Mama of Two
Every year on the first Sunday in May, International Bereaved Mother's Day honors mothers who have lost a child. It's also a day to recognize women who cannot be a mother due to infertility or other health reasons. One of the hardest days for many women around the world as Mother's Day.
TRIGGER WARNING mention of loss
So I will carry you
While your heart beats here
Long beyond the empty cradle
Through the coming years
I will carry you
All my life
And I will praise the One Who's chosen me
To carry you
It’s been a little over four years now since I started this motherhood journey. Even my last proper blog entry here was about Maternity... an experience I wanted to write about in a series. But obviously, four years have passed since and my son has now grown into this wonderful, cheeky big boy (family also moved from Korea to New Zealand)! I just wrote about the second trimester the last time I sat to blog here and now I am at this stage of getting him his first soccer shoes and having his primary school enrolment lined up. Time sure did fly!
But as the title of this entry suggests, I also have a second child. And that, after gathering some courage, I promised myself to write. Nothing inspiring or interesting like that. But still something I hold close to my heart and will read back in years to come. Anyway...
In September 2020, after a year or so of anxiety from secondary infertility (my hormones have always been at odds with me for forever) while trying to conceive Baby #2, I received the miracle of an answered prayer... and that was the wanted pregnancy.
It was the 7th week (October), instead of an ultrasound to confirm a heartbeat, I found myself waking up from an emergency surgery. While I was in bed, the surgeon stopped by, showed me photos of my uterus, the right fallopian tube where the fetus was in, the beginning stages of internal bleeding-- the cold clinical diagnosis of an ectopic pregnancy, and the successful laparoscopy. From a medical and moral standpoint, the pregnancy was not viable, the internal bleeding was life-threatening, so termination was inevitable.
Compassionately, the doctors expressed their sympathy and added a hopeful “Next time we hope to see you in the maternity ward (to deliver a baby)...” I sighed a sigh of relief, thanked them for saving my life, and got myself ready for the road to recovery.
Or not.
It didn’t take long from the “I can’t believe it, we’re gonna have another baby!” to turn into “I can’t believe I lost a baby.”
Just as two lines on a pregnancy test could easily lead to a future family of four... until something goes wrong and your worst fear is realised.
From Congratulations to I’m sorry.
From dream come true to living a nightmare.
From exciting to traumatic.
From thanking God for an answered prayer to being angry at God for the tragedy.
Grief. Yes, it has become very much a big part of me since that day of my surgery. Since becoming a mother. Of. Two.
6 years ago, when I lost my father at 52, grief entered and changed me and scarred me for life. Then...
It happened again.
Not long ago, I was happy and hopeful... now I’m walking this sometimes painful, sometimes numbing, always lonely road of grief. My incision scars have long faded and all. I even forget that I had a body part gone. But not the part of my Mama heart that died.
I often listen to Bethany Barnard’s song, Tears on Your Face. A raw and beautiful song coming from grief... one of my go-to songs for comfort to ride a wave of grief or anger that knocks the wind out of my faith.
You don't fast forward me through this
And I've gotta reconcile that
You want to know me when I'm like this
And I've gotta reconcile that
You didn't change the diagnosis
And I've gotta reconcile that
You've reconciled it all in Your flesh
And like her, I’m still trying to make sense of my life post the loss.
It’s now 2022, I’m living through a global pandemic, inflation, and war but I’ll shamelessly admit that I’m still hung up on losing that baby. There was even a phase... whenever I heard someone complain about something, and while listening, looking like I was empathizing, but mentally I was raging. So? But I lost my baby...
The weather sucks. So? But I lost my baby..
Traffic sucks. So? But I lost my baby..
The housing market sucks. So? But I lost my baby..
COVID sucks. So? But I lost my baby..
The government sucks. So? But I lost my baby..
Everyone around me moved on in life. And to me, that felt wrong. But that was just my grief.
I couldn’t stand pregnancy and baby related posts on social media. But that was just my grief.
I gave my son extra hugs thinking bitterly that he might be an only child. But that was just my grief.
I stopped praying. I was scared that instead of giving, God will keep taking away from me. But that was just my grief.
On better days, I find comfort in knowing that my baby is Home in Glory, like my Papa. That she (or he) won’t have to experience the struggles of living in this fallen world, she was spared of suffering and evil. And that I will meet her. Even if it’s for the first time. Because God made her soul, she exists. I’ll always be her mum and she will always be my child. God is good. I’m gonna be okay.
On difficult days, I am far from okay. Hours of stuffing my face in a pillow, stifling the ugly bawling. Here I go again, mourning...
I know that I’ll be brokenhearted for a very long time... I’ve read so many stuff coming from mothers who lost children from every stage of pregnancy or infancy... In Reddit, Facebook groups, Youtube’s comment section. Mothers mourning for 10, 20, 50 long years. Crying about someone they’ll never know in this life but alive and loved, forever carried in their hearts. So much grief and pain.
This is the world of bereaved mothers. A place no Mama deserves to find themselves in. A life I didn’t want to know and am crippled with.
I am all here to celebrate my son’s milestones. Absolutely! but also a part of me will grieve for the other one who didn’t make it...
Knowing what I know, I hoped to go through it all again, you see. Having been through pregnancy, babyhood, and now childhood through raising my son... I was going to be an improved version, not like a first-timer. But instead, I am in a loop, hounded by what-if’s and could be’s... I never thought it’ll be silently devastating. The trauma is so sneaky, out of nowhere it messes with me.
I wasn’t prepared for it-- the unbearable thought of never knowing.
The sound of your heartbeat.
The sleepless nights. The cuddles and kisses.
What you’d look like. Your smile. Your frown.
What you’d sound like. When you call me “Mama.”
I wasn’t prepared for it-- the guilt.
I was supposed to keep you healthy and safe and alive. But instead, from the womb, I couldn’t. For all I know, you were a perfectly healthy baby, but to preserve my life, yours was cut short. I gave up my right tube for my right to live. For my health and future’s sake. While you were just getting started, cells still multiplying, your tiny heart still beating. *SNIP* Tube removed. That was it?
I feel like I should be very sorry. Why, my poor baby, you had to go that way?
I wasn’t prepared for it-- a future of missing someone.
When we take a family picture, Christmas, New Year, birthdays, and every June. I can just see you there, you were going to turn 2.
So it’s just right to not ever forget you. I can’t and I shouldn’t. I’ll make sure your brother knows you. But even if it’s just me, I’ll cry when I think of you, when you were given to me and when I lost you. I’ll still imagine you could have been my little girl or boy, someone to cherish and be proud of. Always part of the family I’ve always wanted...
You belong here.
And on That Day, when I face you, I can say that in my life, in my own way, no matter what, Mama’s here and I love you.
Helpful Links:
13 Things You Should Know About Grief After Miscarriage or Baby Loss
Things Not to Say to Someone After a Miscarriage
The Ectopic Pregnancy Trust
Pregnancy/Infant/Child Loss Support
An Unexpected Family Outing
P.S. To family and friends and co-workers who have been there for me, and prayed for me, I also want to say THANK YOU again. I may not be in a better place yet emotionally, and even my faith walk has nothing to show for it... Two years on, know that I’ll always be grateful.
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