It’s funny how when something happens to you personally, especially something that may be unique to you, or for you, you tend to see mentions of it when you wouldn’t expect it. In 1997 my youngest brother was struck by a train. Yes, a moving train. What are the odds, right? That same summer, 17 others in Wisconsin had the same experience. Go figure.
After our miscarriage, I soon realized how very common this heartbreak is and how many hopeful parents lose the fragile life of their unborn child. Since, I have stumbled across news articles, shares of miscarriage awareness on Facebook, support networks, etc. Certainly, some I sought out, but several other times, it was by pure coincidence. That is what happened recently when I found this article.
Pure grief. That is how this artist described the experience when he and his wife lost their third child via miscarriage. He created and shared this sketch which was an outlet for him to capture the raw feelings, the heartbreak, the message. Just as I do with my writing–we all have our coping mechanisms.
Photo credit and artist: Curtis Wiklund
Viewing this took me back to our moment in our vehicle…. the long drive from our home to the hospital. After my water broke, we made preparations to head to the hospital. I was crushed, doubtful my pregnancy would continue, but there as a chance. The drive seemed to take forever. 10 minutes into it, contractions started and it was then I knew with certainty, we were losing our baby.
Pure grief. Hopelessness. Anger. Guilt.
I struck the door and console of the truck with my fist. I choked on fear and I sobbed.
Cody said “it’ll be OK” but I knew it wouldn’t be. There was nothing to be done.
Why was this happening? What did I do wrong? What was wrong with my child?
We had a healthy pregnancy already. This one shouldn’t have been any different.
You hear about miscarriage, you might know someone who had experienced it, but you can’t truly understand the devastation that it creates. Or the guilt it causes. Or the feeling of dreams crushed. Or the heartbreak over a life that will never be, but that you wanted so badly.
I knew of others that had lost. Prior to our loss, I didn’t know what to say to them. I wanted to say something, do something. I wanted to hug them, offer comfort, but who was I? So I said nothing and I went on with my life and expected that they were doing the same.
There is little to be said, even less to be done. The opportunity to remember and to acknowledge the importance and impact of that life–that is the greatest kindness.