My first experience with miscarriage was a perplexing blend of confusion and fleeting sadness. My partner and I had barely begun to process the excitement of a positive pregnancy test when the loss came crashing down, leaving us both stunned and bewildered. We didn’t discuss it much; I shed a few tears while he immersed himself in work, and life simply carried on.
The second miscarriage hit harder, occurring at nine weeks. By that time, I had known about the pregnancy for a month, and we had shared the news with family and close friends. I was feeling the typical symptoms of pregnancy—nausea and exhaustion. However, during our initial ultrasound, the doctor noted that the heartbeat was weaker than expected, prompting us to return for a follow-up. “You’re likely not as far along as you think,” they reassured us. Yet, when we went back a week later, the heartbeat had become even more faint and erratic.
“You’ll need a D&C,” the doctor informed us. Holding hands, we made the necessary phone calls, tears streaming down our faces. Still, we found it difficult to articulate our feelings; I cried a bit more this time, while we both busied ourselves with work, home projects, and caring for our toddler.
The following weekend, my partner returned home with a trunk full of flowers and plants. Eager for some color and signs of life, we invested in gardening tools, vibrant flowers, and vegetables—one of which was a tall hibiscus plant. That afternoon, while our little one napped, we set to work. More accurately, my partner worked while I watched. He filled large planters with colorful blooms and planted tomatoes along the house’s side. In the center of a mound of soil, he placed the hibiscus, surrounding it with an array of lively impatiens.
While he dug and planted, I observed. We didn’t need words; the hibiscus stood as a silent testament to the soul we lost in that sterile hospital room.
A few months later, I experienced another miscarriage. Once again, our conversations were limited to the necessary arrangements. Despite being known for our verbose discussions—my partner and I are both lawyers who thrive on debate—these losses left us speechless. What could we really say when the sorrow felt larger than words?
There were other topics to fill our conversations. Our toddler was navigating the trials of early childhood, providing endless moments of laughter and occasional frustration. We discussed the struggling economy and my partner’s demanding job. A year later, our talks shifted to plans of moving away from the city. Though I never voiced it, the hibiscus had a profound significance for me. Every time I glanced at it, I felt a wave of peace wash over me—a raw, imperfect peace, but peace nonetheless.
When we eventually relocated, renting our house to a group of twenty-somethings, the plant didn’t survive. Frankly, I doubt it would have thrived even if we had remained. The soil was poor, lacking sunlight, and I wasn’t exactly an expert gardener. A couple of years later, while tidying the yard, I noticed a semi-circle of bricks marking the spot where the hibiscus once grew. I paused there, quietly saying goodbye to our lost angel, but I didn’t linger or talk about it. I simply remembered.
Earlier this year, as we finalized the sale of that house, I found my thoughts drifting back to the hibiscus and the bricks that once encircled it—the sorrow buried beneath the ground and the hope that had sprouted from it. I envisioned my partner, kneeling in the dirt, planting and nurturing, and it struck me that our silence had forged a bond deeper than words ever could. In our unspoken understanding, we both grieved at our own pace, learning that love is a verb, not just a feeling. By refraining from offering hollow words of comfort, we bore witness to each other’s pain, ultimately discovering strength and resilience that may have been the most profound gift we could give to one another.
If you’re looking for more insights on pregnancy and home insemination, check out this post on Cervical Insemination. And for those considering at-home insemination, Make A Mom offers reputable syringe kits to help you on your journey. Additionally, the CDC provides an excellent resource for understanding pregnancy and various conception methods.
In summary, navigating the emotional landscape of miscarriage can be daunting. Sometimes, silence can speak louder than words, allowing couples to mourn and heal together in their own unique ways.
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