When I left the hospital I didn't go home. I actually never returned to the apartment where I lost my Marlee. While in the hospital John and I began the process of closing on our first home. Luckily most of the work was done before the hospital stay. John handled what was left. The house wasn't ready to move into so I stayed with my parents. This turned out to be a more practical solution anyway. I was sent home on an IV and I really needed assistance doing day to day activities. They turned their living room into a bedroom for me because I could not use the stairs. I felt helpless and empty. I was a child and not a mother. I was alone.
Every day the boxes I had kept my emotions, pain and grief in began to open. Each new box brought new tears, new pain, new anger. Days felt like years. Lonely empty years. I would wake up in the night and feel that Marlee was not there, was not with me, inside me and I would cry.
I stayed with my parents for about a month and then moved into my new home. It was hard to see the room we were going to turn into the nursery. It was a storage room for a while. Now it is an office. I am sitting in her room now. Every time I sit here I think about it being a little girl's room. With toys on the floor and hand drawn pictures on the wall. It is like she is here, with me.
My first summer after my loss was extremely difficult. I would have wildly uncontrollable melt downs. I would cry at the site of a baby on TV. I would fold the clothes that we had bought for her. I wished to be with her. I didn't want to live. I wish I had died in the hospital. I couldn't stand the thought of waking up another day. She was with me always, but it was like she was behind glass. I knew she was there, but I could never touch her, hug her or hear her laugh. Everyday I thought about what she would be doing if she was here with me, what she would look like. I wish I could have held her. I wish I could have known her smile. I wish I could have looked into her eyes and told her I loved her.
Weeks passed, months passed and years passed. I still think of Marlee everyday. I still feel empty. Her life was torn away from me. I still have nightmares about the day I knew I lost her. I still think about seeing her lifeless little body on the Ultra Sound screen and not seeing her little heart flicker. I miss her.
John and I decided to try to have another baby. I secretly thought another life inside me would make me feel complete again. Less empty. It didn't. My son is my life. I love him more then I thought I was able to love. He makes me want to wake up in the morning. He makes me want to live. I still feel empty though. I still miss Marlee.
I think of her hugging her baby brother, playing with her cousins. When my son reaches various milestones in his life I think about her. How I will never be there for her big days. I am not there for her first step, her first word, her first dance. I feel like I have abandoned my daughter in exchange for life. I wish she was here. I wish I could know her and see her.
It is hard. I think I bother people when I talk about her. I am not the only woman who has had a miscarriage. I just seem to talk about mine a lot. My life often revolves around my loss. A lot of people don't like hearing about it. I remember shortly after I lost Marlee talking to other women about "pregnancy stories" at a baby shower. People sort of ignored me. I wasn't talking about loosing my child, I was talking about morning sickness, ultra sounds and doctors. The same thing everyone else was talking about. When I spoke people looked at me funny and ignored me. Even now, when I talk about my "first" pregnancy compared to my "second" people don't like to hear what I have to say. People don't like to hear that I grieve for a child I never met. They either do not understand my pain, or choose to ignore it. I just don't want the world to forget her. I don't want to forget her. She is my daughter.
I stayed with my parents for about a month and then moved into my new home. It was hard to see the room we were going to turn into the nursery. It was a storage room for a while. Now it is an office. I am sitting in her room now. Every time I sit here I think about it being a little girl's room. With toys on the floor and hand drawn pictures on the wall. It is like she is here, with me.
My first summer after my loss was extremely difficult. I would have wildly uncontrollable melt downs. I would cry at the site of a baby on TV. I would fold the clothes that we had bought for her. I wished to be with her. I didn't want to live. I wish I had died in the hospital. I couldn't stand the thought of waking up another day. She was with me always, but it was like she was behind glass. I knew she was there, but I could never touch her, hug her or hear her laugh. Everyday I thought about what she would be doing if she was here with me, what she would look like. I wish I could have held her. I wish I could have known her smile. I wish I could have looked into her eyes and told her I loved her.
Weeks passed, months passed and years passed. I still think of Marlee everyday. I still feel empty. Her life was torn away from me. I still have nightmares about the day I knew I lost her. I still think about seeing her lifeless little body on the Ultra Sound screen and not seeing her little heart flicker. I miss her.
John and I decided to try to have another baby. I secretly thought another life inside me would make me feel complete again. Less empty. It didn't. My son is my life. I love him more then I thought I was able to love. He makes me want to wake up in the morning. He makes me want to live. I still feel empty though. I still miss Marlee.
I think of her hugging her baby brother, playing with her cousins. When my son reaches various milestones in his life I think about her. How I will never be there for her big days. I am not there for her first step, her first word, her first dance. I feel like I have abandoned my daughter in exchange for life. I wish she was here. I wish I could know her and see her.
It is hard. I think I bother people when I talk about her. I am not the only woman who has had a miscarriage. I just seem to talk about mine a lot. My life often revolves around my loss. A lot of people don't like hearing about it. I remember shortly after I lost Marlee talking to other women about "pregnancy stories" at a baby shower. People sort of ignored me. I wasn't talking about loosing my child, I was talking about morning sickness, ultra sounds and doctors. The same thing everyone else was talking about. When I spoke people looked at me funny and ignored me. Even now, when I talk about my "first" pregnancy compared to my "second" people don't like to hear what I have to say. People don't like to hear that I grieve for a child I never met. They either do not understand my pain, or choose to ignore it. I just don't want the world to forget her. I don't want to forget her. She is my daughter.
