Two Years Ago

Two years ago today, we got the news that forever changed us: Our baby had no heartbeat.

Having a miscarriage is by far the worst thing that has ever happened to me, to us. I’ve healed a lot over the last two years, but I still carry a great deal of resentment, anger, and sadness. I still get lost in should fantasies: I should have an 18-month-old baby. We should be thinking about trying for another one soon.

When I drive to the gym after work, I sometimes fantasize that I’m on my way to pick up my little one from daycare. She would be so happy to see me! I’d scoop her up and plant a dozen kisses on her chubby face while she squeals and snuggles into my chest. When we get home, her dad would do the same, except she would grab his beard with both hands and giggle when he pretends it hurts. The house would be a disaster area, toys everywhere and dirty dishes piled in the sink, but we wouldn’t care, because spending time together as a family would be more important than cleaning up every day.

I know real life wouldn’t be that way, at least not every day. I know we would have our fair share of bad days. I would gladly embrace every single bad day if it meant I would never know the pain of losing my baby. I would, in a heartbeat, exchange these past two years of heartache and infertility for the most difficult delivery, longest recovery, fussiest baby you can imagine.

I’ve learned a lot about myself these past two years, about my strengths and weaknesses. I lived through the worst experience of my life, and not only am I still standing, I’m a stronger, better person than I was before. But, if I could, I would trade all that to go back in time and have a healthy baby.

This isn’t to say I’m not grateful for all the wonderful things in my life right now. I am, but I have to work at it. Losing a baby left a giant hole in my heart. Infertility hardened it. Perhaps one day, it will soften again and that hole will close a little. Or maybe I’ll live out my days always resenting the hand I was dealt. I suppose it’s up to me.

Anyone know where I can get a magic wand?


10 thoughts on “Two Years Ago

  1. I wish there was a magic wand that could help us in these moments. I feel in such a similar place, still reeling from the depth of pain that my losses have caused (I don’t think anyone, including me until it happened, can understand just how devastating pregnancy loss is without experiencing it themselves). And the IF that has followed, pushing what once seemed like a simple dream to the realms of fantasy.

    I guess it is our choice to feel strong and whole and to move forward with the hands we’ve been dealt, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take time to grieve and to remember the longed-for children that almost were. Thinking of you and your little one this weekend.

  2. I will never forget the moment I was told my baby had no heartbeat. I hate myself for not knowing I carried my baby for three weeks after it died until a stranger told me. I appreciate every second of this pregnancy. I’m so thankful for the hell I’ve been through. I would gladly go through this hell and worse a thousand times over if it meant I could give every woman a baby. It is not fair. Thinking of you and everything you have dealt with.

  3. If you find any magic wands, I’m afraid of how much money I’d offer up to buy one from you! I try so hard not to let my mind get going on the “should” fantasies. I almost had tears in my eyes reading yours.
    This miscarriage/infertility journey definitely hardens us. And takes away an innocence and joy about creating a family that most people take for granted. Hopefully it’s temporary. Hopefully we’ll all “win” this fight. I’d love to see us all in a few years, with our babies/toddlers, exchanging complaints about not getting enough sleep or how dirty our houses are.
    I’ll be thinking of you today, and sending love & peaceful thoughts your way.

  4. No one should have to mark the anniversaries of finding out their baby didn’t have a heartbeat. Mine never even made it that far and I still find myself fantasizing about where we’d be now. We’ve had unusually cold weather so far this year and I would be even more thankful for it if I was still pregnant. I’m sure anytime now would be my baby shower. If I had a magic wand and could change anything, it would be pregnancy and infant loss.

    Please remember that grieving is good. It is harder to heal if you don’t.

  5. If I had a magic wand, I’d let you borrow it. But then I’d ask for it right back. My wife has had enough miscarriages that she’d need it for a good while. We can relate with everything you wrote.

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