the death of innocence

I believe that everything in life happens for a reason. At least, I used to believe that. After having two miscarriages, I'm stumped. I can't imagine why God would want this to happen. I have no idea what I'm supposed to learn from this. Maybe someday, it will all make sense, but right now it's nonsense to me.

"...the universe is like an embroidery. On our side, we see the tangles and the knots,but on the other side, the pattern comes through." Leah's Story from Miscarriage:Women Sharing From Their Hearts

This quote says it beautifully. Even though all I'm seeing is a mess, somewhere it must make sense. I have to trust that somewhere this makes sense. Otherwise, I just can't bear the pain. There has to be something for me to hold onto.
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The pain of a miscarriage is unbearable. I'm not talking about the physical pain. The physical pain is certainly difficult, but it pales in comparison to the emotional pain. The emotional pain is excrutiating. It felt like someone ripped my heart out. Each pregnancy, I identified the baby as a part of me. So a part of me died with each miscarriage. A part of my heart and soul and a big part of my innocence. Hope died with these children. Optimism died, too.

These days, I just feel bitter and old.

I used to look forward to being pregnant and all of those uncomfortable side-effects of weight gain and swollen ankles, etc. I looked forward to all of those changes, because I would be experiencing a miracle of life. I thought that I would sail through it all. I always imagined myself as one of those cute pregnant ladies. You know the ones. I was even excited about getting into maternity clothes.

Now I know better. There is no sailing through anything with pregnancy. Not in my life. I know that I will not allow myself to enjoy being pregnant. I will be too worried about what could happen. I know too much now. I will analyze every symptom or lack there of. I won't be able to just relax and enjoy any miracles.

For me so far, pregnancy has meant death, not life.