It was a Girl, and her Name was Ellenor

Some thing happened yesterday.  Something that I have zero doubt will stick with me forever.  Something that was awful and traumatic and scary and beautiful.  At the time I had no idea that it is to be expected sometimes with miscarriages.  At the time it was the most painful thing I have ever emotionally experienced.  Now, I am starting to see it differently.  Again, maybe some TMI in here for some people, but again this is for me, and you really cannot be surprised that I hide nothing by now!  Yesterday while Bob and my little lady were sleeping, I passed the baby.  Whole; intact and it was larger than I anticipated it being.  Well, I guess I thought it would all just come out in pieces of tissue for some reason.  It did not.  Those few moments were 100% fueled by a deep despair I have never in my life experienced.  It was best described by the writer at LeBelle Dame:

"If you are several weeks pregnant you may pass grayish tissue that is placental or fetal tissue. What many women experience when they have a miscarriage, and what I have experienced is that at the end of your miscarriage you will pass the placenta, gestational sac, and your baby at once. Many mothers in their complete and utter shock that this has occurred (many times this happens while on the toilet) end up flushing the sac and feeling an intense feeling or panic, shock, guilt and despair. If this has happened to you, please know that it has happened to many, many women as well, and that you did the best that you could given the state that you were in.  If your body is threatening to have a miscarriage now, I am letting you know this so that you will know what you want to do if this happens to you. If you pass the gestational sac you do not need to feel morbid, guilty or strange to want to open it and see your baby. These are completely normal and natural feelings for a mother to have, and seeing your little one may actually help you to gain some closure."

I found that after the fact when I told my sister in law and another friend "I held it!  I had to.  Is that weird?  Was that wrong?  Oh my heart hurts so bad!"  It helped me immensely to know that the loss of cognitive decisions at the moment and my desire to hold my baby were actually incredibly common and very normal.  It was the size of my palm, and had a head, a body and it was no doubt my tiny human. 

I had somewhere to be shortly after this all happened and quickly got A, and got in the van and took care of my errand quick.  As I was driving over the Bong Bridge, over the water and back to Duluth the magnitude of what just happened hit me and the tears just started to pour!  I literally have no words to describe the dark sadness that came over me.  As I cried out to The Lord, begging Him to be with me I knew I needed to do a few things for me.  I immediately turned on the radio and the first thing I heard was "When confusion's my companion, and despair holds me for ransom, I will feel no fear, for I know that You are near!"  Of course it was total comfort but the tears were so heavy at this point that I could no longer safely drive and surely I couldn't go to the grocery store looking like this hot mess!  I pulled over into the parking lot of Coppertop Church and parked so that I could overlook the harbor.  If you're not from Duluth, this is literally the view:

A was sleeping in her seat and I sat there listening to this song:

 

 

It deeply resonated with me:  "My help comes from You, You're right here, pulling me through, You carry my weakness, my sickness, my brokenness all on Your shoulders!"  "You mend what once was shattered."  As I stood overlooking the harbor, tears rolling down my face and hearing the words "My help is from You.  Don't have to see it to believe it.  My help is from you," I knew it was true, and I knew that it was over.  I knew that my angel was with Him and my sweet Lynn would hold her grandchild for me until we meet again. 

 

Even before this happened Bob and I thought I was having a girl.  Then, both my mom and my dad have referenced the baby being a girl without us ever talking about it.  After holding the baby I could no longer call it "it."  It was clearly a baby, I saw it with my own eyes and held it just like I did her sister 10 months prior.  It was a girl, and her name was Ellenor.  Ellenor Rose, Ellenor Grace...we're not sure, but having a name and having that closure as hard as it was has helped me. 

 

Yesterday I spent the great majority of the night in bed.  As soon as I put A to sleep at 1930 I climbed into bed and pulled the covers over my head and cried.  I felt almost exactly like I did the night after Lynn's funeral.  Like it was all over, but I was still there, but without a huge piece of me.  I cried, texted with friends and the hubby and passed out hard.  This morning I woke up anew.  I was excited to hear my peanut cry this morning to wake up, we made breakfast, turned on worship music and sang and clapped along.  I opened up all the curtains and let the fresh air in.  I know I will still have hard days ahead of me, and I wouldn't wish this on anyone, but I know I am better for it, and I know He will carry me through.  "And You turn my tears to laughter, Your forgiveness is my fortress, Oh Your mercy is relentless!"





I'm the Mommy of Two Beautiful Babes, One Living, One Dead

That's my new normal.  Hmmm.  Twenty four hours later, it still feels surreal, even as the latter hasn't even finished leaving my body.  From what I've gathered as I enter this world I knew nothing about, I am not supposed to talk about this.  No one says it, but without saying it, society says "Don't talk about it...it wasn't real...no one wants to hear about a dead baby coming out of your body..."  They say that so loudly that you're not supposed to share the good, for the off chance that it turns into not so good, until that chance is significantly decreased.  Well, I've never been one to follow what society thinks I should do, and I feel like I need to talk about it, for ME, so if it makes you uncomfortable A) quit reading and B) I don't care. 

I regret not sharing the good.  Now I feel like I need to talk about the end of my babies life and few ever got to share in the joy of the beginning.  Few ever got to see my sweet girl in her exciting news onsie.  Few ever got to see the joy on my hubby's face and the sheer fear on mine of raising two under 1.5 years old.  Few ever got to hear about our plans for a double nursery in our tiny little house for our beautiful growing family, and we never got to know, would you have been our Jude Robert or Josephine Mae? 

 

I had no idea the loss of a unborn baby hurt this bad!  I had never talked to someone about the loss of theirs and only knew of a couple people who had, despite it happening to one in four families.  After I shared the news of my miscarriage with an intimate few, I was shocked to hear the people come out of the woodwork, "I've had one," "I also had one," "I've had four," "Me too!  This is my third."  What?  How are we all dealing with the loss of our babies and no ones talking?  It's not because it doesn't hurt because I am realizing that by sharing with another woman in my circle of life who is currently going through the exact same thing, to the day, that it more than hurts, it's an unexpected ripping out of your heart in a way you could never understand unless you've been there.  And I don't say that in a way that I am demeaning any kind of compassion shown, but more so because I didn't know, I had no idea, I was the one with zero knowledge of how bad it hurt, until I was the one hurting.  I was blindsided with this hurt that I didn't/don't know how to handle because I was naïve.  After already having had a beautiful little girl after one month of trying and then another less than a year later without trying, I somehow thought I was immune to the potential of mine ending in miscarriage, even though I had heard it was somewhat common.  It never crossed my mind that I may not be holding the newest LeClaire kiddo on leap day 2016 (my due date).  I was definitely pregnant and in my mind the only way that this was ending was with a birth, because no one was talking about any of the other outcomes. 

 

Why don't we talk about this?  The fact that we encourage women to wait until that magical 12 week mark indicates that we're preparing to hide this secret even before it happens.  And if you did wait or want to wait to share your news, great, that's your personal choice and I respect that.  Having that special secret that only you and your hunny share sounds fun, I just couldn't do it.  But I think we're doing a grave disservice to women by culturally encouraging people to suffer alone because it's not something we're ready to discuss.  An article I read said "If you lose a child, a dog, a parent, or your bloody iPhone you're entitled to sympathy, support and understanding of those around you, but if you lose your baby...shhhh!"  Why? 

 

We don't talk because I feel like a failure!  Like the woman that I mentioned earlier that I know that is also going through losing her baby right now said last night that deeply resonated with me in regards to her husband, "It kind of feels like as much as we're in it together, it still was me that lost it."  As I sat at dinner last night with Bob and I looked at him with tears in his eyes as we for the first time really discussed how this feels with words vs the tears that I could only muster previously, I felt like a failure to him.  I know he doesn't see me that way, but he cant carry a baby, so he trusted me to carry it for him, and it was my body that couldn't do that.  I know logically all the things, no need to tell me how the science of it all works, I get that.  Doesn't change how you feel emotionally when you can physically feel your body ridding itself of the baby you had so many hopes and dreams for.  Ironically, it feels a lot like the early stages of labor.  What a change in perspective and what kind of pain you can tolerate when it's to give vs take life.  None the less, I feel like a failure.  I know it's not true, but how do you stop yourself from feeling that way when your body was the one that was supposed to give life to this baby and it wasn't enough.  It's not logical, I can't explain it, I just do. 

 

We don't talk because Who wants to be that girl?  Who wants to share that news?  No one has a canned reaction for "I'm sorry your baby that you never got to know died."  And when they do, because it's so taboo, to no fault of their own, they don't know how to actually be comforting.  "You guys will have more!"  What?  You wouldn't say that to me if my dog died, why is that ok to say about my baby?  "At least it happened earlier!"  Although I am a supporter of a women's right to choose life for their baby, to me, this baby was real.  I wanted this baby and it had a potential name, it had a place it was going to sleep, it had a big sister, it had a heart beat and a face, and it had a mommy and daddy who loved it deeply.  I don't care that it was only "alive" for 2 months.  It was real, and to me it's loss just as sad.  "You guys can try again."  Right, that's true, and we will, but we wanted THIS baby.  My goal wasn't to get pregnant, it was to have a baby, this one.  "At least you already have one!"  Excuse me?  Would that be ok to say to someone who lost a kid?  Although Addy has been one of the only things that has brought a smile to my face in the last 24 hours (did you see her vogue model pose I posted yesterday, that kid cracks me up), having her doesn't mean I don't get to be sad about baby J that never got to be.  I'm not mad at anyone if you've said these things, and I know there was no malice, but this is one of the reasons we're not talking...no one knows what to say.  No one knows how to deal with my grief, so I'm just not supposed to talk about it. 

 

After hearing that one in four women have a miscarriage I was shocked.  If it's so common why do you not hear about it?  I know of things far less common that happen that people can't seem to shut up about!  We're all so scared to talk about it that we've decided that ignoring it completely is a better option?  I think that if we opened up about it and made it ok to talk about it, people like me wouldn't be blindsided by how bad it hurts.  If those that have gone this path before me were brave enough to openly share (as some have with me) I think that we could knock this massive secret down a peg or two.  From now on, I will share.  I don't want to have to feel shame when I share that I have two kids, but you only see one.  I will be honest, so that hopefully others may feel safe and not have to feel like they should suffer silently too.  I like how Ann Zamudio put it "Imagine what it would be like if that circle widened.  If other people started their own circles of sharing and understanding.  If women knew that they didn't have to feel ashamed when they had a miscarriage.  Imagine if those circles converged, and we started building a society where a woman can openly grieve for her lost child instead of hide in embarrassment."

 

So if I am withdrawn, or if I am needy, or if I talk about it, or if I can't talk about it, that's why.  I now know what it's like to be that one in four, and I'm struggling with it.  It hurts more than I thought it would and I'm not usually one to shut up and suffer.  I know it will get easier and I will be ok, but just not right now.