She slid so smoothly into the toilet.
And you didn't know you would ache like that, with a baby-shaped sadness.
You didn't know you would watch her wash out of you, that she would stain your bathroom rug red, and that you wouldn't be able to move from that toilet--
too afraid of what else you would kill.
...
(I'm writing about my miscarriage over at Prodigal today... won't you join me, here? Love you friends.)
**And don't forget to join us tomorrow for Imperfect Prose on Thursdays! There will be NO PROMPT this week, or in the weeks following. We're going back to the basics.
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Love you.
ReplyDeleteOh sweet em.
ReplyDeleteoh em, love...
ReplyDeleteI bawled with that familiar pain. I've been there, though I didn't know it until five days later.
I wish, in this moment more than ever, that I could give you a hug.
Love You.
ReplyDeleteoy...i may need to wait on this...as your intro here already hit me on the visceral level....
ReplyDeletei love, love, love your honesty Brian. and your compassionate heart.
Deleteoh em, you are so special, you have so clearly captured a pain and grief that i too share. love you xxx
ReplyDeletemy heart goes out to you, dear Jane... it's a loss you never stop feeling isn't it? bless you.
Deletewhat beauty in brokeness.
ReplyDeletei'm sorry that i too know this story so well. i weep for both of our losses. every word you say resonates with that special place deep inside me that i daily pray to be redeemed and redeeming.
for me it was my son. i have two lovely daughters but he will always be something beautiful that fills my home only in shadows. as i ponder taking up the task of motherhood again there is a part of me that still longs for that boy, a boy, to fill up my home with his very boyness. but there is another part of me that says maybe another girl, so that he, who might have been remains so much more precious in the possibility of what might have been.
i'm not sure if that makes sense, but i am always blessed when another miscarriage survivor has the bravery to speak in a trembling voice and weave her tale. thank you. may your healing continue.
it totally makes sense, Joy. you are not alone, friend. so much love to you, and so much sorrow for the loss of your beautiful boy.
DeleteI watched this same scene when I was six after my mother had lost my brother. Bless you, friend. May God replace your memories supernaturally with the knowledge that your daughter is with Him, and she's doing well. Much love.
ReplyDeleteReading the first line of this today was like being punched in the chest. The memories-the heaving sobs in a bathroom-they never go away (7.5 yrs later). I knew my firstborn was a boy the way you mourned your girl. The grief changes, yes, and His grace is sufficient, but oh, it comes back quick. I wrote about mine last year ... Thank you for sharing your story ... I echo Joy - your story aids me in grieving and healing mine. http://www.allthegracebetween.com/2012/08/23/part-three-baby-h/
ReplyDeleteoh friend, I ache for you, for the loss. I'm so sorry it felt like you were being punched in the chest. I have tears in my eyes. It's a loss that never stops being felt, even after years, isn't it? Bless you...
DeleteThanks. I didn't mean it in a bad way ... it's just amazing how quickly it comes. Again, I'm glad you shared your story. {And He blesses us too ... I'm pregnant again ... living babe #3.}
Deletewow Emily, I was with you every second as I read this because I too understand this moment of yours. Even though you feel like you are the ONLY one and no one could really understand. And really? No one can understand it is unique to you just like was to me, and mine too was a girl.
ReplyDelete