then they heal
because that's what hearts are meant to do.
Valentine's Day brings memories of many happy moments, but it also is a reminder of my one miscarriage that occurred on February 14, 2002.
I began the day preparing to celebrate with a classroom full of first-graders. Candy hearts, handmade gifts, and pink frosted cupcakes covered my desk.
It should have been a good day.
I was 10 weeks pregnant and excited to welcome this new baby boy (I just knew) to our family.
As my students started to pass our their valentine cards, I felt something deep inside ...something that just wasn't right.
An hour later, I was layed out on an examination table. Alone in the room with my doctor, a nurse, and an ultrasound tech, I was told my baby was gone-...The baby whose heart beat I had seen only one week ago...The baby whose sonogram picture was hanging on my refrigerator at home...
I spent the rest of Valentine's Day in bed mourning my unborn infant.
There is a veil of silence that falls over the subject of miscarriage. While I know many women that have experienced them, few of us ever discuss it. Maybe it is because it is emotionally too difficult or maybe it is because miscarriage is so poorly understood. We can just get pregnant again, right?
Unfortunately, miscarriages are often brushed-off as events not worthy of real grief. But, every mother knows the attachment that occurs immediately following a positive pregnancy test. A piece of her is growing inside and when that baby dies, intense and lonely grieving follows.
Over the years, I've come to terms with my miscarriage. The kids and I speak often about the baby up in heaven. They talk about seeing him one day and what they want to say.
I tell them that Grandma is taking care of him while we are here on earth, but that one day
we'll get to meet
...and we'll have lots of pink and red glittered valentines for him.