Evidently, I'm a textbook miscarriage statistic. Just when I think I'm feeling better, I become a tangled mess of emotions. The highs and lows of my grief are just another slap in the face... will they ever stop?
Andrea sent me a link to a very informative miscarriage encouragement website called www.hopexchange.com. I was looking through it just now and there I was, in black and white:
"As a parent, you never entirely get over the loss of your baby... There is no particular order to grief... You may find that you skip from one feeling to the next or you may experience one aspect of grief, only to return to a previous one."
I suppose I knew this already. When I was 12, my mom made my brothers and me see a family counselor to help us grieve my parents' divorce. The counselor was about 80 years old and had a long white beard that made me want to burst into spontaneous laughter at all the wrong moments. I don't remember much about our sessions, probably because I was trying desperately not to crack up laughing the whole time. (It took a lot of focus!) But I do remember him mapping out the grieving proccess on a yellow legal pad, while my brothers (make that brother-- I'm pretty sure Andy managed to get out of these sessions somehow) rolled his eyes and shot me funny faces, making the laughter suppression even more difficult. ANYWAY, I remember all this grieving stuff. But it doesn't seem to matter when you're going through emotional devastation. The website says that the knowledge of the process can be empowering, but for me, I just feel defeated and I want off of the roller coaster. Now.
At church today, a prayer request was made for a member who had a miscarriage this week. I don't know her, I don't even know who she is. But I felt every bit of her pain. I just wanted to find her right that second and hug her and cry with her. All of my pain resurfaced and the tears started. I couldn't stop. Thankfully, it was during prayer, so I was able to eventually collect myself... but my heart broke every time I looked up to see Micah, one of my students who was sitting 2 rows ahead of us, turned around and watching me. No 5 year old wants to see his teacher crying. When you're 5, your teacher is still your hero-- the person you want to grow up to be just like. The person who you think can fix all problems, heal all boo boos, answer all the world's big questions, and then come up with a fun song to accompany them. Not someone who cries and hurts and doesn't know what to do.
I know better days are ahead. I know this. I just wish I could fast forward and never look back.