When someone asks me how many children I have, I say three. Three beautiful, smart, funny children. But I really have four. The truth is, I had a pregnancy at 19, unplanned and unwanted. I was unmarried, and I was scared out of my mind. I didn't want to be pregnant, I didn't want the fallout that would occur when I told my friends and family. I told my best friend as a "test subject" and she said "Oh my god, I am so disappointed in you. How could you do this [horrible sin]?" I told my boyfriend (the baby's father) and he said, "You have ruined my life." (Like he had no part in it?!)
When I miscarried at 12 weeks, after weeks of throwing up everything I ate and exercising like a madwoman (at the time I was in the Air Force), I felt relief. Complete relief that I would not be having an unwanted baby, complete relief that I would not have to raise a child on my own or tell my parents or my pastor about my mistake. I also felt guilt. It was because of what I had done, running 5 miles a day, doing 3 floors of stairs five times after breakfast and five more after dinner. It was because I hadn't eaten right and because, most of all, I hadn't wanted this child. In short, I felt responsible for this.
The last thing I felt was sadness... because even if this wasn't the right time or place, it was part of me, and after knowing for 6 weeks that I was pregnant, I had begun to become attached to this being inside of me. The relief eventually faded, and the guilt and sadness grew into loss, and for years I mourned that child. When I later got married and didn't get pregnant, I felt that it was because of my sin, because in some way, God was punishing me for my feelings and my thoughts.
Motherhood is often intrinsically connected to our identity as a woman. I still think about that first baby I lost - how old she would be today, what she would look like, what her personality would have been like. I wonder if she would have been funny like me, if she would have been smart like her dad. Her name was Hope, and she has been for the past 12 years, a hole in my heart that I have filled with all the love I have as a mother.
As a mother, I don't know if there is a more painful experience than losing a child. You feel inadequate, you feel responsible, you feel guilty. I think across the board, all mothers feel this way to some extent. You feel like there had to be something different you could have done, something more to prevent this. Even when you read the science that miscarriage is nature's way of dealing with genetic abnormalities, that life couldn't have survived outside the womb, you still feel the loss of the soul that drifted beyond your grasp into the unknown.
In Islam, miscarriage is specifically addressed. The prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said "The miscarried fetus that I send before me is dearer to me than a rider whom I leave behind." He ackowledged the pain of miscarriage, and he acknowledged the real loss that a mother feels. He also says later "By him in whose Hand is my life, the miscarried fetus will drag his mother towards the paradise, with his navel string if she had shown the patience for the sake of reward from Allah."
Not only does Muhammad (pbuh) acknowledge the pain and loss of a miscarriage, he addresses the future. The child will be waiting in paradise - his tie always intact with her, and his inate goodness pulling her toward her Creator.The beauty of this description of the child waiting and holding the bond with his/her mother beyond the grave offers comfort to the grieving mother, and is one of the beautiful facets of Islam that I have come to admire.
When I miscarried at 12 weeks, after weeks of throwing up everything I ate and exercising like a madwoman (at the time I was in the Air Force), I felt relief. Complete relief that I would not be having an unwanted baby, complete relief that I would not have to raise a child on my own or tell my parents or my pastor about my mistake. I also felt guilt. It was because of what I had done, running 5 miles a day, doing 3 floors of stairs five times after breakfast and five more after dinner. It was because I hadn't eaten right and because, most of all, I hadn't wanted this child. In short, I felt responsible for this.
The last thing I felt was sadness... because even if this wasn't the right time or place, it was part of me, and after knowing for 6 weeks that I was pregnant, I had begun to become attached to this being inside of me. The relief eventually faded, and the guilt and sadness grew into loss, and for years I mourned that child. When I later got married and didn't get pregnant, I felt that it was because of my sin, because in some way, God was punishing me for my feelings and my thoughts.
Motherhood is often intrinsically connected to our identity as a woman. I still think about that first baby I lost - how old she would be today, what she would look like, what her personality would have been like. I wonder if she would have been funny like me, if she would have been smart like her dad. Her name was Hope, and she has been for the past 12 years, a hole in my heart that I have filled with all the love I have as a mother.
As a mother, I don't know if there is a more painful experience than losing a child. You feel inadequate, you feel responsible, you feel guilty. I think across the board, all mothers feel this way to some extent. You feel like there had to be something different you could have done, something more to prevent this. Even when you read the science that miscarriage is nature's way of dealing with genetic abnormalities, that life couldn't have survived outside the womb, you still feel the loss of the soul that drifted beyond your grasp into the unknown.
In Islam, miscarriage is specifically addressed. The prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said "The miscarried fetus that I send before me is dearer to me than a rider whom I leave behind." He ackowledged the pain of miscarriage, and he acknowledged the real loss that a mother feels. He also says later "By him in whose Hand is my life, the miscarried fetus will drag his mother towards the paradise, with his navel string if she had shown the patience for the sake of reward from Allah."
Not only does Muhammad (pbuh) acknowledge the pain and loss of a miscarriage, he addresses the future. The child will be waiting in paradise - his tie always intact with her, and his inate goodness pulling her toward her Creator.The beauty of this description of the child waiting and holding the bond with his/her mother beyond the grave offers comfort to the grieving mother, and is one of the beautiful facets of Islam that I have come to admire.
Wow. Amazing post :)
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