I had a baby, but I didn’t know it until she was already gone.
I went in for a medical procedure and was laying on the examination table and remember reading the sign across the bed. “Tell us if you are pregnant or there is a chance you are pregnant.” I closed my eyes and mediated through the procedure. Visualizing the dye running through my body and out.
I didn’t know.
I didn’t know I was pregnant. So I didn’t tell them. I thought the birth control was working. I had no signs or symptoms, so it didn’t even cross my mind.
Until three days later.
Curled up on the toilet bowl. Severe cramping. Pain I could not understand. Blood. What was going on? Finally it subsided and before I flushed, I looked.
No way. It could not be. I would have known. It can’t be real.
Flush.
What did I do? Did I just do that? What did I see? Could it have been? I didn’t flush, did I?
Go back and look again. It’s gone.
What to do? Who to tell? It was already over. There were no choices to be made. It was out of my hands. Flushed away, actually. Flushed away like nothing.
Did the pregnancy even count? How do I talk about this loss? This baby that didn’t have a chance? This opportunity lost. How to grieve a baby I never knew I had?
I’m giving myself permission to grieve the miscarriage that happened before I knew I was pregnant.
Over the years I have realized this one thing. It’s okay to mourn the babies we never knew. To this day, I mourn not knowing. I grieve not paying more attention. I mourn for what could have been. I grieve for not sharing, not talking about her, and for the lost opportunities. The lost angel.
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