Tuesday, May 4, 2010

The Past.

"You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present."

This has been my problem for a long time now. I have very rarely thought about the future. I've been so busy holding on to moments that are long gone. I know I've spent the last few years of my life feeling, well, guilty. I've let things pass me by because I felt that it was unfair, unfair that my life was moving on. 

I could do this blog in typical 'Sarah-style' whereby no one really understands what I'm talking about, but I'm not going to. It's been three years, two months and one day since I had a miscarriage and I think that maybe it's time to let go. 

Letting go doesn't mean forgetting, it doesn't mean I didn't care then or that I don't care now. I'll always remember the weeks of pregnancy - the shock, the terror, the wonder, the love. I know that I'll never forget the pain of loss for as long as live. I think when a woman has a miscarriage, she isn't just grieving for the baby she has lost, she is grieving for the future she'd imagined, the hopes and the dreams. 

It's unexplainably difficult to miss someone you never got the chance to know. When a person dies, there's generally a reason. Illness, old age, an accident. With a miscarriage, there's only a tiny heart that's stopped beating and the words, "This isn't your fault". I'm the sort of person who needs a reason, so "Almost 20% of pregnancies end in miscarriage" was never going to be good enough. I always had to ask why, but there was never an answer.

I found it desperately hard to move on. I went back to college but I couldn't take it seriously. I was sat in a lecture on the day that was my expected due date. I hated myself so much. I hated that I was doing something I felt was wrong, and disrespectful. How could I just go about planning a whole new future?

I guess now I'm starting to realise that sometimes the things that happen to us really are out of our control. All we can do is decide whether to sink or swim in the aftermath. 

I think it's okay for me to have new plans now. I don't need to hang on to the past anymore because the parts of the past that matter, they're what make me who I am in the present, and in the future. 

These are my footprints, 
so perfect and so small. 
These tiny footprints,
they never touched the ground at all. 
Not one tiny footprint, 
for now I have wings. 
These tiny footprints were meant 
for other things. 
You will hear my tiny footprints, 
in the patter of the rain. 
Gentle drops like angel's tears, 
of joy and not from pain. 
You will see my tiny footprints, 
in each butterflies' lazy dance. 
I'll let you know I'm with you, 
if you just give me the chance. 
You will see my tiny footprints, 
in the rustle of the leaves. 
I will whisper names into the wind, 
and call each one who grieves. 
Most of all, these tiny footprints, 
are found on Mummy's heart. 
'Cause even though I'm gone now, 
We'll never truly part." 



  1. I can't even begin to imagine how difficult losing a child must be. My mam had six miscarriages before she had my brother, my sister and I, and it's something she never really talks about, because it's so hard on her. I think you made a really good point; "It's unexplainably difficult to miss someone you never got the chance to know." It's such a difficult thing for me to even try to understand, but I really, really loved this post. You're right, letting go doesn't mean forgetting or pretending that it didn't or doesn't matter. I'm glad you're looking forward to the future and making plans, you deserve to be happy.

    *hugs* <3