Five months ago today I had my first ultrasound in which I saw that my Mizuko Bean had stopped growing.
I have been living in pain for five months.
I am the only one who feels his loss.
Everyone in DH’s family is buzzing with excitement about Monday’s arrival of Bean’s cousin, the one who will always remind me of how old he would have been. I am not excited. There is a fine line between being able to acknowledge my own feelings without detracting from others’ happiness. I rarely succeed, so I close myself off, enter and leave rooms silently, to minimise my impact on their lives. I’ve given up trying to explain.
I am the only one who remembers him.
Whenever I am asked how I am, it’s always the same response: fine. Some masks are happier than others, but of course I am not fine. I am never fine. Why would I be? Even when I have a rare good day — one filled with laughter, where I forget my sorrows, enjoy life, appreciate being on this mortal coil, and feel like myself again — I am never far from the memory of what could have been. Could have Bean.
But I am not the only one grieving.
I’m working on a new piece of artwork and have started sketching it out. It’s me, it’s you, it’s anyone grieving pregnancy loss or a fertility struggle. It’s my truthful response to the question: how are you?
What a beautiful piece of art.. portraying so much in such a simple honest way.
I wasn’t able to grieve for my loss for a long time, and when it finally caught up with me I suffered the most I have ever felt… I still have moments where I feel so far away from others.. I pray for my child to return to me and find comfort that they will.
Hugs to you from afar.
I’m sorry for your loss, and glad for you that you were able to come to terms, somehow, with it. I wish you many blessings and hope you have your rainbow baby soon. xx
Beautiful drawing. This is just right.
You are not the only one who remembers, who feels his loss. I feel it with you Lauren, because I know the pain and the loneliness you’re feeling, the shocking intensity of it, the way it lingers longer than you hoped it would. Too many of us do. We will honour and remember your sweet little Bean with you. xo
I know you do. I know it because I remember your little S and your two other losses. How strange that others’ losses should be so etched onto our hearts. We are all united in loss.
Oh my goodness. I just sat and stared at that drawing for a long time. I can so see myself in that woman’s face. I can really resonate with the loneliness you talked about. I am so sorry for this loss – a loss that you shouldn’t have to suffer through alone. I hope that this blogging community offers some support that you don’t get elsewhere.
Thank you, Em. This community is amazingly supportive — I have been surprised how, even in my darkest moments, there are women who allow me to rage and scream, and still offer me hugs and support. I don’t know where I’d be without you all!
Sending you strength. My Ponyo will never be forgotten but surprisingly it does get easier. I love your sketch. Xx
Thank you. I remember your Ponyo xo
Hugs sweetie. And beautiful sketch- so haunting.
Thanks xx
Oh Lauren, I am so sorry you are feeling this pain.
When you said, “I am the only one who feels his loss acutely,” my heart ached because I know that loneliness. Our friends who felt so sad for us at first have had to move on; our family members who grieved the loss of what could have been with us have left that loss behind and are eagerly anticipating new life, new happiness; after a time, even our husbands have to move on. They think of the future, try to help us keep our hopes up.
But we are the mothers and we can never, ever forget. We are the only ones who knew the tiny lives we lost, the only ones who felt them. And now we are the only ones who remember them. It is a sad and hollow place to be, remembering alone. Thinking of you, friend.
You’re so right, Annie. I am so glad to have this community of women, and glad you are one of them. I will always remember your March baby, love. xx
Beautiful. A picture that paints a thousand words x
Thank you xx
My best friend and I used to morbidly laugh that we were going to start answering the “how are you” questions honestly. “Oh, just drowning in a pool o f my own dispair. And you?”
I hope you get the room you need for your feelings. Trying to squash them has the exact opposite effect most of the time. I wish more people understood that.
Much love.
YES! Most people, especially certain members of my family, earnestly believe that the best way to process difficult feelings is to pretend they don’t exist. Then I am told to pull myself together for acknowledging my feelings. It is very stressful and hurtful sometimes. I am glad that your best friend understands xo