Missed Children: The Ones who never were

Did I ever tell you I had a miscarriage? 

Probably not.

Miscarriages aren't widely advertised 'round these parts.
Which is why I had to find on my own that there's something called 'missed miscarriage'. 
 I only know because I had one. 

A missed miscarriage or silent miscarriage is when the "pregnancy is no longer viable," but your body doesn't know that, so it just keeps on tending to that lost life as if one day she'll be born. 

I was about ten weeks along. 

It's still really hard not to add the qualifier- only. 

 “I was only ten weeks pregnant.”

That ‘only’ ensures I keep my pain less-than someone else who lost a pregnancy after 10 weeks. 

Because I don’t feel right comparing my grief to someone who carried a baby a trimester, or two, or to full term, ending in a stillbirth. 

 Because of course, it’s not the same. 

And. 
Also.

I’m learning to see my pain is valid. 

 My gynecologist said it could take “weeks for my body to release the tissue.”
 
Weeks of knowing there was no longer a tiny heartbeat inside me.

After hearing my options, I decided to take the pill that would induce bleeding. 

I thought it would help begin my healing process. 
 
I was told I’d be in pain for a few days and needed to take it easy. 
 
So for my couch-bound grieving entertainment, I chose to binge the entire series of Call the Midwife. 

 Now, you may be thinking, “What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you do that?"

 Well, because a puncture wound can’t be closed up. 

 They must be kept open, raw, and exposed to ensure there’s no infection. 

 The puncture wound in my soul was no different. 

 In hindsight, I see that I was creating spontaneous rituals. 
 Acts to hold my pain.

Facilitate the birth of my grief.

As a ceremony facilitator, I knew that one day I’d need to have a formal ceremony to honor this miscarriage. 

To name my baby. 

Offer her gratitude for the brief time we had. 

Then let her go.

But at that time, I thought it would kill me.

After six years, I was finally ready for that ceremony. 

It was beautiful. 
Hard and beautiful. 

Afterward, I felt a calm I hadn’t felt in years.

A feeling of deep peace and embodied knowing that all is well. 
Nothing can change the course of history and make our missed child(ren) magically be here in the flesh. 

But ceremony validates our experience and creates a psychologically healthy way to close that chapter and start a new one. 

 Now that I’ve facilitated my own, I’m here to support you in yours. 
 I’m offering a ceremony for mothers who have a Missed Child(ren)
 For those who feel a hole from a child that never was. 
 We’ll meet twice.

Once to be witnessed as we share our stories of miscarriage.

Then, on your own, you’ll conduct a 30-45 minute ceremony to honor the life that almost was.

Then we’ll meet a second time to share the of your ceremony and be held knowing you are not alone. 

If you're in need of this ceremony, please reach out by emailing lynn@lynntrotta.com