you’d be crawling by now…

“There’s a whole other conversation going on
In a parallel universe
Where nothing breaks and nothing hurts
There’s a waltz playing frozen in time
Blades of grass on tiny bare feet
I look at you and you’re looking at me”
~ from Beam Me Up (Pink)

Van Gogh

I am grieving. Parts of the river behind the dam I began to build in August of 2016 when our baby died inside my body are seeping through. Last week I sat in my therapist’s office and the most life-altering thing came out of my mouth. You see, we were talking about everything in my life and where I was now and the fact that so much of me had given up on recovering from the physical after-effects of back and eye trauma and what was left of me after losing 9 embryos to my unforgiving uterus, losing our baby at 9 weeks which would be the only life my body had ever begun to create in my 44 years.

You would be crawling right now, my sweet baby. You were due March 10, 2017, and you would be ten months old and we would be chasing you around and introducing you to the ducks and putting a rain hat on your tiny head to keep the winter wind and rain away.

And I thought about that all and I looked up at my therapist in tears and said to her, Something bad happened to me. And I cried harder. You see, I’ve been in the world of tough love to myself, thanks to how I was raised, and while I’ve tried to intellectually tell myself that there is no timeline to grief, I always felt bad when those feelings would arise, seemingly so much after the fact. But something bad DID happen to me, and I do NOT have to feel bad for my grief. I admitted that it was bad, that I couldn’t stifle the pain anymore. That our hope had bled out of me one dark Saturday night that summer.

Those are all the words I have right now. Here are the words – and images – of others.

Missing Child (source)

I guess love just wasn’t enough
For us to survive
I swear, I swear, I swear I tried
You took the life right out of me
I’m so unlucky, I can’t breathe
You took the life right out of me, me, me, me, me
I’m longing for your heartbeat
~ from “Heartbeat” (Beyonce)


Today could’ve been the day
That you blow out your candles
Make a wish as you close your eyes
Today could’ve been the day
Everybody was laughin’
Instead I just sit here and cry
Who would you be?
What would you look like
When you looked at me for the very first time?
Today could’ve been the next day of the rest of your life
Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you
I’m always asking why this crazy world had to lose
Such a ray of light we never knew
~ from “Gone Too Soon” (Daughtry)


“He tells of how she had been a mess before the accident, but that the tragedy had engendered positive changes in her life. That she was, as a result of this devastation, living a wonderful life. And then he utters the words. The words that are responsible for nothing less than emotional, spiritual and psychological violence: Everything happens for a reason. That this was something that had to happen in order for her to grow. That’s the kind of bullshit that destroys lives. And it is categorically untrue. It is amazing to me that so many of these myths persist…These myths are nothing more than platitudes cloaked as sophistication, and they preclude us from doing the one and only thing we must do when our lives are turned upside down: grieve…Let me be crystal clear: if you’ve faced a tragedy and someone tells you in any way, shape or form that your tragedy was meant to be, that it happened for a reason, that it will make you a better person, or that taking responsibility for it will fix it, you have every right to remove them from your life. Grief is brutally painful. Grief does not only occur when someone dies. When relationships fall apart, you grieve. When opportunities are shattered, you grieve. When dreams die, you grieve. When illnesses wreck you, you grieve. Some things in life cannot be fixed. They can only be carried.If anyone avoids you amidst loss, or pretends like it didn’t happen, or disappears from your life, you can let them go…Grief is woven into the fabric of the human experience. If it is not permitted to occur, its absence pillages everything that remains: the fragile, vulnerable shell you might become in the face of catastrophe.
~ from Everything Happens for a Reason (Tim Lawrence)

There is nothing else that can be done except to bear it.- Frida Kahlo

“For anyone that has ever walked this road. my whole heart goes to yours. right now. as you read. in this moment. i want to cry with you all over again. i want to sit with you in a cold pre op room, or your master bathroom. i want to hold on tight to your hand and i want to take the hurt all over again so you don’t have to feel alone. i am so sorry for your loss. i want to apologize for the ones that can’t wrap their brains or hearts around your extreme disappointment. the ones that imply not seeing // hearing a heartbeat somehow equals you being less pregnant…i want to take every comment, question, baby announcement, gender reveal, shower invite like bullets for you. i want to say all the words you can’t say without crying. but the truth is, i can’t and you can’t do it for me either.

when the time comes to shed and miscarry, the human body goes into labor. my body contracted and hurt and bled…contractions had nothing on the heartstring pull i felt knowing it had been decided. there was nothing i could do. nothing…this was awful. this was not fair. this was pain…have you ever thought about the fact that a woman has to lose her cherished bitty seed to the public waste system? marinate on that for a moment…there i was losing a piece of me, a piece of us. pain from the depth of my cells. the night was the longest. the blood loss was major. scary and almost ridiculous. soaking through pads, panties, towels, sheets. that night was sleepless. hopeless. a death.

like any life event, miscarriage sheds a massive light. true colors can’t hide from light like this…i have tried to frame it all…compartmentalize it into helpful emotional boxes but the truth is the sorting may never be done. it’s ugly sometimes but promise me you’ll feel it all the way. every bit of it. feeling the loss is exactly what it is, loss. i am in the fog. i have learned the fog is the part where you need the companionship. i was going to wait to write until i was on the other side of it. but this place seemed more honest, more needed. i am here. and know and remember this, this one in three walks with you. i am one in three. i have lost. i am one.”
~ from What Heaven Takes (A Little Bit Fancy blog)

(Curtis Wicklund)


6 thoughts on “you’d be crawling by now…

  1. Hello again, I’m not sure if you checked in on my blog lately but we have already been chosen for adoption and have a 4month old baby girl. I wanted to offer you and advice or help you might need with you profile book- we had ours professionally laid out by an artist. Your comments really meant alot to me and I just wanted to offer any help i might be able to give to you.


    1. Congrats! We have had our profile book out there for about 6 months and did some tweaks based on the social worker feedback which was basically just to lighten up the color scheme a bit as it looked more like a photography portfolio, but they loved the actual pictures and wording, so I just put a ocean blue background instead of black and it’s good to go. We just use a template on Mixbook which is super easy to edit and have printed, so I’ve already got the updated version in the mail to me and I’m going to see if a local printer can copy it for cheaper than ordering it direct from Mixbook which has been crazy expensive ! Thanks though 🙂


  2. Ah this is a very powerful post. I love the images and the extracts. Most of all though, “Something bad happened to me” hit me the most. I too live according to the ‘tough love’ I was brought up with and that most of my older relatives still preach. I keep suppressed the notion that anything “bad” has happened to me because: I just do, no one else cares so I let it fade into the past like they have. Sometimes I stop in my tracks though and I think, Jesus I’ve been unlucky, how come no one knows that? Then I feel narcissistic and self-absorbed and suppress it again. Thanks for this piece.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. This hits too close to the heart. I sometimes think about my son who’d be over a year old by now if he had lived, if my cervix had not opened and let an infection inside. My eggs are not good quality and I have very little chance of succeeding again.

    I wish he had lived.


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