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Mother's Day Submission

“Hey Mom. I never told you this before, but…”

By A. MarlerPublished 2 years ago 5 min read
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My mom and I about 20 years ago

“Hey Mom. I never told you this before, but…”

You’ve been my mommy for 30 years now. You have watched me go through so much and you’ve always been one phone call away, no matter how far away I may be. I’ve depended on you many times with all my thoughts and wishes, all my fears and heartache. Yet there is one thing that I have never told you.

I’ve shared with you the ups and downs with my marriage and all the stories I could about our children, your grandchildren. While the first two were healthy, the third was not. Even though the miscarriage was early into the pregnancy, it still broke us. Sharing that moment with you was difficult, but I knew you didn’t truly understand. It is fortunate that you never had to go through that loss, and so I never really shared everything about what I went through. I knew you would only say the things you thought would help fix things. There are some situations where I don’t need a fix, so I stopped talking about it to you. In doing so, I neglected to tell you everything. Here’s what I didn’t say:

I went to the hospital to get initial work done for the pre-operation. Part of me still was in denial. I wanted to turn around and leave. If it was truly a miscarriage, I wanted it to happen naturally, not to have the baby taken from my body. I didn’t care if it was more of a risk for the mother to do it that way. At least I’d know for sure. Yes, I had seen the ultrasound showing me that there was no heartbeat. But I also saw the perfect spine running along the back of its perfect body. Even though it was absurd, I felt like my own body, my own heart, could bring it back and give it life again. Still, I went through the process to prepare for the operation.

I don’t know why I did not expect the question, but when the nurse asked what I wanted to do with the remains, my wall broke and I cried. My earnest desire was to not be parted with this innocent, pure child. She warned me that it would be difficult to see what remained and that having the hospital dispose of the body would probably be best. I didn’t care about seeing the baby. I cared about being separated from it.

As soon as I returned to my car, I broke down and cried the hardest I have ever cried in my life. I did not want to call you because I knew what you would say. Or maybe you wouldn’t have said anything.

The operation went well. I had no idea how they intended to remove the miscarriage and honestly hoped that they would have to cut me open so I could have a physical scar to remember for the rest of my life. All I remember is counting down and then I was asleep. Even to this day, almost 3 years later, I still remember some of the dream I had while I was under. I saw myself in that operating room. Nothing was clear except for that. Me there watching four doctors in scrubs working over me. Then I was awake. I remember trying to figure out where the bandage was, but my body was uncut. There was no sign of what had happened anywhere on my body. I felt no pain. I felt no different.

A week after the operation, the hospital called about the remains. I was not the one who spoke to the nurse first. My husband was. Before he handed me the phone, he told me that they wanted to make sure I was still confident in my decision to pick up the remains instead of leaving them at the hospital. He then told me that they, including himself, didn’t want me to see and thought it would be better to let the hospital dispose of them.

I knew I was strong.

I knew it didn’t matter what the baby looked like as long as we were not separated from them.

Yet I still gave in.

I asked what the hospital would do with the remains. After telling me they do cremation, I felt slightly better about giving in. The body would be gone. It wouldn’t have to stay there in that cold, emotionless hospital.

But what of the ashes?

Even giving my consent, I regretted that moment. From that day and every day since, I have regretted being parted with our little baby. I would rather have buried them in our yard than left them at that place. My husband knows this regret and now shares in it, understanding the pain we had to go through.

I love you, Mommy, and I will continue to share my life with you, but this time of my life was the hardest. I don’t wish that you’d have shared in it more because I know I was very unwilling to discuss the topic with anyone other than my husband.

Even to this day I will not bring up our miscarriage. I won’t tell you that my husband still has hard days because he still feels the loss. While I am so thankful it never happened to you, this isn’t something we can just “get over”.

I did find peace, though, through the words from Nana. Her message read, “Your sweet angel’s soul was too precious for God not to keep with Him in Heaven.” Those words gave my heart a breath of life.

I’ve had so much to be thankful for in my life. My husband and I are thankful for our healthy children before the miscarriage. We are thankful for our healthy baby after the miscarriage. We are thankful for each other. Not once did he blame me even if I blamed myself. I am, therefore, thankful that I do not feel the need to speak to you more about the topic because I have him.

I have and will continue to share everything with you, and for that I am thankful. I just won’t speak about this.

Love Always,

Ashley

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About the Creator

A. Marler

I primarily write fictional stories, varying in time periods and sub-genres. Constructive criticism is always welcome as I want to continue to improve!

I am a mom of 3 rambunctious boys with a love of many, many things!

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