These days there isn’t much laughter here. My house has become filled with melancholy heaviness. We’ve suffered a devastating loss through a miscarriage and we are all trying to survive the pain and out of control feelings.
When your home goes from cozy and inviting, to cold and uninviting, it’s a pretty disturbing feeling. My miscarriage happened here at home and for me that means my home holds the memory of such a traumatic event.
I walked around my home for four weeks trying to keep my baby alive, do the right things to help it be healthy, praying, hoping, wishing, feeling ill, feeling okay, feeling like something good like a new baby was just what our family needed after so many years of one bad situation after another.
I’ve become melancholy. I’ve become solemn too. In my moments of happiness, which are few, I direct it towards my family, trying to be the mum they need, the wife he needs, the sister they need, the aunt she needs, the granddaughter they need, the daughter Jesus wants.
I am at a loss for how I feel from one minute to the next. sometimes I feel sad, sometimes I’m depressed. Some of the time I’m angry, or solemn or inconsolable. I want to get out of this house to stop the constant reminder of our loss and grief, but it just follows me. Everywhere I go it’s still there. I tell myself I need to get out so I can be healthy, but I don’t really feel like it helps. Maybe it’s just too soon for anything at all to help this broken heart of mine. I miss my baby, the one I have to wait to officially meet in heaven.
I miss my baby, who I only knew for a short four weeks. I don’t care that you weren’t fully developed, I knew you, and you were mine, my sweet growing baby. But something wasn’t right from the start, I could feel it. I didn’t want to accept it but the void was there. I didn’t, couldn’t get a vision for you. There was no vision of a future with you here with me. It was the strangest and hardest thing to go through. I told my husband, I cried in his arms, I have no vision for this baby and I don’t know why but I think it means it’s not going to happen.
You can put a band-aid on a broken heart all you want but underneath it is still broken and that band-aid isn’t gonna fix it.
A part of me wants to go back to before I ever knew you, but of course that’s only because of the pain I feel from losing you. A part of me knows that there is a promise of great joy ahead. A part of me is trying to grieve and a part of me is trying to get better. But until these wounds turn into scars,
this will be the house of Solemn……