I hoped I would never need such a title. Truthfully, I had imagined sharing my story of salvation. The story of my rainbow baby. Maybe one day I will. But for now I share my story of today.
My husband and I sang this morning, thanking G-d for the blood. Our children joined in, though they knew not the prompt of our singing. We thanked Him, for He knows best, He knows what is good for us. And even though it’s painful, it’s good, so we said thank you. I don’t think I could have done this last time. Not at 13 weeks. But at 5, this time, I could. For just a moment, I could accept that G-d’s understanding is so vast, that even this, even a miscarriage, can be good. But those moments are fleeting.
Last night I saw some pink. I hoped that it was just the result of a friable cervix. But this morning, it was plain blood, and I knew it was over. I’d had a feeling that this would end in a chemical pregnancy, whatever that means. A feeling of not feeling pregnant. Though physically I did. Zucchini had that weird after taste, I craved animal protein, my nose was stuffed. At least it was only at five weeks. At least no fetus had been formed, no heartbeat had been established. And my physical recovery, similar to a period. No D and C. No prolonged hospital stay. No anesthesia. It’s strange, the difference 3 weeks can make. There have definitely been less tears shed today than on the day, four months ago, when I lost my precious ubar. I’ve read that the degree of grief a mother feels after a pregnancy loss is not necessarily dependent on the gestational age. In my personal experience, that’s not true. This time, I only had a week to become attached. And truthfully, I didn’t let myself. It felt strange to talk to my little bean. Just today, I told him, if he’s still here, that I’m grateful that I had the opportunity to hold him, carry him in my body, for just a few weeks, to enable him to finish his tikkun, to partner with G-d in bringing this soul into this world, if only in the most quiet of ways. And also in hastening the coming of moshiach. For it is written that he can only come, he can only usher in the final redemption, once all of the souls have descended, including the most precious, holiest of souls, which require just a momentary sojourn in their mothers’ wombs.
I feel disappointment amongst other myriad,currently unidentifiable negative emotions . But I also feel a relief. I feel a relief of the guilt that has been weighing upon me since May. Since the day I found out our twins had died at 8 and 9 weeks, respectively. I was supposed to be 14 weeks a long. The guilt is enormous. But this time, I did all that I could do. Prenatal vitamins and supplements, proper diet, beetroot and pomegranate juice, exercise, Pregnyl intramuscular injections, giving tzedakah, forwarding our names for brachot, my special pre Asher yatzar reading, my kamea, my silver magnet necklace, treating my children with patience, resolutions to perform mizvot more carefully. None of them saved my baby. None of them gave me the baby I long for. Failure provided realization that no matter what I do, I am not in charge. G-d decided: six sweet souls destined not to reside in our home, but in the heavens, with Him. I am tired of segulot. I am tired of hishtadluyot. And maybe that’s exactly what He wants. For me to know, and internalize that there is none besides Him. I cannot give me a baby. The doctors cannot give me a baby. The tzaddikim cannot give me a baby. Only the Master of the World can. And that is a world of weight melted from upon my shoulders. To know that I didn’t disappoint my sweet souls. They lived the time that needed to live, and no more.
Gratefully Thriving 