The things we don't say

It's almost Heidi's 2nd birthday coming up on the 21st. The day that changed everything for me. There are still moments I find myself feeling like I haven't come far along from where I was a year ago. But those days are fewer and fewer so I know there is improvement. Last year, a week after Heidi's first and very difficult 1st birthday, I found myself pregnant. We were excited. Things are looking up! A happy ending to a difficult year of PTSD and we could end on a good note. Things will be different this time! Such morning sickness, it was a lovely sign everything was going right. When I was 11 weeks, I began spotting. Even though I was scared for a few moments, I could tell myself, "Everything is alright, I did the same thing with Heidi at 11 weeks. Now we have a good excuse to get to see the baby early and everything will be fine!" So into the ER we went Saturday afternoon. Waiting for a couple hours until we would be wheeled to the ultrasound room. This is the moment I kept telling myself, "You wouldn't have gotten pregnant without a reason, this baby is meant to be. What about all the dreams you've had about having another?" And this satisfied me. I was  eerily calm and hopeful. The ultrasound tech didn't say anything during the ultrasound. I still didn't think much of it. They weren't supposed to say one way or another. An hour later back in our ER room, a lady comes in. "The fetus is measuring small for your last menses date, and there are no heart tones." My whole body went into defense mode. I know this because thats what PTSD has done to me and its a learned skill. I completely shut down, I couldn't cry. I couldn't talk. I couldn't move for minutes. Because at that moment, I didn't want to live. I didn't want to feel it. There was no way I was going to let myself feel it. It hurt too much. I needed to protect myself because I knew the hurt that would follow. I shut that old friend out, and while I hid, he grew and stalked outside my barriers waiting for my defenses to fail. We walked out of the hospital 10 minutes later with a packet of papers labeled, "You are having a miscarriage, what you need to know..."
The grief didn't hit me until after the D&C two days later. My morning sickness waned, I started lactating slightly, my bloated belly was flat and it felt like I was on a period from hell. My hormones crashed as they do after childbirth. Then my heart caught up with the present moment that I was suddenly no longer pregnant and there was no infant in my arms to ease the way my body felt. Pain, grief, anger, questions, bargaining, hopelessness to name a few, came flooding through the gates all at once. And to be honest they still drip in today. The same feelings. There is so much energy in grief. What did I do with it all? It was too much to handle. Most days felt like an explosion of pointless tears and sadness. I was lonely, where were the other women who experienced this? Why couldn't I reach out and find them for support? This is my regret, that I did it alone because I felt I was tainted. And then we lost another at 5 weeks, and then another. And then another. Nobody could ever understand this pain, I thought, it's too much for someone to even know. Then what of their happiness? Happiness comes after sadness. But it didn't again and again. Where was my hope? To be honest, its very little still. But I put my hope into other things and other ideas now. Hope that my children will grow happy and understanding. I hope that they will be kind to others. I hope that when their trials come, they will find themselves in a place of learning and not a place of torture. Hope that some day, when this sojourn has ended, my mind will be filled with understanding for the suffering that feels so pointless.
     I am so excited for the garden this year. I have new projects planned. I like beautiful things. Beautiful stories with happy endings. Lovely gardens and colors. Happy children who create their own worlds. I am a hopeless romantic, which is my downfall. So much hope creates inevitable disappointment. But I am learning how to deal with both. Some days I feel like such a beautiful person with an ancient soul who could conquer anything and make her world beautiful. And then my other very real self, is a demon. A dark soldier destroyed by war and finding strength from the prospect of future battles to lose. Hyper vigilant and never letting others see what might frighten them. I know I scare people. I am scared of me too. These are the kind of things we don't say....