The last week or so has been. . . terrifying. I had a miscarriage and it’s just been one blow after another. Between fending off panic attacks and worrying about everything, I thought I’d take time to write a blog. Sort of. More like post a poem and update you guys.
I’m a little worried about my Uncle Jed. I had written him in January when JP and I told my parents that I was pregnant, and he never responded. After three texts and an email he finally said he’s thinking about me and he needs to get to sleep so goodnight. Hmm. The consensus in my brain right now is that he just took the news really badly- worse than my parents did. I would have NEVER imagined this.
On the 12th JP, our friend Gordon and I are leaving for a comicon (nerdy, I know) in Seattle. This’ll be my first time home in about three years, and I’m super excited. We were going to tell my grandparents and great aunt about Chatham (the baby) then, but after the miscarriage I emailed my aunt and told her what had been going on. I expected the usual “Oh, my. I’m sorry” stuff with a little advice or something but instead she said she wasn’t sure whether to be glad or dismayed about the miscarriage. . . . . Umm . . .Why would you ever be glad that someone lost their child? Just wondering.
I don’t know. I guess I was expecting people to be more supportive. Maybe I’m doing something wrong. . . Actually- I’m not doing much at all other than trying to keep sane at the moment. It’s really not easy, and I know this sounds like every other blog I’ve written but it’s true.
Chatham and the idea of having something to protect and be healthy and good for was (I feel) what I needed. I never felt happier in my life. I was eating right (and only complaining a little bit about weight gain) and I was super, super excited. It’s different to get healthy for something outside of yourself. There’s real motivation there. I didn’t want my child to grow up in a home where his parents were too selfishly sick to take care of him or her. I know what that’s like and I didn’t want it for my child.
So, yeah. Anyways, we’re going to Seattle in a couple weeks. We’re doing comicon, my great aunt’s birthday dinner, Bethel (that’ll be interesting!!) and hopefully some sights like the Space Needle and Pikes Place. It’ll be good to be back.
JP and I are also talking about moving away from Springfield. I guess we need a change- or just need to get away from all this familiar business because it reminds us of Chatham. We thought about Seattle, Pennsylvania and basically anywhere else, but right now we’re leaning towards moving in with Gordon and maybe JP’s younger brother Pete somewhere near Jacksonville so I can go to IC for another year. Pete might go to IC, and his decision is mainly influenced by the fact that we’re nearby and that I go there- so he’ll know someone on campus. This would be pretty short term- about a year or so- while JP and I save money to go on a one-year road trip to . . everywhere. While we lived with Gordon and Pete, JP and Gordon would work on their web comic and hopefully get that running.
I know it’s a lot, and probably it’s too much too soon, but it feels like something needs to change.
Anyway, here’s a poem I wrote a couple of days ago. It hasn’t been edited or anything yet.
Empty- different this time.
Instead of stomach growling, contracting, contorting,
There’s nothing where a child once was.
This hurts more.
It’s not self-inflicted chaos to hold myself together,
This is ripping, tearing, searing empty.
Hold my belly and roll around the bed,
Panic, smoking, heavy and worst of all
No closure to this story.
No ending, just a flush of the toilet
And a spiraling grave.
His name was Chatham
And he was perfect.
Empty before my time
And it hurts like hell, girls.
All the baby clothes and tiny socks,
The slings, cribs, sippy cups, maternity clothes,
The floor, the ceiling and Spring-
They all remind me of the empty
That now resides where the full used to
Wiggle his toes, wrinkle his nose,
Thumpthumpthump his heart and then
One day- empty.