Wednesday, 2 January 2013

No greater sacrifice

I wrote this poem a while ago. It is very personal to me and I was originally reluctant to share it, but I was glad I did. Many of my friends could relate to it, and that is what it is all about to me.  Sharing, understanding, connecting.  The loss you feel with a miscarriage is enormous and something you carry around with your forever, deep inside. I think there can be no greater loss, than a child. No matter how long you have had them in your life, inside or outside the womb.  That very first, intimate connection with another life - is simply miraculous. A gift from god.  After reading this, a friend of mine said, that she too had experienced a miscarriage, but she looked upon it as a friend who had 'dropped in for a cup of tea' to help prepare her for what was to come in the future. A lovely, comforting way of thinking about it.



I grieved for you today
my little lost one
your memory still remains
a deep, deep ache inside me

The day you were conceived
I was filled with peace and joy
somehow I knew you had arrived
connected to my soul.

I hugged you inside
dared not whisper a word
I had to keep you safe
cherish you; do you no harm.

for twelve wonderful weeks,
you grew inside me

became part of me

then I lost you
felt you tug away

and my heart began to bleed.

I couldn’t protect you
no matter how hard
I wished
it wasn’t true
still
I lost you.

I grieved for you
tried to fill the void
with an ocean of tears

you were my first creation
in
 partnership with God.

But you left me
I don’t know why

I wonder about you
often

who you might have been
what you might have looked like
your personality, your dreams.

I'd like to think that maybe
somewhere on earth
you have been reborn.

Will we know each other
if we meet again?
after all
our souls are connected
your heart once beat
alongside mine 

my blood once ran through your veins.

My heart still aches with sadness
how I wish
I could have held your hand


One thing is certain,
I will always love you
and one day
I might understand.

 

Amanda Edwards (c) 2013