I hear the phrase “stages of grief” more commonly used than waves of grief. But for me, the intense feelings after a miscarriage are very much like waves. They come and go, washing away pieces of you each time. Some bigger than others, but they keep coming nonetheless. The waves of grief that are brought on by a miscarriage can swallow you up, especially in the beginning. Looking back, I’m not surprised. What I was surprised by was the way these emotions could resurface in unexpected ways months and even a year later. In this post, I’m going to share with you six waves of grief I’ve experienced since my miscarriage.
Guilt
I remember hearing other women talk about how after their loss, seeing pregnancy announcements or even pregnant women would make them feel sadness or resentment. Honestly, that didn’t happen for me. After my miscarriages I saw even more clearly how much a miracle a healthy pregnancy was and I was genuinely happy for others. What has been hard is seeing children the same age that my baby would have been. I immediately start thinking about what my child would have looked like and what they’d be doing at the same stage of life.
One baby in particular is my own niece. She and my baby were due one week apart. My sister-in-law and I used to send each other cute videos of baby cousins that we found on social media. We imagined what it would be like to raise them more like siblings than cousins. I love my niece deeply and have NEVER felt anger or sadness towards her or my sister-in-law. She is a miracle and I’m thankful for her every day.
What I have unexpectedly felt is guilt. I remember the first time I met my niece, she was just over a month old. I was holding her, we walked by a mirror, locked eyes and I started crying. The guilt wave had hit me. I felt guilty that I didn’t give her a cousin her age. Like I had robbed her of this special bond that I had dreamt of for them.
Of course I know that this one month old baby didn’t hold it against me. But that’s the thing with grief, it shows up in ways you couldn’t expect. And sometimes in ways that hardly make sense at all.
Sadness
Each holiday that past after the first year was tough. Each time I found myself picturing what it would have been like to have a pregnant belly or a new baby. Easter specifically brought a wave of sadness that I didn’t see coming. I had planned on doing an Easter pregnancy announcement. I had looked at ideas on Pinterest for how to announce my little chick hatching or the Easter bunny leaving something special in my Easter basket. Something seemingly small and silly even. But the following Easter I was reminded of what that day meant to me a year prior and the sadness quickly washed over me.
Anger
My first phantom kick is a vivid memory. I was laying with my son as he was trying to fall asleep and I felt it. I already had a baby so I knew what kicks felt like at this point. And clear as day, I felt a kick. It was only a few days after my miscarriage, when the pain was still all consuming. I remember giving myself a headache from holding back my tears so hard in an attempt to not disturb my son.
I was so angry at my body. It wasn’t enough that I had just experienced the death of my unborn child just days prior? Now, it was going to remind me of what it feels like to carry a healthy, kicking baby? It felt so cruel and unfair.
Denial
I started seeing my baby’s name EVERYWHERE. On a sign that I was rerouted to go by. Across the cover of a photo book in a social media ad. On the screen at church announcing the person being baptized. On a street sign, and two items at my dads business. All of which I had past by a million times before and never noticed. On a book at the library in the section my son was looking at. And at least 3 others I can think of off the top of my head.
Each time I felt a small wave of sadness followed by denial. It was so strange. I kept allowing myself to feel like maybe they were all signs that I’d still have my baby someday. As I write this, I think what I thought was denial was actually…hope.
Depression
Before I had my miscarriages, every first that I experienced with my son was joy filled. The first time he said mama, or I love you. The first time he crawled or walked. I was blissfully unaware that any other feeling could be associated with such a moment. After a lot of thought and prayers, I’ve come to the realization that we likely won’t try again. I say likely because I just can’t bear to say it definitively yet.
Now, whenever there is a first, the joy comes and then creeping up behind it is pain. The pain of knowing that it’s also the last time I’ll experience this kind of first with a child. The pain of desperation as I grasp to hang on to every moment before it passes.
Am I taking enough pictures? Am I enjoying the moment enough? Will I remember this feeling later? So much chaos inside me as I try to enjoy these special moments while also agonizing over the fact that every first is my last.
Acceptance
When I finally got to a place where I stopped looking for answers, I decided to pray for peace. Peace with my losses. Peace with what the future would look like. And the peace to move through the day without agonizing over every detail leading up to my miscarriages. God granted me that peace and helped me to find purpose in my loses by allowing me to support other women struggling with infertility. I still feel each and every one of these waves of grief from time to time, but the peace and purpose I’ve found carries me to the next one.
