My first experience with miscarriage arrived early, leaving me more bewildered than heartbroken. My partner and I were still trying to process the excitement of a positive pregnancy test when the unexpected loss hit us. We didn’t discuss it much; I shed a few tears while he immersed himself in work, and life continued.
The second miscarriage occurred at nine weeks. I had been aware of the pregnancy for a month, sharing the news with family and close friends. I was feeling ill and fatigued—classic signs, in my opinion. During our first ultrasound, the doctor noted that the heartbeat wasn’t as strong as expected and advised us to return in a week. “You may just be earlier than you think,” they reassured us. However, upon our return, the heartbeat was faint and erratic.
“We’ll need to proceed with a D&C,” they said. As we held hands, we made the necessary calls and arrangements, tears streaming down our faces. Yet again, the words between us were few. I cried a bit more this time, and we turned to work, home projects, and caring for our 2-year-old son.
The next weekend, my husband surprised me with a car full of flowers and plants. In a quest for color and signs of life, we invested in gardening tools, vibrant plants, vegetables, and flowers—one notably being a tall hibiscus. While our son napped, we set to work. My husband did the planting while I watched, as he filled large planters with an array of colorful blooms and set them at our front door. He planted tomatoes along the side of the house and positioned the hibiscus in a central mound of soil, surrounded by a rainbow of impatiens.
As he worked, the silence spoke volumes. We didn’t need to verbalize our feelings; the hibiscus stood as a poignant reminder of the little one we lost at the hospital.
A few months later, I faced another miscarriage. Again, our conversations remained minimal, focused only on scheduling appointments. Given that my husband and I are both lawyers with a knack for conversation and debate, it was unusual for us to remain so quiet about something that weighed heavily on our hearts. But what could we say? The grief felt too profound for words.
Our discussions shifted to the joys and challenges of parenting our young son, the struggles of the economy, and my husband’s demanding job. A year later, we began contemplating a move away from the city and our current home. I never explicitly acknowledged what the hibiscus meant to me, but it offered me a strange sense of peace each time I glanced at it—a peace that was raw and imperfect but comforting nonetheless.
When we eventually moved, we rented the house to a group of energetic twenty-somethings, and the plant sadly withered. Truthfully, it likely wouldn’t have survived even if we had remained; the soil was poor, and my gardening skills were lacking. A couple of years later, while tidying up the property, I noticed a semi-circle of bricks marking where the hibiscus had once thrived. I paused, reflected, and silently bid farewell to our lost angel.
Earlier this year, we sold that house, and as I waited for confirmation from our lawyer, my mind wandered back to the hibiscus, the bricks that surrounded it, and the unspoken sorrow buried beneath the surface. I recalled my husband’s hands digging and planting—each action infused with love that needed no words.
Perhaps it was in this silence that we drew closer as a couple and grew individually. In the unspoken moments, we found ways to grieve and heal at our own pace. Through nurturing that hibiscus plant and caring for each other, we learned to express love through actions rather than just words. By not offering platitudes, we witnessed one another’s mourning and resilience, perhaps the greatest gift we could share.
For more insights on navigating the sensitive topics of pregnancy and home insemination, check out this excellent resource from the NHS, or explore the tools available at Make a Mom, such as their BabyMaker at Home Insemination Kit. For further reading on privacy and personal stories, visit our privacy policy.
Summary
In this reflective piece, the author shares her journey through multiple miscarriages and the silence that enveloped her and her husband during their grieving process. They found solace in actions, like gardening, rather than words, symbolized by a hibiscus plant. The narrative highlights the profound bond created through shared experiences of loss and the importance of nurturing love in various forms.