I set out to write a blog about miscarriage.
My goal was to write something that shed light on the challenges, the emotions and the experience of losing a pregnancy. Instead of a blog, what poured out of me was a letter—a letter that said everything I needed or ever wanted to say.
This is the heart and soul of my experience and because of that, I hesitated sharing it publicly. But then I realized how much this letter helped me grieve our loss and move forward. It is my deepest hope that this letter might resonate with those who have miscarried and that it might provide a little more insight and understanding for those who have not.
From my heart to yours…xo
To my most-loved Little Nugget,
I miss you every day. I miss the way you pinched my belly every now and then, and the way you made me want to release the contents of my stomach if I even thought about a piece of lettuce. I miss how you forced me to eat nothing but cheese bagels with butter for weeks and I miss the excuse you gave me to wear yoga pants everyday (you knew me so well, even then). I miss the way your dad used to rest his head on my belly just to be close to you. We couldn’t feel you yet, not really, but we knew you were there.
I think about you every day too. I think about how you would have been about five months old by now and I think about how you would have had my nose and your dad’s ears (sorry about that), but you would have been so beautiful. I think about the flowers your dad got me last Mother’s Day to celebrate our first one as a family. I think about who you would have become and how much fun we would have had if only we had had the chance.
Mostly though, I think about how hard it was to lose you, my little nugget.
It was painful and incredibly sad. For 10 of the most beautiful weeks, I felt so full and then all of a sudden, I was empty. Within days of learning that your little heart had stopped, all evidence of you was gone. My body was pretty much back to normal. I could wear jeans and eat lettuce, but all I wanted was to be your mom again.
I took some time off work and watched Downton Abbey and cried. I was saving that show for the two of us. I had hoped it would be our nighttime guilty pleasure. I thought we could watch it together while you nursed and dad slept—but that was not to be—so I watched it alone.
The few people who knew about you sent flowers and brought goodies, gave hugs and made time for the most amazing phone chats and Skype dates. I think they missed you too, but I was in a hurry to get better. I was in a hurry to move on so that we could try again. I’m so sorry my little nugget, but I think I was in a hurry to forget you.
It was too painful to miss you every day and I didn’t feel like I deserved to be as sad as I was. After all, I knew that miscarriages were common and that it could have been worse. Those are things we say to ourselves to get through the initial heartbreak. Though they are true, they diminish the love I had for you and the loss I felt when you were gone.
Here I sit, nearly a year later and I know now that I can never forget you and I’m so sorry that I ever tried. You deserve so much more than that. Instead, I want to honor you and our time together. Even though it was short, it was one of the most beautiful times in my life. It was the time when I was a mom, who loved you like nothing I’d ever known before. It was a time when my purpose became clear and my understanding of that grew with each passing moment.
Thank you, my little nugget, for the joy you brought to us during your short time here. Thank you for introducing me to the profound concept of a mother’s love. Thank you for reminding your dad and I how strong we are in our love for each other, and what amazing parents we will be when the time comes. If we could love you that deeply in such a short period of time, imagine the kind of love we can give in a lifetime.
The day after we lost you, we noticed that the astilbe plant in our backyard, that we thought was long dead, had started to grow again. We were shocked and amazed and for some reason, I looked at those little sprouts that were full of life and I thought of you. Your dad and I decided right then and there that that little plant would hold your memory—and every time we looked at it, we would think of you.
Did you know, little nugget, that plants and flowers hold meanings to those who give and receive them? The meaning of an astilbe is “I will be waiting for you.” I like to think that means that when we are ready and when you are ready, you’ll come back to us. Until then, I will hold you in my heart so tightly and never forget all that you were to us.
I love you always,
Author: Nicole Titterton
Image: Han Cheng Yeh/Flickr
Editor: Nicole Cameron