**This is a very detailed post about a miscarriage. It may be a trigger. Please be aware.
I woke up with joy in my heart.
After a year and a half of trying, we were finally going to have our second child.
He showed himself to me in a dream. A bird. A delicate little bird. October 16. I knew the moment I conceived him. I knew it was a boy, and I knew he was there instantly.
Two lines later on a stick test I knew for sure.
I floated down the stairs of our terrace house in the inner suburbs of Sydney. My husband was in the kitchen and my daughter was in the lounge room watching Hi 5 on DVD. It was the weekend and the excitement was infectious. We were all smiling and laughing. Everything was perfect. 5 days of bliss. We knew for 5 days.
And then I went to the toilet.
I sat on the seat and urinated, my mind floating away with dreams of big blue eyes and dimply cheeks. I wound some paper into my hand and reached between my legs and wiped. And then I saw it. The ugly smear of bright red staining on the printed dolphins swimming across 2 ply.
My heart stopped beating for what seemed like eternity before heading to warp speed. I did not believe what I was seeing. I folded the dolphins in on each other and wiped again and looked. More staining. I dropped the paper into the bowl, stood up and flushed, dolphins swimming my dreams away.
I walked into the kitchen where my husband was cooking at the stove, clanking utensils in the frying pan. I stood with my back against the bench when the first ache rumbled deep within my body. The tears were burning hot, but were yet to fall. He looks at me and notices my face is blank. What’s wrong? I’m Bleeding. I knew it was more than just spotting that sometimes accompanies pregnancy. My back was hot. Painfully warm and the waves were building. This was the end.
It was only a beginning.
5 and a half weeks pregnant.
Try as I might, the tears would not stay behind their wall any longer and started to fall. He held me tight, while Tara came up and asked what was wrong. The baby in mummy’s tummy has gone away. Did it die? Yes.
The baby. The Fetus. The sack of cells in imperfect formation, leaving my body.
I pottered around the house, jumbo pad between my legs sponging the blood that began to come more frequently. I sat on the couch not watching the TV. Used the computer. Cried.
Let’s go out, he suggests.
We walk. We walk through the suburbs. It’s warm. I didn’t want to leave the house, but didn’t want to be in it either. I didn’t want to be anywhere. We are out all afternoon. My body aching, throbbing, gushing. What were we thinking, being out of the house?
Home. I walk in the door and start pacing the kitchen. It’s 6 hours after I first spied the red on toilet tissue. I walked around in circles across the tiles, tears leaking, body leaking. The pain is gripping and then whoosh. I feel it. My body releases. And the pain stops instantly. I walk to the toilet and sit. The blood spills into the bowl and the water turns red. Clots and tissue. I cry and weep. I say sweet words over the bowl and wish my Little Bird his wings.
I am racked with guilt. For years I mourn for what I should have done. I should have buried my Bird. I should have saved my Little Bird. I should not have flushed.
But my Little Bird was returned to water, to the Earth. I have to believe that he found his way home, committed to nature. One way or another. I cannot wish for doing something different. It never helps.
And just like that, it was over. My body forgot quickly that it had been pregnant. My mind took much longer.
Today I still stare at dolphins and wait to see their tails dancing in a red sea. Red tides or not.
Such is the mind of a mother who has lost.
Today is Little Bird’s ‘Birth’ Day. Born into this word, before he was ever more than a heartbeat in my womb.
Always remembering you Little Bird. You share your conception date with your little brother Avery. October 16. Two years apart. Both now with wings in your spirit world. Fly with Joy.