ben, I realized one day, with great awe, that the reason that miscarriage had happened was because it wasn’t the one we were “supposed” to have…Ben’s spirit was waiting out there, somewhere, to come to us, and it was almost a year to the day that he came along.
Your comment resonates with me profoundly. Husband and I were so devastated too. But then, as it does, life went on. And soon enough, we welcomed our big girl and then our little one. And now? We can look at the way things happened and say that we have the kids we were meant to have. Thanks for your words, Liz.
You are so perfectly right. I’ve told my stories here and there. I’ve listed the domestic abuse and been the voice of reason for survivors. I’ve even invited people into my silent world to discover my silence right along with me when I became deaf…yet I don’t and haven’t talked ever about losing my son at 17 weeks.
For me it would be the end of the line. Yesterday I stared across the table at my adult daughter and watched the sun playful tease a halo around her head and I knew she had been enough. Yes, all our stories need to be told. Some come easier than others. (Hugs)Indigo
I’m so sorry to hear that you went through this! I never knew! I can’t even imagine what that would be like. I’m glad that everything worked out in the end!
We’re all in it together, we mothers. Beautiful words to remember whether we’re at our highest high or our lowest low.
First I’m so sorry of the sorrow that you faced, how difficult that journey must have been. But to be able to face it in the joy of today is truly amazing and brings an entirely different perspective.
But I also wanted to say that yes, this blogging world takes courage. I know, I had trouble decided on whether to say the little that I did in my own post on the subject today. Part of it is the fact that there is so much more in my head than I even wrote in my own blog and so my own perspective is skewed, but part of it is wondering/worrying about crossing the line. And it’s weird, because I don’t feel as if I am or that I have, I’m comfortable with my words, but I wonder if others will judge for being so honest. It’s a weird place to be, and I haven’t entirely sorted it all out in my mind. But this post helps and reminds me why I do it, of the value of sharing. For that I thank you!
How courageously wonderful to share such a sharply painful story, which will help so many who have read it. I work as a teacher, in a world of mostly women and at least once a year have a friend/colleague who has a reproductive tragedy. Being able to do something for them such as take their class for a story time, or grade some papers helps me in my sadness for them, and I don’t have to make sad faces and hug, which are often more annoying than sympathetic.
I’m so glad you had a wonderful Mother’s Day 2010. Keep on working to become the best Hottie/Supermom you can be!
It was at once hard and easy for me to share this story. Hard because it unearths feelings that I have done a good job of containing. Easy because time has passed, and I have two little creatures I love, and because I feel SO strongly about the fact that we should open up about these things (when we feel comfortable doing so). It is so wonderful to hear that you have supported your colleagues who have faced similar setbacks. I am always heartened when I hear tales of women supporting other women during the good and the bad.
Welcome to ILI, Elizabeth. I appreciate your voice in this conversation and hope you chime in again soon on ILI!
I just wrote about my miscarriage this morning. I don’t know why people view it as something so taboo, but they do (myself included). It takes so much courage to open up about it. Thank you.
I just read your piece, your beautiful and brave piece, and nodded the whole time. As I said in my comment to you, I am thrilled for you and your Brian. I will cheer you on – along with so many others, I imagine – from my own bloggy sidelines.
Thank you for chiming in here and for having the courage to tell your very similar story. Thrilled to have *met* you
I have been reading your blog for a while and this post really meant something to me. I too was naive as I went to my 20 week appointment and my ultrasound, my excitement was to find out what we were having. When the ultrasound tech left the room to get the doctor it was the scariest two minutes of my life. My baby boy would have been one year old this week, I think of him everyday. Thank you for sharing your story and letting us know we are not alone.
Colleen – I am glad my story resonated with you. I felt so compelled to tell it (even though it was really quite hard) because I know that so many people have gone through these things. I think it is so sad that we have to weather these storms alone. I think we should all try to get to the point where we can talk about these things, these tragedies, that sadly unite us. I know this is hard because so many deem these matters to be so private and I get that, but I think it is so unfortunate that cultural expectations and fears leave many of us struggling alone.
I am so sorry for your loss. This must be an excruciating week for you. And I know there are no perfect words to utter, so I won’t try. But please know that you are not alone. Far from it.
Thank you for chiming in here. It means a lot. To me. To all of us.
What a courageous way to write about Mother’s Day – and about a painful, universally meaningful story of expectations and loss. I agree that the most important things take continuous courage – forward momentum propelled by life and bravery.
Early in my pregnancy, I hesitated to tell anyone I wasn’t comfortable grieving with, not because I had a fear of a miscarriage so much as a fear of having to share it with people. Recently, my heart broke for my cousin and friend who shared the news of her pregnancy with Facebook, and then a sad update a couple of weeks later. But I also admired her for being so real, so true to life. And I admire you, too.
I know how you felt. I was there – three times. And until today, it pains me to talk about it. I don’t avoid it but it’s not something that comes up in conversations easily, unless someone admits to their own experience and that is when I feel it’s OK to share.
All the “it happens to the best of us” and “it’s more common than you know” and “don’t worry, it will happen for you someday” didn’t help. Not after the third, so I stopped talking about it. Those words, while heartfelt when spoken, couldn’t comfort me. I was sad at first, then angry. They were mere words. I didn’t want them. I wanted a baby. My own.
And here she is. My little miracle, at last. Only now have I the ability to talk about the past and the journey that got me here. Thank you for sharing your painful post. I know what it’s like to need to be ready. I’m so glad that you are, and that you did because now I feel I can too.
Justine, I am so so sorry for your multiple losses. Isn’t it amazing, truly amazing, that once we have a little creature to squeeze and snuggle, these tragedies lose some of their crippling force?
Happy belated Mother’s Day to you.
Thank you for sharing this Aidan. Having gone through three miscarriages and an ectopic pregnancy that obviously ended in a loss, I certainly know the pain but have yet to find the courage to write about it…
Maybe because I still ache for those losses.
But I shouldn’t. Because I have my family now. My perfect family that made me a mother. And like you, I need to find the courage to put it all behind me. Look at my little miracles and enjoy today.
I’m so happy you had a wonderful Mother’s Day with your girls. Thank you for your words of courage.
There is no *should* when it comes to these things. There are no rules. You are still allowed to ache even though you have a beautiful family. These experiences, these losses, are major and affect us. We get through them because we must. We move on because we must. But that doesn’t mean that we ever really “get over” them. Or that we should put them “behind us.”
Interestingly (or maybe not), since I published this post yesterday, I feel a bit lighter. A bit more free. I think that this experience, and particularly the secrecy in which I shrouded it, was weighing me down a bit. And I think I was ready to tell this story. There is something magical about opening up, about shining light in places that do not need to be kept hidden.
I am so sorry your path to parenthood was bumpy. But maybe, like me, the bumps make you appreciate your little ones even that much more??
xo
Thank you for having the courage to write about your experience. Your post from last year gave me both chills and tears. It really moved me.
Aidan,
So deeply sorry for your loss. It took courage to talk about it and to hit publish. I know that you will help others by what you wrote, giving them the courage to tell their story.
On a lighter note, I love greeting cards. I give them generously and love to receive them. I have a box in my closet of cards I’ve kept and sometimes I visit them for nostalgia, comfort, or just a smile.
Thanks so much for this post.
Aidan, thank you for your courage to tell your stories. In doing so, you give us the courage to tell ours and move us toward accepting, understanding, and yes, possibly even acknowledging that the similarities in our human experiences are far more substantial than our differences.
I always tried to keep the secret in but by 6 weeks I usually had started IV treatments in order to get something down. So much for a good secret!
I think that, like you, if I were to go through a miscarriage I would much rather have a support group around me. Even though you may know that miscarriages happen to many people, it doesn’t soothe the pain away.
Oh Aidan!! This was so raw that it made me teary. It takes courage to live life out loud, doesn’t it? But the best parts of it are better shared and the worst parts are less worse when shared. Thanks for sharing your story.
It does indeed take courage to live out loud. But it is so rewarding to do so. To know that we are not alone in our existential peaks and valleys. In living out loud, we are reminded and constantly of the compelling humanity that unites us.
Thanks for your words, Shawna.
I am profoundly sorry for your loss, but also amazed at your spirit and ability to find joy in what you have.
Miscarriage or other infant loss shouldn’t be a secret. Those are times when women need support and compassion the most, when their communities are most important. When I almost lost Bella at 16 weeks, I was so afraid, but my friends swooped in a buoyed me. I don’t know how I’d've gotten through that time without them.
My baby girl made it through two partial placenta previas and several bouts of bedrest. My uterus, however, didn’t. I often tell people my babyshop is closed. The more courageous thing to say is that the scarring in my uterus from my one and only pregnancy makes carrying another baby virtually impossible, and I am not brave enough to try and fail.
I’m sorry for your loss…it’s such a shock and a hurt and a disappointment.
Thanks for having the courage to share it with us today.
The homemade cards are the best, are they not? I love the chubby little fingers and the watercolor smears.
Happy belated Mother’s Day.
Thank you for this post. Thank you for sharing a part of yourself courageously. And thank you for reminding us that no matter how much is shared here in this virtual space, most of us still do not really know each other. There are cards we haven’t played. And for all our commentary back and forth on life and its bright lights and dark shadows, we don’t know each other’s full stories.
Aidan, thank you for sharing this. You are brave indeed. Every day, your words are heartfelt and revealing and challenging. You inspire me to be more courageous too!
Thank you for mustering the courage to share this story now. Lovely as always
Happy Mother’s Day.
“Continuous courage.” The right terminology. Yes, we need to tell our stories. There are always more commonalities than we realize.
That? Was awesome. I think the card from your husband got me the most. Killer. Just shows what kind of man you got there.
I also miscarried. But in between my first and second kids. It’s weird. I’m not sure I have ever really processed it. I just took it as a sign that it was not meant to be and left it at that. Strange really. Now that you write about yours with such vivid memory and emotion.
I had a great Mother’s Day and my day was also capped off by getting a card from my man. I don’t need much I tell him. But I love and need those cards from my man. Just a few words that let me know that he still sees me as me. His girlfriend. His wife. And yes the mother of his children.
But supermom?
Hell no! I am NOT that.
A friend of mine has endured 6 miscarriages, devastating and forever heartbreaking… My first mothers day was wonderful, many hugs and a lovely vintage Winnie the pooh card from husband and a lovely body shop cherry blossom gift pack
Six? I can’t even imagine that. I so feel for your friend and wish that she gets the baby she deserves. Sounds like you had a marvelous first Mother’s Day!
Thanks for stopping by, Sera!
I have a few posts that will come out one day, too. I’m glad that you had the courage.
And I love the line: We parent with open wounds.
Because it takes great courage to believe that we can be better than our wounds would seem to let us be.
Isn’t so interesting how we writers and bloggers often need to let ideas percolate before we pour them for public consumption? You should see my drafts folder – upwards of 200 posts. Some of them are just idea sketches, but some are fully-articulated posts that I’m not ready to reveal…
I think the reality is that life creates wounds. No one of us is impervious to harm and regret and pain. I think that the best we can do is parent honestly and opening, acknowledging that we are human and weak in spots. I think this is good for us and good for our kids. But, then again, I’m hardly the expert on such things. (Is anyone?)
Alex – Thanks much for weighing in here. I do hope you return!
Instead of defining courage you exhibited an act of it. More important, you gave courage, and hope, to other women who have had similar experiences. Sometimes having hope after such a loss is something, in and of itself, that takes courage, too. A beautiful approach to this word…
I had a similar experience with my miscarriage, only I lost my third daughter, not my first. And it was also after we told everyone, including my oldest daughter who was 3.5 at the time. The look on the technician’s face when she told me there was no heartbeat was one I’ll never forget. It was so much harder to get through than I expected, and even now, when my older daughter (now 5) brings up her “sister she’ll meet in heaven one day” I pause. Not because I’m angry or sad, but because it’s simply part of who I am. Part of me that I forgot for a moment, and now remember all over again.
Thank you for sharing this post. It was really touching.
I cannot even imagine how hard it must be to have a young child who remembers your story and what happened and brings it up when you least expect it. I imagine this is so hard and oddly, okay? Because it forces you to remember something that happened to you and your family, an experience that on some level should be revered and remembered?
I am sorry for your loss. No matter the timing and how things work out, these things are so impossible to live through. And yet we do. And with stories to share.
Thanks for chiming in, ck. I appreciate your words and your perspective. Come back soon!
Like you, Aidan, I am wont to make cyber-mistakes. Jump the gun, as it were? But this time, you are spot on. And also like you? I know there are words inside me that whisper their song, waiting in draft for me to publish.
I am so happy you are joining us for Five for Ten again. It’s going to take me an amazing amount of courage just to get through this night of posts without weeping.
This took me back all those years ago to my first pregnancy, and the moment when the ultrasound technician told us there was no heartbeat. We, too, had told everyone we knew the minute the little stick turned blue. I hated “untelling” everyone, and all the awkward sympathy. There were 2 more miscarriages after that before our son, and each time I never said anything except to 1 or 2 close friends.
I loved what you wrote – thank you for sharing your story with us!
Having had a son already I just thought it would be ok to tell people I was pregnant again only 11 weeks in. On March 7 2004 the ultrasound at my OB-Gyn showed an empty egg and no heartbeat… my husband and I were devastated!! Almost one year later, on March 1st 2005, my daughter was born! Having her makes the whole painful ordeal worth while!
Thank you for sharing your story, which took great courage. I love seeing the cards from your family – nothing beats a handmade gift from your child.
Thank you for leading the charge to be open, and to tell our stories, no matter how raw they are. In some sense, blogging is a better format because it is left there wide open, we are not forcing our stories to anybody. It is there. Come as you wish.
Happy belated mother’s day.
It can be healing to talk, especially when so many kind ears care to hear… it’s important to sing our songs and shine, and it’s important to love and be loved and know that we are at the same time part of many circles.
Post by post I see your writing growing, your “insecurities” morphing into little more than acknowledged humanity.
I see that you have a long, rich, textured and loving road ahead—in the written, the spoken and the unspoken.
Aidan, I met you with Husband at a cafe in the neighborhood a few months ago. Husband and I went to college together. My husband and I were dining outside with our bald/blonde little girl who you marveled could have been one of yours, the resemblance was so similar.
Husbands post on one of the social media sites announced your book and blog and I checked it out. Ever since reading LAY (which was great!), I come here and love your posts about life, motherhood, balance, and family.
Somehow today I found my way to this post. I’m days into my second trimester with our second little babe and I clicked on the “things can go wrong in pregnancy” link that was in another post. Your experience with your first child and subsequent miscarriage was almost identical to ours. 10 weeks, happy strong heartbeat, spread the news, and then it was over. Total devastation. Our hearts were broken as I know your was too. Fast forward a few years, with one healthy 14 month little girl and now another little one on the way, I realize how far we have come. I know everything does happen for a reason despite how hard it can be at the time.
I don’t even know why I am writing to you! Therapeutic for me maybe? I just really relate to so many of the things that you post so keep it up! Thank you for being so honest. I enjoy hearing about your struggles and successes and look forward to your second book!
Kind regards…Jen