The Ice Is Getting Thinner
January 23rd, 2011
So, um, that happened. And by that, for those of you who may have missed it, I mean the death of Adam’s beloved grandfather, my miscarriage at ten weeks, a D&C and a funeral, all within a 48-hour period. Oh wait, I’m sorry, the death and the miscarriage actually happened the same day. My bad.
Adam’s grandpa’s death was somewhat of a surprise — well, as much as one can be surprised by the death of a grandparent in his eighties who has been in assisted living for several years. And yet, to a degree, it was a surprise. It happened quickly — a broken bone led to a certain medication that led to pneumonia, which was a somewhat familiar pattern he’d pulled out of before, but I suppose this time it wasn’t meant to be. Or rather, it was meant to be, just not as we’d hoped, although it ended as we always knew it would, someday.
Coming with this is the usual mix of regret and sorrow — regret that more effort wasn’t made to spend time at the home while we could; sorrow that things won’t ever be exactly as they were, and for Adam, the loss of the final grandparent. (This is an unfamiliar feeling to me, as the majority of mine were dead and/or certifiably senile before I was old enough to understand.)
These things are always complicated.
The day before he died, we’d gone to see him to say goodbye, which was wrenching, as he wasn’t who we remembered, thanks to a drug-induced coma. I will not — in fact, I refuse — choose to remember him that way, although I hope he heard us. I am fairly certain that he did, in fact, and if he didn’t, that he hears us now.
We came home, watched the Patriots lose, hosted his brother for a quick visit and dinner, (he’d flown in to say his own goodbyes), I hit the bathroom and …
Well, there was spotting. I called the office, scheduled an ultrasound for the next morning and tried to forget about it.
The phone rang at 7:30 a.m. with the call that Grandpa had passed. By 11 a.m., I was in the stirrups as a poor ultrasound technician tried in vain to find a heartbeat on a baby that was supposed to be in its 10th week. By noon, I was sobbing in a strange doctor’s office as he said things were moving quickly (and not in a good way), and that he was afraid I’d end up in the ER if I didn’t schedule a D&C for the next morning.
We’re okay — really, we are. It’s hard not to almost chuckle at the ridiculousness of these events happening within hours of each other, because, well, seriously.
These are things I can live with. I can live without Adam’s grandfather, as much as I don’t want to. I knew someday we’d have to. We can try for another baby–we will try for another baby, as we now know, without a doubt, that we want one. We had one, and now we don’t. It happens.
I can live with that.
I have lived with that, for almost a week now. Despite everything, I have not fallen apart. I have made dinner, slept late, taken naps, laughed at my kid, taken the dog for walks, thought about making plans with friends and have, slowly, returned to the land of the living.
I can do that. I will do that. I love to do that. I can live with these losses, for they are part of life. To some degree, they are expected.
What is killing me, and what is impossible to talk about, but what I have to talk about, because it is eating at me from the inside, is the idea that things will get worse. I can live with what’s happened, I am almost proud of surviving with what’s happened without being broken, but what I cannot shake is the idea that there is some nefarious game show host cackling at an audience of twisted sadists, watching us on the Jumbotron, waiting for just the right moment to shout, “Shall we tell them what’s behind CURTAIN NUMBER THREE?” while the audience erupts in sickening jeers.
Because I’ll tell you: That would break me. And it’s precisely that that keeps me up at night. I lay there, watching Sam on the monitor late into the evening, long after I know she’s safe in bed. I listen to Adam’s soft breathing as he sleeps, terrified of losing the two people who are exactly the reasons I was so grateful through all of this.
For that, I am afraid. For that, and only that, I am not entirely okay.
Beyond that, there were so many things about this situation that were positive.
The doctor who performed my surgery took the time to seek out my husband to tell him how sorry he was for the loss of his grandfather, despite having met me for all of ten minutes the day prior. He was gentle, compassionate and tremendously kind.
And oh, you guys. My husband. It would be almost trite to list out the things he did for me last week, but I will say that I have always known I made a wise choice in selecting my life partner, but that when shit’s really down, he steps up in a way that makes the fantasy man in romantic comedies look like some kind of chump.
I am so, so lucky.
I can’t tell you how I felt every time I got one of your messages, cards, emails, flowers and ridiculous amount of food. Well, okay, actually, I can: I felt loved and touched and tremendously uplifted. Strangers took the time to talk to me about their experiences, and for the love of God, I got emails from some of your MOTHERS and AUNTS — people who know me only because, in their words, I was nice to their daughter on the Internet once. I’m not kidding. Friends took my kid, no questions asked, when I had to rush off to surgery a few hours before I was originally scheduled. My sister drove three hours in a blizzard to get to us. People came by with ready-made dinners and desserts and the Food Lush and Style Lush crew sent enough sweets for a small army of mourners, which was a good thing, as we had said small army staying in our guest rooms.
Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. It was one of the most special things to ever happen to me, and I am not exaggerating, even in the slightest.
I will remember it always.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
*Death Cab for Cutie
Entry Filed under: Miscarriage,Pregnancy,Teh Second Baby,The anxious anxiety,Things that suck
103 Comments Add your own
1. Jennifer | January 23rd, 2011 at 9:46 pm
Sending all good thoughts to all of you, Jonna. So sorry for both of your losses.
2. maggie may | January 23rd, 2011 at 9:48 pm
I am so very sorry for your loss. I lost a baby at 13 weeks last year, and I know how precious that life already is to you and your husband. And I know also about anxiety- I live with it often, and after the birth of my daughter Ever 7 weeks ago I had a horrible bout. It’s hard. It’s door Number Three. Hang in there.
3. Nic | January 23rd, 2011 at 9:50 pm
Love you.
4. nic @mybottlesup | January 23rd, 2011 at 9:51 pm
I’m so sorry.
5. kathleen | January 23rd, 2011 at 9:54 pm
have been thinking of you so much over the last week. i so so hope the anxiety calms soon, and that the surprise behind door three is just a fantastic and wonderful surprise of good news.
6. rebecca | January 23rd, 2011 at 9:59 pm
Oh, Jonna. I am so sorry. I had no idea. I too have had a miscarriage, and it shook my world. the anxiety is hard to take, but it gets easier. It gets better.
7. Marie Green | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:00 pm
Can’t get you off my mind…
8. Pbpdesigns | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:00 pm
A’s I said when you posted your sad news last week, I have been where you are. Not once or twice, but 8 times. But I have 2 amazing daughters and wouldn’t trade them for anything (no, not even for that bag of hammers as I threatened once). My first miscarriage was over 20 years ago and there was nothing they could do. The next 4 were over the next 3 years. Then I was told my body was treating the pregnancies as an infection. Jumped through a bunch of hoops treatment-wise and finally had Thing1 nearly 16 years ago. Three more misses over the next 2 years and then was able to carry Thing2 to term. She’s now 13.
All this is my longwinded way of telling you that it will get better. And even if there is a door number three you will come through ’cause that’s the kind of woman you are. And you have got an awesome guy to do it with you.
Hugs.
Pammi
9. Mimi O | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:01 pm
I’m so glad to hear that your family is doing well and that you have lots of support. That is so important in hard times.
10. Diane | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:02 pm
There is no third thing coming. There is no third thing coming. There is no third thing coming.
This keeps me up at night, too. For the second time in 6 months, we’ve had a death in the family coupled with another family emergency. ENOUGH, I say.
11. barbetti | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:03 pm
My heart breaks for you. I cried through this entire post. Thinking and praying for you all.
12. jana | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:03 pm
I am so sorry, but also so strangely glad that you’ve been blessed by people during this wretchedness. And I hope you can relax…sometimes there is no curtain number three.
13. Erin | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:05 pm
So sorry for your losses – sending good thoughts your way.
14. Lindsay | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:05 pm
Praying there’s no curtain number 3…and grateful your husband shone for you this week. That is always so nice at these times.
15. agirlandaboy | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:05 pm
The more we love, the more terrifying it is to imagine it all being taken away. From a fellow worrier (if Simon’s in a car, I’m worrying–it’s that bad) (and the gunpoint robberies in our neighborhood don’t help), but I think what you’ve done here is shown how people will rise up to get us through things we don’t think we might have gotten through. That’s a small comfort to my worries, but it’s at least something, you know?
16. Nora Ray | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:06 pm
I only know you through the internet, Jonna, but I think you’re fantastic and I appreciate you sharing this post with us. I sympathize with your losses (having experienced very similar ones myself in succession) and your fear of “what’s behind curtain number three”.
17. Jodifur | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:07 pm
Oh Jonna, I dont know where Ive been. I missed all of this. I’m so, so, so sorry.
18. Amy | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:13 pm
I am so sorry. And boy do I know what you are going through. I lived that way for…probably 3 or 4 years after my then new husband’s Muscular Dystrophy diagnosis and all that followed that. Even now, when things are going well and good things happen, I always kind of wince and wait for the bad to kick in. We just moved into our first house. It’s new and lovely and everything we ever dreamed of and more and somehow I am waiting for them to come take it away from us…or a fire to burn it down…or something. Where is that other shoe? It’s bound to drop soon…right?
19. Christina | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:17 pm
Your life, this news, this process,has brought me to tears many times this week. You, my awesome editor that makes my words better, my stories more complete, someone who I think is infinetly cooler than I am…
I just wanted you to have it all becuase you deserve what you desire. I wish you health and continued courage, Jonna. I wish for it hard. ox
20. Elsha | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:17 pm
Oh Jonna. I’m so sorry.
21. Jen | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:17 pm
Oh Jonna. I’m with Kathleen in thinking that door number three is going to be something pretty damn good.
Thanks for sharing this with us. Wishing that there was more I could do to help – I’d even take your crapping dog to give you a break! – but mostly just hoping you know that I’m thinking of you and wishing you all well.
22. Kristina | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:23 pm
Oh Jonna. I keep writing this and deleting it because I just don’t know how to put into words the big gigantic hug I want to send your way. Door number three is an asshole.
Within a 2-year time span, I dealt with my brother’s death, a difficult pregnancy, my husband (thank God) surviving a 40-foot fall at work and lots of other little nightmarish things, and I felt like I was living every second holding my breath, waiting for the phone to ring. I STILL have a near panic attack if I get a call after dark (most of my bad news came via telephone, at night). All I can say is that the anxiety fades. Or maybe just becomes manageable, I don’t really know. But I did reach a point where I told God/the universe/anyone who would listen that I was DONE and not one more bad thing could happen. And then it did. And I got through it. You will too. You never know the depths of your strength until it’s tested.
I guess this isn’t very reassuring, but what I’m trying to say is that you’re not alone, and I really, really hope things start turning around for you.
23. Sarah | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:24 pm
I think one cannot underestimate the power of a strong sense of humor – and please understand that I dont mean this in a crass way. There is nothing funny about what you are going through. But your (and Adam’s, I presume) ability to see some of the lighter side of your circumstances helps see you through and that is an amazing trait, unarguably what makes me read and follow you and wish I lived near you because I know you’re the kind of person people just want to be around. And now I’ve gone way off tangent. Thinking of you guys and wishing you a GOOD NEWS!!! 3rd door.
24. Andrea | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:24 pm
Oh Jonna. I am so so sorry.
25. Kristin | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:33 pm
It is great to hear that you are OK. I have thought of you often this week. I have found, through my own experience with loss (my father was killed in a plane crash 3 years ago), that I never realized quite how much love I had in my life until I needed to rely on it so completely. I am so glad you have that kind of love as well.
26. Jess | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:33 pm
OMG, Jonna, I have had that “door #3″ feeling. After my husbands grandmother died suddenly I cracked a little and could just imagine this terrible hell of an existence if something happened to my husband or children. I have been there and I want to hug you and tell you that it helped me to just feel so so grateful and lucky that I had them. You are so strong and will come out alright on the other side.
Hugs hugs hugs.
27. page | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:36 pm
hey jonna-
I’ve thought of you every day, without fail, and hoped that you and Adam and Sam were holding up ok. I thought so many times of all of your kindnesses to me, someone you barely know and wish now that I’d asked at least for an address to send cookies to, a toy for Miss Sam… something (but I didn’t want to seem to be some weird internet stalker).
Just know you were thought of a million times a day by all of us out here in the world, and that we’ve got your back in some small way.
Sending love from Oregon
28. anna | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:37 pm
I am so glad you have so much love coming your way. I’m sending you more. I lost my first pregnancy at 10 weeks as well and it was awful. Adding a death on top and it’s the perfect environment for anxiety. There is no door number three.
29. jenB | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:41 pm
I am crying for you. Because it is all so sad and the fear that things could be worse is real and sad and scary as well. Yes, you are lucky, but it doesn’t take away the shitty. I am sorry you have experienced so much recent loss. “Things could always be worse” is a dumb thing to say, and I wish you didn’t think about it I wish people didn’t say it or even think it.
I admit to crying for myself to, ’cause that is what is my truth right now – the sad. Sorry for that selfish bit.
xo
30. squandra | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:41 pm
I am so, so sorry for your losses. I am pleased, though, to know that all of the Jonna Goodness you share with the rest of us is coming back to you when you need it.
31. Mama Bub | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:45 pm
Oh Jonna, I’ve been thinking of you all week. In fact I’ve had a card sitting open on my desk, unwritten because everything I mentally compose seems to fall so short of what I want to say. But here it is, I think you’re awesome and I’m so sorry this happens to anyone, but I’m especially sorry that it’s happening to you. You who had to deal with my double-spacing after a period.
32. Kris Taylor | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:52 pm
I am so sorry for all the horrible things that have happened to you and your family of late. Please know I am sending you all calming healing vibes.
33. Portia | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:54 pm
Jonna, I rarely comment but always read. I am so sorry for your losses, and so glad that you have such wonderful people in your life. I hope you never need what’s behind curtain number 3, and that your anxiety recedes soon. Sending many, many good thoughts to you, Adam, and Sam.
34. Shelly | January 23rd, 2011 at 10:56 pm
Like everyone else, I’ve been thinking of you all week. My heart aches for you all and the horrific week you’ve had. I have nothing but hope that Curtain #3 contains sunshine, puppies and unicorns with rainbows shooting out of their asses. Just for a little bit, because you deserve it.
35. Kirsten | January 23rd, 2011 at 11:00 pm
I don’t know what to say. I have found myself many times this week thinking about you and tearing up and wishing that there was some way that I could give you a big hug or just find the right combination of words to make it better (not that it’s possible).
I know the feeling that there must be something else that’s going to go wrong. I know it very well. I’ve always been a worrier – an expects the worst – kind of person. I hope and pray that there is no third door for you and if there is, it’s not bad. If there is a third door, it had better be something un-fucking-believably good.
36. Jessica | January 23rd, 2011 at 11:01 pm
I know you don’t know me..and I don’t expect anything. I just wanted to say that I thought about you all week I don’t know how a strangers words can help, but…I know it will be alright. And you are never alone.
37. Lippy | January 23rd, 2011 at 11:03 pm
I am so sorry. My husband’s grandpa passed away mid-december. It was pretty sudden, he was in the hospital, but was doing well. The next day he wasn’t. Then to have a miscarriage on top. Our last pregnancy was twins and we lost one at 13 weeks, I spent the next 25 weeks waiting for the worst. (she tested positive for some bad things, but looked ok) It is a crappy feeling. Luckily everything was fine, but took forever for me to be convinced.
38. Jennie | January 23rd, 2011 at 11:09 pm
I love you. It feels like this falls so ridiculously short of what I want to say and all I really know how to say. I love love love you and Sam and Adam.
39. Wendryn | January 23rd, 2011 at 11:15 pm
I’m so sorry. I’m a lurker, but this brought me out. I know about hard things coming all at once – we had a year like that last year, and it was awful – but from what I’ve read of yours, you’ll make it through. Not that it probably helps right now, I know.
So from someone who doesn’t know you, *HUGS*, big fierce hugs, and a belief that you will make it through and you will be fine. The path might not be easy, but you are strong.
40. H | January 23rd, 2011 at 11:21 pm
I’ve been through a few of those times, when it seems like life is nothing but one bad thing after another, and I understand the feeling about door #3. I hope that feeling passes soon. I’m glad that you had such terrific support from your friends and family and I’m so sorry for your losses.
41. -Jen | January 23rd, 2011 at 11:23 pm
I too have been thinking about you, Sam and Adam all week – which seemed weird at times since we’ve never met. I am glad that you are managing and have been surrounded with love. I hope your recovery continues, both mentally and physically. So many of us are thinking only good thoughts for you and your family.
42. -R- | January 23rd, 2011 at 11:25 pm
I’m so sorry for your losses. But I’m so glad you have such wonderful people in your life.
43. velocibadgergirl | January 23rd, 2011 at 11:53 pm
I’m so glad you’re doing okay, but also so, so sorry for all of this. I don’t think there’s anything behind curtain #3, unless it’s a crate of chocolate and some wine. Definitely some wine.
44. ABDPBT | January 24th, 2011 at 12:16 am
I have a fist full of cliches I could type here about God never giving you more than you can handle (What? I spent a lot of time at AA meetings, OK?) but I’ll spare you. Such a sucky sucky week. I’m so sorry about all of it. I’m glad you’re getting through it, and sending healing thoughts your way.
45. Court | January 24th, 2011 at 12:26 am
I am truly sorry for your losses. I am also inspired by your words and thoughts. I don’t know you but have been following your blogging and feel like I do know you a little. Wishing you and your family better days.
46. JCF | January 24th, 2011 at 12:39 am
I’m so sorry–we lost a baby at about 11 weeks. He/she would have been four years old this week and has been heavy on my mind. I hope you are able to grieve both of your losses well and maintain good communication with Adam throughout. That was the hard part for us. I’ll be thinking of you.
47. Amy (Frugan) | January 24th, 2011 at 12:41 am
There is nothing behind curtain number three.
I am so sorry, but glad you have such an amazing support network.
48. Mary Helen | January 24th, 2011 at 12:53 am
I grew up in a family where bad things came in threes. They don’t have to. You’re going to be fine –and so are Sam and Adam. You’ve been through so much, but you seem to have a really good attitude about itt. You’re strong and I’m sure you’re going to be fine. I know we don’t know each other well, but if there is any way I could help you, just let me know. BIG HUG to you all!
49. Carla Hinkle | January 24th, 2011 at 12:56 am
We’ve all (your readers and friends-inside-the-computer) got your back. Door #3 can suck it.
Thinking of you.
50. Jessica | January 24th, 2011 at 1:48 am
I follow you on Twitter and I was so sad to hear about your loss. Thinking of you and sending well wishes your way.
51. Swistle | January 24th, 2011 at 6:25 am
Thinking of you.
52. heidi | January 24th, 2011 at 8:20 am
I somehow missed the news. I am so sorry about your losses. You are in my thoughts and prayers.
53. Jennifer | January 24th, 2011 at 8:39 am
You were in our prayers last week. I’m so sorry for all that you’ve endured.
54. april | January 24th, 2011 at 8:54 am
Oh no, I am so sorry. Well wishes to you and your family for both losses.
55. Jenna | January 24th, 2011 at 9:15 am
Jonna- I’ve been thinking of you, a woman I’ve never met, so much this past week. I’m so so glad you’ve had great support from friends and loved ones. You deserve all that and so much more.
I’m so sorry for your losses.
56. SwingCheese | January 24th, 2011 at 9:18 am
I’ve been waiting to say something until you posted because, although I follow you on Twitter, I don’t actually *have* a twitter account, and I’ve never actually met you in real life, and I wasn’t really sure how to begin. All that being said, I’ve been thinking of you all this last week and sending you support from freezing Iowa.
57. Rhia | January 24th, 2011 at 9:20 am
I am so sorry for your losses.
The universe can be unkind in its lack of humanity.
Warm thoughts to you.
58. el-e-e | January 24th, 2011 at 10:12 am
I’m so, so sorry to hear. I pray that spring and renewal will come quickly for all of you. You wrote this so beautifully. My heart just breaks.
59. Slim | January 24th, 2011 at 10:20 am
I am sending up a special Monty Python /Spanish Inquisition prayer for you: Three: Nothing. There is no third thing.
Please?
60. Carrie (in MN) | January 24th, 2011 at 10:21 am
I thought about you all week and am so glad to hear that you’re still standing and that your people, including the people of the internet, came through for you.
I know that anxiety about the door number three, I think we all do, and well… logic doesn’t seem to lessen the anxiety but time does.
Spring is coming. It is. It’s just around that bend…
61. beyond | January 24th, 2011 at 10:28 am
i am very sorry for your losses and thinking of you.
62. Katie | January 24th, 2011 at 10:32 am
I’m so sorry for your loss and this incredibly difficult time you and your family are going through.
63. Josefina | January 24th, 2011 at 10:33 am
I know the feeling about curtain number three. I began to experience it after a period of particular hideousness some time ago. I think Kristina’s point about not being alone is really the only thing to say about that.
I’m sorry, again. I’m praying and hoping for good things for you and your family, and peace for you.
64. Misty | January 24th, 2011 at 10:42 am
Oh, Jonna. I am so sorry. My condolences.
65. Life of a Doctor's Wife | January 24th, 2011 at 10:54 am
I am so very sorry for your loss. Thinking of you and your family.
66. Farrell | January 24th, 2011 at 11:23 am
I’m so sorry.
67. Shelly | January 24th, 2011 at 11:38 am
Oh, I am so sorry to hear all of this. I had a miscarriage at about 8 weeks, so I understand how heartbreaking that is. I will be thinking of you and Adam during this tough time.
68. Diane | January 24th, 2011 at 11:40 am
So sorry you have dealt with such crappy things,but so happy you have such wonderful friends and family to see you through it.
69. Carmen | January 24th, 2011 at 11:47 am
As everyone else has said, I’ve been thinking of you all week. I’m pretty sure that if there is a Door #3, it’s full of rainbows and puppies and glitter and happy stuff.
70. Kristin | January 24th, 2011 at 11:49 am
I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to your family this week! How awful. I hope that you get some good news very soon to balance some of the sadness out.
71. Rebecca (Bearca) | January 24th, 2011 at 11:57 am
You have amazing, inspiring perspective.
72. Nancy | January 24th, 2011 at 11:57 am
Oh Jonna, I am so very terribly sorry to hear about your losses. We had a miscarriage last February at 9 weeks and I just felt so . . . deflated. What the brain intellectually knows (i.e. we’ll try again, we’ll get pregnant again) is sometimes hard to translate to the heart (but I wanted THIS baby). I’m so glad you have such a supportive and awesome family — wanted to add in my condolences and very best wishes for the future.
Nerd alert: William Carlos Williams’s The Ivy Crown always helps me when I need some head space.
73. TUWABVB | January 24th, 2011 at 12:53 pm
I’ve been thinking about you so much over the past week, and while I’m so happy to see that you are slowly recovering, I hate to see that someone is having a reaction similar to one that I had to endure. And I say “endure” purposely. I had a miscarriage within a week of my dad’s passing – and those two events together, just sent me in a tailspin. Yes, we made it through and I’m proud that we did (as should your family), but I too had that feeling of “waiting for the other shoe to drop.” In fact, I described it to my husband as “foreboding.” and he hated that word.
But I was so paranoid – every time the phone rang, or I went to the bathroom, or anything really – I imagined the worst thing that could happen and debated in my own mind if I could handle that.
I know now that it’s a pretty normal reaction, and the blessed side of it is that I have come to aprpeciate and love my life more than I ever have – but it’s a horrible feeling and I’m so sorry that you have to experience.
That being said, it does go away. Until then, I’m here if you need to chat and I’m sending lots of love and support from afar. Take care of yourself!
74. amandapm | January 24th, 2011 at 1:00 pm
“…the idea that things will get worse…” Sweet gal, I get scared about that concept, too, quite often. (That’s a Capricorn thing, BTW – did you know that? I’m a Capricorn moon so emotionally I tend to struggle with this, um, viewpoint? Often!) I have no wisdom to impart on the matter though I have found, long-range view, that things have actually tended to get better. So if you can hold on to that thought, too, perhaps it can help even out the other feeling.
{{{{{{{{Many hugs to you and yours.}}}}}}}}
75. Lawyerish | January 24th, 2011 at 1:06 pm
Love you, my friend. I’m sending you calming thoughts. You’ve been through enough and I truly believe there is no third disaster coming for you.
Remember how we always hold each other’s planes aloft with our mental powers? I’m doing that right now with your life. You’re aloft. You’re going to be okay.
76. Melanie Kerton | January 24th, 2011 at 1:30 pm
so so sorry… sending hugs
77. Lynn | January 24th, 2011 at 1:56 pm
I’m a shameless lurker here but wanted to come out of hiding to tell you how sorry I am for your double loss. I’ve been in your shoes and I know it’s hard, for a long time. I hope you’re all doing alright – my thoughts are with you.
78. bacioni | January 24th, 2011 at 2:05 pm
I hold you in my heart.
79. laura | January 24th, 2011 at 2:10 pm
so so sorry, all of you are in my prayers.
80. Jessie | January 24th, 2011 at 2:22 pm
Christ on a cracker. I am really, really sorry for your losses.
81. Courtney | January 24th, 2011 at 2:36 pm
I’m so sorry. All of that is just plain shitty. I’ve also had a miscarriage (and earlier, before a heartbeat so I can only imagine how much harder it would be). I’m glad that you have a great husband (amazing, in fact, given how terrible he must also be feeling), family and friends to help you through this.
82. Jennifer | January 24th, 2011 at 2:42 pm
I read your post this morning & couldn’t decide whether to say something or continue my lurking.
(they think I’m kidding)
I miscarried this winter too. I woke up with some spotting on a Monday, went in for the emergency appt, and the poor ultrasound tech didn’t know what to do when she couldn’t find the heartbeat. I too was 10 weeks. This would have been our first & I’ve been telling people that next time I won’t tell anyone we are expecting until we have a gender.
I don’t think there has been a single person my husband and I have told who didn’t respond with “I had one” or “my wife/sister/mother/cousin/best friend had one” I can’t believe how incredible common 1st trimester loss is.
I’m so sorry for your losses, and doubly sorry for the fact that they occurred as a pair. I’m thinking of you, and hoping that 3rd thing will never happen.
83. KT | January 24th, 2011 at 2:46 pm
I’m so sorry. I can understand the worry about the next thing to go wrong because I do that all the time. I’m glad that you have a great husband to help you through this, despite his grief.
The year can only get better from here, right?
84. mel | January 24th, 2011 at 3:51 pm
I’m so very sorry.
85. Christine | January 24th, 2011 at 4:03 pm
There is no third. Hoping for and thinking of you guys often. It is incredibly unfair and if I didn’t tell you it in my email, I’ll say it here: I think you’re amazing. Sending good thoughts. xo
86. Fiona Picklebottom | January 24th, 2011 at 4:39 pm
So sorry for both of your losses.
87. Angela | January 24th, 2011 at 4:43 pm
I am using all of my mental energy to wish away a curtain #3. I am amazed at your strength, and I am so glad that you have such a wonderful support system. As others have said, while I only know you “in the computer,” you and your family have been in my thoughts all week. I am so sorry for all you have been through, and I am hoping for happier times ahead.
88. Tammie | January 24th, 2011 at 5:29 pm
You’re in my thoughts. And while you’re listening to DCFC, Marching Bands of Manhattan may help, just a bit.
Peace and love to you Sam and Adam.
89. Angella | January 24th, 2011 at 5:52 pm
I’ve been thinking about you all week and I am so glad that you have Adam and so many others to help lift you up.
I get the worrying, and I’m not a big worrier. It’s just the fear of losing the amazing people in your life that make your life so much better than you ever thought possible.
Sending big calming thoughts and prayers your way.
90. Mauigirl | January 24th, 2011 at 6:12 pm
Sending lots of thoughts and positive vibes your way. I’m glad you are surviving this terrible double whammy and I hope for only good things for you and Adam from now on. Don’t worry about that other shoe dropping. You have many years of good things ahead. (being supersititious, I just spit on the ground and knocked wood, so you don’t have to worry about that).
91. Ginger | January 24th, 2011 at 7:01 pm
I’ve been thinking of you, and your family, all week. I’m so glad you have each other to lean on, and, by the looks of it, the entire internet is here to help if you need us.
92. Alex | January 24th, 2011 at 11:53 pm
Reaching out over the whole stranger/internet line to give you a hug.
93. Emily | January 25th, 2011 at 10:30 am
Like so many others, I’ve been thinking about you all week. My heart sank as I read your tweet, last week, announcing the terrible news. I don’t know you personally, but I felt the pain as if it had happened to one of my dearest friends. I’m so, so sorry. Hugs to your beautiful little family.
94. Brittany | January 26th, 2011 at 12:37 pm
I just. I ache for you and I feel your strength through these words and I just want to like, lean up against you for a while. Know that I am so sorry. And also always here for leaning.
95. Pam | January 26th, 2011 at 1:52 pm
I’m so, so sorry about your losses and I’m so glad you have each other to go through this with. You’ve all been in my thoughts.
96. Suebob | January 26th, 2011 at 2:15 pm
Is this what Buddha means by attachment causes suffering? Well, then, what is the alternative? Be unattached? Or just realize that if we love, we are going to suffer? I remember the stunning realization that, in this life, we are going to lose everyone we love, either by their death or ours. It is not a pretty thought, but it is the truth.
I am still so incredibly angry that my sister, my best friend on earth, had to leave me. The UNFAIRNESS of having to live each day without her still really sucks, and yet there is nothing to do about it other than realize that we had a great love, that we will hopefully see each other again, and that she would not want me to live unhappily, hurting over the memory of her.
I think this is the crisis of middle age (by which I mean anything over 30 and before 60) – dealing with these inevitable losses and finding the strength to carry us through this life as we realize that we not only are surviving them, but that we MUST survive and go on.
97. Vicki | January 26th, 2011 at 2:47 pm
I have sat for three days with your blog in my reader trying to come up with words, ones that are substantial enough to reflect the situation. I know when I’m on the other side of grief, though, all I want is the caring of the people around me, their exact words don’t matter much. So, with that, let me just say there’s another heart and brain in the world thinking about you, wishing you well, and who is so sorry for your losses.
Also, I know exactly how that ‘waiting for curtain number three’ feels. I have spent this last year waiting. Late January was Thing 1, early April was Thing 2 and since then I feel like I’m holding my breath….waiting. The realization I’ve (very recently) come to is the stress I’ve put myself through this past year was unnecessary and unfair. I could have had a relatively happy May-December last year but instead I just worried. And now, if Thing 3 does happen, I’m so frayed. So, I’ve been trying very hard to accept things as they are and deal with things as they actually come, rather than their imagined, scary possible versions. Grain of salt, advice and all that…and I truly hope there is no third curtain.
Hugs to your entire family.
98. seedpearls | January 26th, 2011 at 4:08 pm
Sadly there will always be a door number 3, number four, number 5….. When the doors quit opening it is because yu are dead. This grief, this strife, these losses will make you honor more your joy. In this way we know how we are blessed.
I have lost children. A chasm of pain, but you will scale it’s walls. I will keep you in my prayers as well..
99. Annie | January 26th, 2011 at 6:34 pm
I am so so sorry. Huge hugs. Epic hugs.
100. TwoBusy | January 27th, 2011 at 4:08 pm
From my whole family to your whole family: awkward but entirely earnest hugs and kind thoughts.
101. anne nahm | January 28th, 2011 at 1:47 pm
Thinking good things for you. I am so sorry for your losses.
102. Sarah | January 28th, 2011 at 3:26 pm
Jonna, I’m so sorry. I’m usually just a lurker around here, but as someone who has experienced the pain of miscarriage three times, I had to chime in to say I’m so very sorry. It hurts so much more than you’d think it would before it actually happens to you. To have it happen during such an already difficult and sad time is just dreadful. I am so sorry.
And, for the record, I also have three kids. It’s not the best track record for successful pregnancies, but it’s not as uncommon as you’d think either. I am sure you and Adam will have another baby when the time is right. And you’ll have this one too, in your heart. That’s what helps me, anyways. I always think of our lost babies as our family angels, watching over us, and whenever we’re all together and happy I kind of get the feeling that from wherever they are, those babies can see us and are also a part of our family, in their own way.
103. Lara | January 28th, 2011 at 9:59 pm
I’ve had this post marked all week while I thought of something to say. But, I’m not going to find what I’m looking for in this brain of mine.
So – I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I was thinking of you all week.
Which is odd from an internet friend, perhaps, but it’s the truth.
I hope you and your family feel better soon.
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