The Sting in What Might Have Been
People are hard-wired to dislike not knowing something. It has been proven that people are more likely to accept something they know is more painful up-front if they know precisely what to expect and when, rather than to accept something that might be less painful, but that is unknown to them. Uncertainty wreaks havoc on our body’s central nervous system and induces a fight or flight response. We want to know what is going to happen to us and when. A miscarriage comes suddenly and typically without much (if any) advance warning, which is one reason why it is so hard for us to accept. The shock to our system from it can be difficult to recover from.
Perhaps the sting in what might have been is one of the most difficult parts of this experience to handle. I’m reminded of lyrics in an older song by Little Texas called “What Might Have Been”:
I try not to think about what might have been
Because that was then and we have taken different roads
We can’t go back again there’s no use giving in
And there’s no way to know
What might have been
Now, I know that song is probably referencing a lost romantic love, but as a singer-songwriter, I like to pick things apart within songs. Little snippets of songs can also be interpreted as standalone and musicians sometimes write songs to be experienced at many different levels applicable to a variety of life’s circumstances. Songs are musical glaciers; the surface only shows a tiny piece of the picture. When I read those specific lyrics, I could relate them to the pain of a lost pregnancy. A baby that will never get to know life as you and I have grown to know it.
When something like this happens, life goes on, but not how we once knew it. It causes a shift in our personal narrative which can never be reversed. Sophia Loren described that experience as, “I lost the baby. Afterwards, I went straight back to work. But I felt gutted. It was as if the world had been turned off forever.” Sure, life resumes as usual, but it is now in pieces. A puzzle of sorts where all the jig-jag parts must be put together, but try as we might, there are always a few pieces missing when we get to the end.
I don’t know if others have experienced this, but sometimes I have felt like I can sense the spirit of my lost little ones in other little ones. More likely is that I miss them so much I imagine I sense them. Yes, I’m a firm believer in God and Jesus and “I’m saved”, and I’m proud of it. But I don’t know how the vast universe, fate, etc. works in all its grand complexities. As humans, I think we each have a right to our individual beliefs and interpretations. And I’m certainly not one to pretend that I have any answers, because I definitely do not.
I vividly remember a recent summer night post-miscarriages when I was sitting outside and gazing up at the sky, which was awash in the glow of twinkling stars. It felt like the stars were tiny little holes which offered me a glimpse into another world, somewhere perhaps the lost kids were living safe and happy. It felt like they could see me and I could sense them. I have no idea what any of that meant. Perhaps I fell asleep briefly and was dreaming, maybe it was the song playing on Pandora at the moment and I was merely daydreaming. Either of those things are entirely possible. Or maybe it was something greater I sensed in the nighttime air of that one summer’s twilight. Another one of the many things I’ll never know for sure.
In addition, more than one occasion, I’ve had a “flash” of what felt like my kiddos. For example, I saw (or imagined?) Bryan happily twirling a little girl around in the air. She was wearing a teal dress with lace trim and sparkly silver ballet slippers. Her hair was dark with wavy curls that would have come from my him. She looks over at me and smiles happily, and her eyes are the same grey-blue as mine. I feel a surge of love in my heart. Then in a flash, as quickly as it came, it was gone again. I’ve seen that same exact scene (every detail replicated) multiple times. Was it a daydream, a wandering mind, a glimpse into an alternative universe, something else altogether? As I find myself saying a lot in this life, I don’t know. I have no explanation, so I just take it at what it is. I’m left feeling calm and happy, so it seems like a relatively healthy experience. Hopefully anyone who loses a kiddo (or anyone they love) will get to experience the same.
One of the greatest lessons I learned from everything I’ve been through is the magical healing that takes place when you realize sometimes you just have to let go. That is an incredibly difficult concept for many of us, myself included. I’ve learned to take things as they come and deal with them accordingly. For me, I had to learn to let go of the dream of being a parent, at least for now. And that’s ok. In life, you can’t always get what you want. As a singer-songwriter, music literally intertwines throughout my entire life. Perhaps this is why I quote lyrics so often. Per the Rolling Stones…
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
You can’t always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you just might find
You just might find
You get what you need…
That phrase is repeated over and over because it is such a hard concept for us to grasp, as humans. It is only once life deals us that first metaphorical kick in the teeth that we begin to understand this. Do I wish I could always get what I want? Well, of course. As do you. Don’t even try to pretend that’s not true. Our brains are wired to understand on a theoretical level that isn’t how life works. But in reality, we still don’t like it. Therefore, although our gut reactions align somewhere under anger, sadness, and/or frustration, with enough time and concerted thought and grit, yes – we can heal. And heal, we will. I’m well on my way, and so are you. We will always feel that sting of what might have been, but it doesn’t have to stop us from living a happy life filled with purpose.
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Cheers until next time,
Crystal
