Catching Our Rainbow

Hoping for a rainbow after the storm…

Let go

on May 31, 2013

Mostly I just feel numb. Except for the moments when I actually allow myself to face my emotions, and then I feel terribly and deeply sad. And empty. Except that I’m not empty. Our child is still inside of me, he’s just not alive anymore. Over the past year, I’ve read quite a few blogs where women can’t let go and want to hold onto their babies after they know it’s over, and I’ve never understood that. I guess it’s something you really can’t understand until it happens to you. I’m not naive. I’m not in denial or holding onto some false hope that everything is going to work out. I know Tup is gone. I’m just not ready to let him go. He was alive. I saw his beating heart. I loved that beating heart more than I can put into words. And now I have to find some way to just let him go.

Everything about this pregnancy has been different. I have been calm. I have been hopeful. I actually stayed pregnant long enough to see Tup’s heart beat. And now I’m in a situation that I’ve never been in before. See, I knew that I lost all of my other pregnancies because I was actively miscarrying. I never sat with the knowledge that my child was dead inside me and had to decide what to do about that. The OB at the office was so kind and explained my options, which of course I already knew, and wrote me a prescription for a medication that will prompt my body to pass Tup. I haven’t filled it. I haven’t decided if I will. I passed every other pregnancy naturally, so there’s a good chance I will pass this one too once I miss a few days of taking my progesterone. It would be so much more convenient to plan this, to not have to deal with it while I’m at work, but I don’t know how to let go. How do I fight this maternal instinct to hold on to my child even when I know that my child is dead? How do I let go?

I was so sure. I was so sure. I told hubby if love and hope could make a baby grow, Tup would still be alive. But he’s not. I am a walking tomb. And I somehow have to find a way to let go.

photo (4)

*Obviously, we have no idea whether Tup is a boy or a girl, but for some reason we’ve both started saying he. It’s just easier to talk about him when we use pronouns, and “it” is way too impersonal for our grief.


12 responses to “Let go

  1. April says:

    My heart breaks for you. *hugs*

  2. Everything you feel is understandable. I’m so sorry.

  3. expectantmummy says:

    I am sitting here in tears. I am so incredibly sorry for your loss. Even though he is gone your child knew how loved and wanted he was. All my love and prayers for you, your hubby and tup xxxx

  4. Arwen Rose says:

    I am so so sorry my dear friend. None of this is right or fair.

  5. I’m so sorry for your loss. It must be so hard to let go. I’m currently miscarrying for the second time and I can understand that.

    I will light a candle for Tup. Praying for you and your husband. x

  6. I am so, so sorry. I know we all had so much hope and happiness for you. I’m not good at praying, but you are in my thoughts.

  7. redbluebird says:

    I hate that you have to go through this again. I feel like I can identify with this pain so much. I haven’t heard a heartbeat in either of my short-lived pregnancies, but I knew that if I did, my hope would grow exponentially in that moment. And to have that moment and then lose him– it’s heartbreaking. I’m so, so sorry and I hope there are only good things in store for you in the future. Thinking of you.

  8. SM says:

    I’m so so sorry, sweetie. Tup is a loved little one. Sending love your way.

  9. Melanie says:

    I’m so sorry. You are in my thoughts.

  10. ivfmale says:

    My heart breaks for you and your husband.

  11. jenlynp2304 says:

    If you ever need someone to talk to who has been in a similar situation feel free to email me at any time.

  12. steph50 says:

    I’m so terribly sorry… And I understand far too well… xoxox

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