4 min read
A couple of week’s ago I published a post in which I told you all that I was feeling sad. I didn’t specifiy why. I wasn’t quite ready. However, I have been working on a sort of poem in which I process some of it.
“Only six weeks”
I don’t know why, but
I had imagined this experience, this loss long before it actually happened.
In my mind I romanticised the sadness,
Pictured myself spending hours playing melancholy songs on the piano.
People would treat me so delicately, hover around, voicing their concerns to one another in whispers.
Of course, reality was different.
There were tears, but no piano playing.
Life just kept going.
The toddler, the other child, the one who had made it past the “criticial stage”, who grew and was born and grew even more – she still needed me.
So I changed nappies and made food and read stories and sang her to sleep, like on every other day. And I was grateful for that.
There were no quiet whispers. There was quietness. Because not many people knew. You are not supposed to tell, because – what if something goes wrong?
Then it goes wrong and you feel alone. You have to decide whether to call your friends to tell them and figure out how. Or you don’t tell them because you just can’t find the right words and then feel bad for it.
Am I still supposed to keep it a secret? Should I be ashamed?
When I did tell, there were no quiet whispers. Just a few “I am sorry” and “at least it was only six weeks”.
This grief I had imagined as so consuming and so relatable, felt like it was diminished at every turn. Like I had no right to it.
After all, it was only six weeks.
Only six weeks.
What does it mean?
At six weeks the embryo starts growing tiny toes and fingers. The heart is beating.
But it is hardly anything, or anyone yet, right? Can you call this minuscule thing even a baby?
“I lost my baby.” Is that correct?
Am I right to call myself mother of two? Or is that me being overly dramatic?
This sadness is so much more confusing than I thought. It isn’t weeping and sad songs. But questions, so many questions.
Did I do something wrong? Did this happen because I am still breastfeeding? Or because I lifted my toddler too much? Was it the coffee that I drank?
And then, I also wonder – maybe I am not sad enough. A life died inside me. Shouldn’t this wreck me more? Should I not be unable to just carry on? Am I doing something wrong?
I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
For what it’s worth, tiny one, what I do know is this: I was so excited about you. I couldn’t wait to love you. For you to grow inside my tummy and then turn our whole world upside down. I couldn’t wait to hold you, to know you, for you to meet your big sister.
We miss you, tiny one.
This is Day 91 of my 100 Day Project. You can learn more about my 100 day project by reading this post. If you want to do your own 100 day Project, I would recommend checking out the 100 Day Project website.