Friday, November 19, 2010


Implode, look it up in a dictionary and you find; to collapse inward violently, break down or fall apart from within see: self-destruct. My life imploded, quietly and without warning.

Caught in the trappings of newlywed life, the shiny new kitchen aid mixer, the table setting for 12, and the baby bump. I like my job, loved my husband, and was happy. My life felt grounded. Pregnancy was amazing. I loved everything about been with child, my world was shinny, sparkling with hope and possibilities. A little baby, planning the things we would need; cloth diapers, strollers, breast pumps. Planning the things that we would do with our child. Suddenly, at four months when the swell of my impending motherhood was evident to people I didn't know, it was gone.
No longer pregnant.
No baby.
Implosion.when your world explodes people notice. It is special is enough for them to take note of. They recognize that your life has been reduced to rubble.
Unlike an explosion which is loud and messy,  when your life implodes, it happens quietly, suddenly. dazed and confused standing in the ruins of what was my life.
When your world explodes people notice, it is special is enough for them to take note of. They recognize that your life has been reduced to rubble.
When it implodes, there is no big rush to comfort, no rush to validate the trauma that has self-destructed a life. Like a soap bubble bursting quietly, if you're not watching you don't know exactly when it went from being a iridescent floating orb to nothing.  When they do notice, they say they are sorry, the way you would comfort someone when they stub their toe. As if what has happened is a  short and sudden pain that last momentarily.

No one wants to validate the loss of a child. It is a medical mishap, that leaves your life demolished in millions of pieces, shards of a life, scattered at your feet. You'll have another one, they tell you as if one baby is as good as another. Then they move on with their lives, expecting you to do the same.

Left alone childless, filled with anger, sadness, and more emotions than can fit in one deflated person; this is the story of how I took the pieces of my imploded life and stuck them back together.


A. said...

I am here from Creme de la Creme. This is such a beautiful post. Thank you so much for sharing. I am so sorry for your horrible loss.

kelseyv said...

I know this is late, but I'm so sorry for your and Rob's loss. Your writing is beautiful, and that you are sharing your true feelings and struggles with the world makes you so incredibly strong. You are so right that miscarriage is a taboo in our culture, and you are changing that by writing this blog. You are definitely helping me understand what it's like to go through a miscarriage. You will never forget your little boy, nor should you, but I hope the pain lessens for you over time. Congratulations on your new pregnancy. I wish you and Rob and your new baby all the best.
Kelsey V

Sara said...

I'm here from creme. This is really beautiful and insightful. I'm so sorry for your loss.

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