Our May

Today, on October 30th, Jose and I planted a daffodil for our May. That’s what we named the baby-May. After their would have been birth month. May, to me, is a month of beauty and growth. It’s when the flowers bloom and the sun comes back out again after many months of cold and rain. May is sunny, crisp, and bright in Oregon; it’s a beautiful month. And now it will be forever characterized by our baby May.

Since the miscarriage for me did not come quickly, I made the decision with my midwife to take medication to induce it. Taking that pill was one of the most terrifying moments of the whole experience. I felt that after I took that pill it was imminent, I could not escape it. I swallowed it and then wrapped myself in a blanket to wait. It took four hours to start. The cramping began. Then the blood. A lot of blood. I took some Tylenol as my body went through early labor pains. Large blood clots the size of my palm came out of me. Pieces of tissue. Our May. The blood slowed for one day, but then returned a day later with more blood clots and more contractions. I sat over that toilet, bleeding the death of our baby from my body, gripping my husbands hand. The blood is still coming over a week later, but has slowed exponentially. I’m getting my blood drawn next week to make sure that my hcg levels are back down to zero. No longer pregnant. No more traces of baby.

We didn’t have anything to bury because we handed over the contents of the miscarriage to the doctor for testing to see if they could find any abnormalities or cause of the miscarriage. After handing over that little container that held blood clots, tissue, and our baby I felt empty. I felt like I had finally lost them for good. So Jose and I decided to bury a flower in their honor. To give them a place on earth where we could visit them, talk to them, and be at peace. We know that our May is now in the arms of Jesus and we are thankful for the opportunity to have been their parents for the time that we had them.

I wrote a letter to May and placed it atop the buried daffodil bulb, covering it with some sticks and fall leaves. This would now be our place. Where we can come together as a family.

Around my neck I keep a necklace with their name inside of it. Keeping May close to my heart.

The emotions come in waves. Some moments I feel excited and hopeful for the future, dreaming of what will become of my family. Planning where I want to live, applying to graduate schools, fervently reading my bible, cleaning the apartment, cooking all of my fall favorites. The things that make me happy. Other moments I completely break and I feel like I am losing my mind. Like when someone recognizes me as Jose’s pregnant wife and proceeds to reach out and touch my stomach in awe of the life she believes is inside of me. And it causes me to lay on my couch heaving in painful sobs. The noises of anguish that escape my lips during these episodes are frightening. To me, and probably also to my poor neighbors.

I know these moments will pass and I will heal, but it has felt like a slow heavy healing. The emotion that does remain constant is thankfulness for my life. Joy for the present. Love for my amazing husband. Excitement for the upcoming holidays.

I feel myself called to participate in advent this year consistently and with faithfulness. As I prepare for this time, I will share with you all how my family chooses to celebrate advent and the birth of Jesus Christ. It will be a wonderful time of great love and healing.

Thank you to everyone who has loved on us so deeply during this time and prayed for us. To those who have brought us a meal, cozy socks, a plant, a book to read, sent a thoughtful text message, wrote a card, and sent support our way. We are grateful beyond expression.