There is no easy way to say this.

I've lost the baby.

I hate the terminology, you know? It doesn't really work. I lost the baby? It sounds careless. I've had a miscarriage? Hardly a word that encompasses the ultrasound image I saw yesterday, of a tiny body curled up, looking like a still baby bird, perfectly formed in every way we could see...except for the eerie stillness. And so shall I say that? The baby died? 

That is too horrible, and I can't say the words.

But I don't suppose there is any words that would make it easier. Yesterday I went in for an ultrasound, at what was supposed to be 16 or 15 weeks gestation. Clay was with me, because I knew something was wrong. I'd demanded the appointment, unable to wait anymore for my scheduled ultrasound on Thursday. I lay on the table and gripped Clay's hand. The room was too hot. 

Of course, I've already told you what we saw. The doctor adjusted the picture and asked me how far along I was supposed to be. I stammered on an on about 16 weeks strictly by dates, but my cycle tends to be long, so we thought closer to 15 weeks. It was like a nightmare, where you can't make yourself say the words that make sense. 

And on the screen, my tiny, still baby, curled up and motionless.

"As you can see here," he motioned a circle on the chest, "there is no heartbeat. The size is what we'd expect to see in a twelve to thirteen week pregnancy. I am so sorry."

And oh, I am sorry too.

I keep wondering where I was, what I was doing when that life winked out.

"It's not your fault," Clay says. And yes, I know. I know. Only...what was I doing? How did I not know? 

Last night we lay in bed, forehead to forehead, whispering. Tears leaked endlessly onto my pillow.

"Our life is good," I said, and Clay agreed. "It really is. Only...now, I don't know how I will ever stop being sad and live it again."

Clay says that I don't need to worry about that right now, and that maybe, for now, being sad is what we are supposed to do. I hope he's right, because it's about all I can achieve today.

 

Comments

[Holly Gault]

Bless.

[Mir]

Just because you can't see it from here doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Seems to me that you and I have pondered that idea, before.

Love you.

[Cheryl]

Hugs.

[Dani]

Love yall's way <3.

[Lurker Jen]

I'm so sorry. I've been through it, too, and there is no easy way for any of it. And with the so-called "missed miscarriage" I thought the same thing: How could I not have known? What I needed to know when I lost mine: he/she was real, and loved, and I am still his/her mother. Be good to yourself, and let others be good to you, too. Love and prayers.

[Heather]

Heartbreaking. Kira, I'm so sorry. Be anything you need to feel. It's unfair. Sending you all my love and holding your hand...

[Reb]

I'm so sorry. How utterly dreadful. Sending you love and prayers.

[Carmen]

I am so so sorry. I've experienced the same thing, and being the mom of a larger family, you may have had the experience I had. Many people were crass - telling me I already had enough kids. I wondered how I'd dared to hope for just one more - and felt guilty for both the wanting and the loss.

Please be kind to you. I love you and would do anything I could from this distance. xoxoxo

[Carla Hinkle]

I'm so, so sorry.

[Tina]

I am very, very sorry. You'll be in my prayers.

[Whitney]

I am so sorry for your loss. Prayers

[Julie in Austin (now Colorado)]

Kira, I'm so sorry for your loss. I hope you can find peace. I'm sending prayers for you and your family.

[ccr in MA]

Oh, I am so sorry.

I think that just being where you are is what you're supposed to do right now.

[Chana]

Just wanted to express my sympathies. I've been following your blog for a while, silently. Its kind of you to share such a personal story.
Best wishes. I admire your courage.

[Angela]

I am very sorry for your loss. I'll be thinking of you and your family.

[emily]

Be sad. Grieve for the baby. You know as well as anyone that they are part of the family from the instant that stick shows 2 pink lines. Remember the family you have, include them in the sadness.

I am so sorry for your loss.

[Heather]

I am so, so sorry.

[Lise]

I'm so very, very sorry. Be as sad as you need to be, for as long as you need to grieve. Just before your post in my reader was one from Julie Pippert, in which she says,

"When you are grieving, I told my friend Devra as we talked last night---the last day of our friend Susan's life--when you are grieving, I think you are insane, a little. Devra explained to me that in Judaism the literal translation for grief is "out of your mind," and you must give space to grievers to be out of their minds.

That’s right.

In the face of loss, people deserve space to be out of their minds. And they will get back in their minds in their own time, not when people are tired of their grief and ready for them to move on."

Take your time, dear Kira.

[Amy]

I am so very sorry to hear this. Love and prayers to you and your family.

[Amy-Go]

Oh Kira. Oh no. I have stood exactly where you stand and I am so, so, so sorry to hear this.

It gets better. It takes a long time, but it gets better. I swear.

Til then, you will be very much in my prayers.

[Swistle]

I am so sorry the baby died. What a terrible shock and disappointment. I'm sad for all of you.

[Heather]

I'm so sorry, so very, very sorry.

[Tracy]

I am so very sorry. And praying for you, with tears and wishes that it were different.

[Shannon]

Been in your shoes mama, so sorry. Hugs and prayers...

[Emily]

I'm so sorry. Wishing you and your family peace.