Dear Miscarriages,
While convention suggests starting a letter with kind words, I find myself at a loss. The thoughts swirling in my mind are anything but warm; they are filled with the pain and anguish you’ve brought into my life.
You have taken three of my precious babies from me. Three souls I loved fiercely, three little ones I longed to embrace. I will never know their gender, never feel their warmth, and all that remains are the sonogram images that haunt my dresser. Each day, I gaze at those photos, wishing for a different outcome.
Because of you, my son has been deprived of siblings. He doesn’t yet know that three little spirits are watching over him from heaven. You stole from him the joy of companionship, the laughter of playmates, and the bond of shared experiences.
You made me utter the most heartbreaking words to my baby: “It’s okay to let go.” I wanted nothing more than to beg for them to hold on, but as I watched them struggle on the sonogram screen, I realized they were only holding on for me. Do you understand the agony of telling your child to surrender? I doubt it, or you wouldn’t force anyone into such a position.
The image of my still baby on the sonogram screen is etched in my memory—a moment I both wish to forget and feel compelled to remember. Just a week earlier, I had felt the first flutters of life, only to witness that stillness. It has forever altered my experience of pregnancy.
You have stolen the joy of expecting a child from me. What should be a time of excitement is now shadowed by anxiety and dread, as I fear the pain that has become all too familiar.
The ache in my heart is relentless, a constant reminder of the pieces of me that are forever missing. It feels as though you claimed a part of my very being, leaving me incomplete. I will never be the same. A sadness lingers within me, unnoticed by many, but visible in the depths of my eyes when I catch my reflection.
You have impacted my marriage, too. I struggle to be the wife I once was, as grief sometimes overwhelms me. I know my husband longs for the joyful me, and I miss her too. But no matter how hard I try, the spark seems out of reach.
You have instilled in me a deep resentment toward my body—once a source of pride for its health and strength. Now, it feels like a failure for not being able to nurture the babies I so desperately wanted. What’s the point of caring for a body that can’t carry life?
You have forced me to question my faith. I once believed that everything happened for a reason, but now I wonder why I’ve been given hopes only to have them dashed. What did I do to deserve this heartache? Doesn’t the universe recognize my longing for motherhood?
Jealousy has taken root in my heart, creeping in every time I see a pregnant woman. It’s a feeling I can’t seem to shake, and it makes my heart heavy.
Certain dates now serve as painful reminders: January 4, January 21, September 26, and others. Each year, these days bring back memories of loss, of what could have been.
Walking past the empty room in my home is torturous. We had envisioned filling it with the laughter of a second child, yet it remains still, a constant reminder of our dreams that never came to fruition.
So, forgive me, miscarriages, for my inability to extend any kindness toward you. You’ve not only taken my babies but have also stripped me of my ability to conform to social niceties.
Sincerely,
A Mother in Pain
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In summary, this letter reflects the profound sadness and complexity surrounding the experience of miscarriage. Each loss leaves an indelible mark, changing relationships, self-perception, and the very fabric of hope itself.