Untold Story

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” Maya Angelou

Last month should have been the 18th birthday for my oldest daughter; a big part of me can’t really believe my first loss was that long ago. How is it possible that she should have been starting college this year? When did I become old enough for a grown daughter?

If I was a “normal” mother, I would be fretting over if she was eating enough at school, studying hard enough, and is she making good friends. I would stand wistfully in the door to her room and be sad at the emptiness.  And others would understand my grief at the suddenly “empty nest” in my home.

But I am a bereaved mother. Her room has always been empty. And the sadness has been a familiar presence in my life for many years. The circumstances around her loss were difficult and I have never talked about her as much as my other pregnancy losses.

It is time to tell her story.

I was young and naive the first time I married. He wasn’t really who I thought he was.  Before we had been married 24 hours, I knew that the marriage was a mistake, but I didn’t want to accept the failure of a divorce. I thought I could force it to work. But one person alone cannot do the work to make a happy marriage in the best of circumstances.  I could never do everything perfectly to stop the emotional abuse. I was never going to be good enough because it was never really about me–it was his issues that caused the abuse that he chose to blame on me.

Still, I was overjoyed when I found myself pregnant since I had always wanted to be a mother. Before I had even taken the test, I was sure I was pregnant, and that she was a girl; it was one of those deep in the bone things that you ‘just know‘.  I was quickly picking out names and trying to imagine what she would look like.  Unfortunately, I didn’t even make it to my first doctor appointment when I lost her very suddenly at eight weeks. I sat on the toilet in shock, as the blood gushed out of me, trying to absorb that reality that she was gone. And I tried in vain to tune out my husband as he stood over me screaming insults and telling me over and over that it was all my fault.

The shock of the loss morphed into an ongoing numbness.   I couldn’t grieve because I couldn’t let myself feel anything; to feel any emotion would make me vulnerable to the emotional abuse that was constantly being thrown my way.  His need to control my every move ramped up even more after her death, as well as his desire to break my spirit.  One night, I started to think about what life would have been like if she had lived.  And I realized I was setting a horrible example for her in the relationship between her father and me.  I wanted better for my daughter so that meant I needed to demand better for me too.  I got divorced and made a concerted effort to take back my dignity and self-esteem. But still I was numb inside; her story remained untold, even in my heart.

It took seven years before the grief finally broke through. It hit me one night after someone asked me if I was a mother.  I had honestly never thought about it until that moment and I was unable to answer. I cried for hours when I got home that night and many nights following as the enormity of the loss of my child overwhelmed me. Grief can only be pushed down for so long, but at some point, it will force itself out; the story must be felt and told.

I will always wonder who she would have looked like, what her interests would be and who she would become.  Her story was cut short but it still deserves to be told, both for her and for me. No matter what happened between me and her father, she is my child and I will always love her.  I tell her story to honor her.  And for me, there is comfort in telling her story, in knowing others will grieve her with me, if only for a moment.

If you have the agony of an untold story still in you, I encourage you to share it.  If your friends and family aren’t ready to hear it, then there are support groups of similarly bereaved women who will listen to your story and share your grief.  Let your story be told.

I share her story in part because I know that the emotions surrounding a pregnancy, stillbirth or infant loss can intensify an abusive situation and may cause the abuse to escalate from verbal/emotional to physical.  If you are in a relationship where you are being blamed for your loss, demeaned, controlled (including financially), or physically/sexually abused, please know that you do NOT deserve that treatment.  Please seek help online at  National Domestic Violence Hotline or call 1−800−799−7233. 

Maureen Schaefer
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Maureen Schaefer (known as Reen to her online friends) found herself battling infertility and recurrent miscarriage after trying to start a family in 2011. Maureen found information and solidarity in her online support groups and eventually began to help moderate a group for those pursuing advanced methods of trying to conceive. She also co-founded a group for those actively trying to conceive who have experienced two or more pregnancy losses or babies born still (Babycenter's Actively Trying with Repeat Loss). Now, after five pregnancy losses, Maureen is coming to terms with living a childless life. You can usually find her behind the scenes helping out with Still Mother's Facebook page and groups.

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