"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end" - Semisonic, Closing Time
Hello readers. I've been MIA on this blog for a couple of months, but I simply haven't the time or the energy to write. This was started as a blog post for the April SOTB blog hop, but I simply didn't have the energy or heart to finish the post, or to write anything else.
In the beginning of April, I suffered a very personal tragedy- I had a miscarriage. It was a very early miscarriage of a surprise pregnancy, but it was still a miscarriage. A very tiny person, who never even saw the light of day, died in the one place that she was supposed to be safe. I've had miscarriages before, this is only the most recent in a list I've been compiling over my adult life. However, this miscarriage affected me rather hard, knocking me down into a world of depression and sadness that I could not brave myself for.
I know that I did not cause myself to lose this little baby. Early miscarriages happen frequently. Hector and I were not even trying to get pregnant; in fact, we were using natural family planning to avoid pregnancy. Adding another child to our family would have been a great difficulty emotionally and financially. Leo is barely a year old and still nurses frequently. As Hector is the main caregiver for our children, two under two would have been extremely stressful for him. Logically, I know these reasons to be true and rational. However, they do not numb the pain and they seem like poor excuses compared to the tiny life that grew inside of me, even if only for a couple of weeks.
My emotional life has not been the healthiest lately, and my life-long battle with depression and anxiety has been waging rather violently in the past few months. I was already battling thoughts of unworthiness and misery before all of this happened. Losing a baby just added fuel of the fire burning in my brain.
My personal motto is simple: "life goes on". Even when my world crashed down on top of me, I knew that I have to keep going. I don't have time to stop because my family depends on me. First, I named the baby. As Catholics, we believe that the saints in heaven have the ability to pray for us, as our brothers and sisters in Christ, because they are alive in heaven. This child went straight to heaven, and is there and can pray for our family. We don't change into angels in heaven- they are their own beings. We become
saints. I can ask this tiny saint to pray for our family. But she needed a name. I've named all of my tiny saints. Secondly, I force myself to carry on. The day after I started to miscarry, I went to the gym, per my normal routine. I did a light work out, but I knew if I did not persist in my regular routine, I would get stuck in the endless cycle of tears and exhaustion. I sat on the stationary bike and read articles about miscarriage and recovering. I went to work. I carried on, day after day until I gained enough momentum to continue living without forcing myself to.
I really don't know what the life lesson is supposed to be. I sometimes think there isn't one. It's so hard to understand how much grief is possible over someone who was a surprise to her parents, then left so soon. It's comforting to think of my baby in heaven being held by Mama Mary, but I still wish I could have held her here. I've learned by now that life is not about getting what you want and that it is unfair to the extreme. If that is the lesson that should be learned, someone please send a memo to life: you are unfair, I get it; I do not need so many reminders.