WHEN A FRIEND MISCARRIES
Dear Marcy,
You shared information with me this weekend about Bethany's recent miscarriage. You thought she was a little "over the top," comparing her miscarriage to being like birthing a full-term baby. After all, Bethany was only six weeks pregnant.
You told me that Bethany had her eggs frozen in her thirties. Now that she's pushing 50, she has spent thousands of dollars for a long time to get pregnant. It's apparent that Bethany no longer cares if there's a husband attached to the equation. She wants a baby...husband or not. You must think Bethany would make a good mother because she has been identified as the person who will raise your children should their father and maternal grandmother be unable to care for them.
When I was 27, the happiest day was when I married your father, followed by the day I discovered I was pregnant with you. I couldn't wait to see you, touch your face along with every inch of your body, marveling that you were the personification of the love your father and I shared. Before you were born, I envisioned what you'd look like and was anxious to be your mother. I pictured your first time on a tricycle and your first day in school. I even thought about where you'd go to college (UT, I hoped, but you chose Syracuse!). If you'll remember with your own babies, our close connection with our babies begins when we are told we're pregnant--and it gets stronger with each passing day and will continue until our last minute on earth.
You have always been compassionate. Of all your strengths, that one is my favorite. But sometimes, we must step back and climb into another person's shoes. I know--when our lives become too busy and overwhelming, it's challenging to take a minute to listen to a friend's pain.
Bethany may never achieve her goal of having a baby. My time of giving motherly advice has passed, and I am confident you will continue making wise decisions. Nevertheless, I'd like to offer a suggestion.
Encourage Bethany to talk to you about her dreams and expectations for the baby who died before birth. She needs someone to listen to her while she grieves.
Most importantly, let Bethany feel that she's a mother, too. We are immensely fortunate to be mothers. Not everyone is lucky enough to hear the sweet sound of a baby calling them "ma-ma." Bethany will feel better, and your friendship will grow when she becomes part of our motherhood tribe.
Love you,
Mom
You shared information with me this weekend about Bethany's recent miscarriage. You thought she was a little "over the top," comparing her miscarriage to being like birthing a full-term baby. After all, Bethany was only six weeks pregnant.
You told me that Bethany had her eggs frozen in her thirties. Now that she's pushing 50, she has spent thousands of dollars for a long time to get pregnant. It's apparent that Bethany no longer cares if there's a husband attached to the equation. She wants a baby...husband or not. You must think Bethany would make a good mother because she has been identified as the person who will raise your children should their father and maternal grandmother be unable to care for them.
When I was 27, the happiest day was when I married your father, followed by the day I discovered I was pregnant with you. I couldn't wait to see you, touch your face along with every inch of your body, marveling that you were the personification of the love your father and I shared. Before you were born, I envisioned what you'd look like and was anxious to be your mother. I pictured your first time on a tricycle and your first day in school. I even thought about where you'd go to college (UT, I hoped, but you chose Syracuse!). If you'll remember with your own babies, our close connection with our babies begins when we are told we're pregnant--and it gets stronger with each passing day and will continue until our last minute on earth.
You have always been compassionate. Of all your strengths, that one is my favorite. But sometimes, we must step back and climb into another person's shoes. I know--when our lives become too busy and overwhelming, it's challenging to take a minute to listen to a friend's pain.
Bethany may never achieve her goal of having a baby. My time of giving motherly advice has passed, and I am confident you will continue making wise decisions. Nevertheless, I'd like to offer a suggestion.
Encourage Bethany to talk to you about her dreams and expectations for the baby who died before birth. She needs someone to listen to her while she grieves.
Most importantly, let Bethany feel that she's a mother, too. We are immensely fortunate to be mothers. Not everyone is lucky enough to hear the sweet sound of a baby calling them "ma-ma." Bethany will feel better, and your friendship will grow when she becomes part of our motherhood tribe.
Love you,
Mom
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