Don't suffer alone

Kathleen Klassen

My fifth pregnancy seemed to be progressing like the other four. It was Christmas. I decided that I would tell the children about this latest addition by putting out an extra stocking with a tiny sleeper in it. Then I would have them guess who it was for. They whooped and cheered at the prospect of having a new baby brother or sister. I usually never bought gifts for my babies before they were born, because I always worried a bit that they might not make it, but I had had four healthy pregnancies. I decided this time I wouldn't worry. After all, I reasoned, the presence of a gift wouldn't make the loss any worse. So, the gift was given.

I got very sick shortly after Christmas. I hadn't been sick enough to actually stay in bed for years. In a few days, I was feeling much better. New Year's Eve came and went. On the first night of the new year I realized that something was very wrong. I was tearfully whisked off to the hospital. Later, after tests and an ultrasound, they told me the news. I wept. Our baby had died.

Since then, I have been overwhelmed by the variation of people's reactions to this type of loss. Some talk about it openly, but many don't. I was surprised by the number of women who confided in me that they, too, had lost a baby. I had had no idea. For many years, it was just not talked about. It was kept secret, as if someone had done something wrong, or as if, by not speaking of it, the loss would somehow be less. These women suffer alone. Maybe it's because you don't get to see your child's face or hear his cry, never know her touch--often you do not even know it if was a boy or a girl. Most often, this child goes without a name, without recognition. You are expected to "get over it and move on". Your tears fall in private.

In the months that follow a miscarriage, many women suffer from depression, but often it is not dealt with openly. Depression is looked upon as weakness, a lack of faith. What these women may not realize is that depression is a very natural occurrence after a loss like this. The body's hormonal balance is thrown out of whack, and the depression is a result of this hormonal imbalance. They may want to "move on" but can't.

If this is your situation, don't be discouraged; there is help. It takes a tremendous amount of courage to admit you are depressed, but once you do, you can begin to be freed from it. There are even natural remedies that can bring much relief. Nothing will ever change the fact that you were pregnant and now you are not. You will always hold that little one in your heart.

Our baby, Gabriel, was part of my hopes and dreams--one of my children the second he was conceived. God chose to take him home before we felt him move, before we saw his face or heard his cry. This gift from God was only eight weeks old. We named the baby Gabriel because it reminded us of the angels whom he's with, and also because it was close to Christmas when he died. We never knew if the baby was a boy or a girl, but Gabriel could be used for either. (I refer to the baby as a "he" for ease of reading, but also because a high percentage of miscarriages tend to be male.) Our Gabriel is being cared for by God, babysat by angels. I have the awesome privilege to have a child who will feel no pain, know no sorrow, who will know no face but that of our Father in heaven. But I still miss him.

Remember these little ones. Don't diminish their loss by never speaking of them. Life is precious whether it lasts 90 years or eight weeks.

Kathleen Klassen lives in Black Creek, B.C.

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