She’s Just Gone
If you’ve grieved for a miscarriage in silence: I see you
Surreptitiously, superstitiously
I’d skip past
the pages of changes
I didn’t want to expect.
.
Positive thoughts, the Universe, and all that claptrap
To name an evil is to draw it near,
I’d think.
.
God hates me,
I said — that stain of red
And the more I begged
No, no no no no no
NO
The more I bled.
.
Divine wrath seemed easier to understand
than the medical fact at hand, the accusation:
blighted ovum.
.
Where has the baby gone?
He asked, blue eyes wide, 4 years old
My beautiful boy with all the questions;
My answer
perfunctory, inadequate:
She’s just gone.
.
Such raucous noise whether a woman can choose;
Miscarriage is met with
Surreptitious, superstitious, stony
silence
.
The things people say:
It’s what god wants
It would have been deformed
Put it in perspective
Just keep trying
The things
people say —
Inadequate, a dismissal
Careless words for
an empty vessel.
I’m sorry this is happening to you
Would do
………………………………………..
Anyone who has grieved for a miscarried pregnancy, I see you.
Women should always have the right to choose to end a pregnancy — but the loss of a planned pregnancy was heart-rending to me, and no one around me understood my grief, or even why I was grieving.
Miscarriage is still treated with superstition, a taboo, as if it’s a result of drawing bad luck to us by breaking the rules. We’re told to get on with things, keep trying, move on — to pretend as if something intensely personal, physical and emotional isn’t happening.
If this has triggered you, please seek help. When I did, I finally heard the beautiful words “I’m sorry this has happened to you” from my GP. Although it took months to grieve, hearing that felt like a weight I’d been carrying on my own was lifted.
If you’re in Australia, try Pregnancy Loss Australia or Beyond Blue. If not, please find an organisation, a GP, counselor or psychologist, or a friend with a sympathetic ear who doesn’t speak in platitudes.
.
