I Will Always Wonder Who You Would Have Been

There is a part of my life I said I would never write about in a blog. I can write about good things and bad, but not this. This is sacred. This is about the biggest heartbreak I have ever had. Every time I have tried to express my thoughts on this subject, my fingers get weak and freeze. My eyes well up with tears.

But writing is therapy for me. And this year, I feel ready to share a part of my life journey that almost destroyed me.

There are two dates (outside of birthdays) that I will never forget. January 30 and July 19. No matter how hard I try, even when my mind seeks to erase these dates from my memory, my heart knows. January 30, 2012 is the day I lost my precious child. July 19, 2012 is the day he was due to be born. His birthday.

My husband and I were so excited about this baby. It was our first child together (I had a daughter from a previous marriage) and he really wanted kids. He asked me on the first date multiple times if I wanted kids! And I was excited to finally give my then 5-year-old a sibling and to have a child with the man I loved.

We had nicknamed him Gummy. We joked during the 8-week ultrasound that he looked as big as a Gummy Bear. The name stuck. We made plans. So many plans. My daughter would talk about how she couldn’t wait to be a big sister. And I would dream about how by Christmas, he would be 5 months old. Old enough to be mesmerized by the lights on the tree. I even told my husband that I didn’t need a gift that year. Gummy was the best gift I could have.

January 30, 2012

To this day, January 30th remains the worst day of my life. My heart has mostly healed, but if you look hard enough, you can still see all the tiny little cracks that remain. Losing Gummy was without warning and completely unexpected. It was traumatic. It was devastating. I don’t even want to go into the awful details of that day. But it shook me to the core like nothing else ever has and probably ever will. In one split second, all my hopes and dreams for this new life were gone.

I was 14 and a half weeks pregnant. I was past the 12 week period, the time when you’re most at risk for losing a baby. I had felt him start to move. Heard the heartbeat. He was active and healthy at every visit. I researched all the stats and numbers and the risk of miscarriage in the 2nd trimester was so low. How could this happen? Why did this happen? Was I too busy or stressed? Was it my age? What about my dental visit? I wracked my brain trying to figure out why.

I remember wishing I had waited to tell anyone, because I couldn’t bear to have to explain what happened. I couldn’t bear to be asked when the baby was due again or when I was going to find out the sex. I just wanted to never talk about it ever again. You get all this education on how to have a healthy baby, but no one prepares you on how to handle a miscarriage.

I went into a deep depression. I know I was no good to anyone in those early days. Not my daughter or my husband. The next several months were filled with so many ups and downs, I couldn’t fit them into a blog. But somehow, through the grace of God, the support of my husband, and knowing I needed to be there for the child I had left, I found myself again.

July 19th, 2012

July 19th would have been Gummy’s birthday. I was already scheduled for a C-section and had much anticipation for my summer baby. I keep calling Gummy a “he” because after the miscarriage, the doctor asked me if I would like to hold “him” one last time. She saw him up close. Gummy was a boy.

Gummy would have turned 4-years old in a few days. I wonder what he would be like. What would he would look like? I think of the life he would have had and who he would have been. He is not just a memory. He was my son. I was his mother. I was his mother from the moment I found out about him. Knowing you are carrying a life inside of you is a bond like no other. If you’ve ever lost a child, and you have no babies on this earth, you are still a mother. The world may not know it, but you do. I will always consider myself a mother of four. 3 on earth and 1 angel baby in heaven.

I never thought much about the afterlife or wanting to be reunited with anyone that has passed away, until Gummy. How I would love to hold him in my arms and tell him how much mommy loves and misses him. Maybe one day I will.

I learned through all of this that I was not alone. I felt like I was the only woman to ever suffer a miscarriage. I was a failure. I let my child down. I couldn’t do the one thing right that a woman’s body was designed to do. I tried to do everything right, and still it wasn’t good enough. I was ashamed. Embarrassed. Guilt-ridden. But I learned that miscarriages are more common than you think.

Several people would tell me stories of their own losses. People that I had never really had an in-depth conversation with before shared their personal heartaches. One woman told me she had lost two children over twenty years ago and she still thinks of them. “You never forget,” she said. I now know how true that statement is. These people helped me to heal. I’m so thankful they took the time to share their stories with me. I didn’t feel alone anymore. I wasn’t a freak of nature. Bad things really do happen to good people. This happens. Women just don’t talk about it very often. But it happens.

Thankfully, I went on to have 2 more beautiful, healthy children. Little did I know that my miscarriage was just the beginning of a very difficult journey. I could write a book on the struggle and turmoil that would be the next part of my efforts to expand my family! But it was all so very worth it.

I wanted to write this as a tribute to the child that I lost. He existed. He was real. He is not something to hide or to be ashamed of. He was mine. And he had a name. Gummy.

So, to my son, your birthday is in a few days. I know it’s not really your birthday, but it should have been. I have not forgotten you. You are emblazoned upon my heart. Your dad still thinks of you and your sister does too. I will one day tell your brothers about you. You will always be a part of our family and we love you forever.

Til we meet again,

Mom