I think on the surface this is easily understandable, and yet, somehow it’s something I have to keep repeating. I have two children, forever and always.
No Rainbows No Storms
Before my daughter existed, I used to wish I could go back in time and save my son. And now, I struggle with this. Even in my imagination, it’s impossible to choose. I love BOTH of them. And I can’t have them both at the same time.
The experience of pregnancy after loss can be complex and terrifying. Getting pregnant quickly or secondary infertility; worry over potential signs of danger; thoughts on when and how to share news about subsequent children; confusion surrounding simultaneous feelings of both grief and joy. If you are pregnant or attempting pregnancy after loss, my heart is with you. I have included resources here that were useful to me in my process. Please take what you find useful, and discard the rest.
A little over 13 months ago, just by chance on Mother’s Day weekend, I made my first attempt at having a second child. It feels like such a different world that this year, on Mother’s Day weekend, my second pregnancy was coming to an end. This is my story of pregnancy after loss and Peanut’s birth.
My parents never talked to us about their losses, and I blame their generations. (Publicly) holding onto grief was something that wasn’t done. And so this grief was whispered, held tightly under cover, impacts erased before they could be explored. But these erasers only took away the surface.
While I understand the common reference to the loss of a child as a storm, the rainbow metaphor doesn’t work for me. My daughter is not a rainbow; she is a just a little girl, with her own unique identity.
This has been a long year, and every time I think I’m okay, I find new heartbreak; new fears. I also find new joy. Because the day before I said goodbye to Amy Anne, I took a chance on new life, and I am both terrified & ecstatic to announce that this spring, Adrian James will become a big brother.