Get Back to Who I Am

My boyfriend had stomach cancer at the age of 22. And since the,n his cancer has been in and out of remission. In January, he told me he was confident it was back, and after chemo and radiation he said he wasn’t going to fight it this time. He was going to allow to run its course.

The same day we got the news he was cancer-free was the same day we found out we were pregnant. Neither of us had children so this pregnancy was just a breath of fresh air. Because we valued life differently after that cancer scare, we made videos everyday from the moment we found out, until the doctor gave us the news there was no heartbeat.

He told us you could be too early. When he gave us that little sense of hope, I held on to it. I didn’t have any bleeding, no cramping — he scheduled me a d&c for that Friday. I went home and rested, confident that God would deliver a miracle. I got in the prayer line and petition the church for a miracle.

Up until I laid on the operating table, as they told me to count to 10. I believed that God would work a miracle. I woke up to no miracle, and no baby. The miscarriage showed me who my real friends were, it made me question my faith, and it has taken my sense of hope.

Food disgusts me, I don’t sleep without a Benadryl. My therapist keeps saying in order to get over grief you have to keep talking, but I’m just mute. I feel constantly misunderstood. A close friend told me “you were only 10 weeks, pull yourself together”.

The closer I get the due date the sadder become. I keep thinking when will this end? When will I get back to who I am?

— Cierra

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  1. Nobody knows the answer to that question, I’m afraid. Our paths to healing are our own journeys, but many have walked similar paths, and we can give each other hope and support through all this. You speaking of wishing for a miracle, of your shaken faith, oh, I feel these things keenly also. It hurts so much it feels like an open wound right in your soul. These are natural steps in grief. I say these words and half of me doesn’t find any relief, because knowing what this pain is doesn’t stop it.

    You lost a potential life, you lost that hope for joy and new love. You felt the fullness of your body, the fruit of your existence, and this one time, it did not end up the way a mother hopes. But despite our pregnancies being short, we *were* mothers. We made room in our hearts, our bodies made room in our bones, in the very centre of us, and though the loss is made no easier by that fact, it cements the legitimacy of our grief.

    Finally, faith in the face of such pain is a difficult thing. But even the most pious of souls have felt doubt. In the quietness of your own moments, the truth that will help you survive will come to you. I know in my own experience of loss, I have demanded to know why God sent me such a miracle only to have it taken away again. What purpose could such a thing serve? But perhaps in our world of scripted stories, books of parables, fairy tales and moral outcomes, we lose sight of the fact that life is chaotic and random, possibly even beyond God’s expectations. I have no doubt that you, living with the ups and downs of your boyfriend’s illness, know this more intimately than anyone.

    Your baby was real to you. Give yourself room and permission to mourn that little one as you would anyone else. Make a small memento, plant a small tree or flower bush, write a memorial. Involve your beloved partner in this process if it will help. Most of all, know you are not alone in your grief. Each loss is different, individual, has it’s own pains and heartbreaks, but a mother’s love is an eternal string reaching back through the ages to when life first began. We are all connected, and that love that we all harbour as a universal matter of course to those that we bear, while sometimes making us feel weak and broken, in the end, makes us the strongest of all.

    Not sure if the words of a stranger will help, but all my love, all my hopes for your future, and as someone going through loss this very minute, my heart is with you. God bless.

  2. I am in tears reading your story Cierra and I thank you and all of the other women who have had the courage to share your stories. I am so glad I found this site tonight and am seeing the strength courage and pain that so many have been thru. After losing my son to sids at 6 months I resented every person who tried to console me with advice on how they got thru their miscarriage. I closed them off angry that they claimed to understand my pain feeling mine was so different. Reading yours and the stories of others tonight has opened me to how closer the similarities and further the difference. Losing a life you created is the most painful thing a mother can endure no matter how much time she spent with it. I thank you for your honesty praise you for your strength and pray for your healing and another chance to share your love. From one mother to the next I love you and I know our babies know how much we love them. Best wishes.

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Unspoken Grief is a non-profit website dedicated to creating awareness and resources for anyone touched directly or indirectly by miscarriage, stillbirth or neonatal death.

©Unspoken Grief 2017; Devan McGuinness


Unspoken Grief exists to provide peer-to-peer support and resources. The information on this site is intended only for advocacy and educational purposes. It's not intended to give medical advice, to diagnose or to offer treatment for any medical or psychological conditions. Please consult your own health care provider for your own specific situation and needs.