“Sometimes, These Things Just Happen:” Why I Won’t Search for Answers Behind My MiscarriageAela Mass
We live in a world driven by the need to know. We see it in our kids at about age two: Why? Why? Why? And our quest for answers seems to never end.
Why do bad things happen to good people? We hear this all the time in the wake of tragedy. A few people said it to me in response to my second-trimester miscarriage. I don’t think any of us ever expect anyone to have an answer to this oft-asked query.
But something my doctors told me while I was still in the hospital — when my baby twins were slowly dying inside of me and after they had passed at 17 weeks — has stayed with me and resonates truth like I’ve never before known.
“Sometimes, these things just happen.”
And while there are endless maybes about why our twins never made it to this world, I am at peace knowing that I will never know.
Perhaps you think that answer isn’t enough. Perhaps you can’t understand why I’d just accept that as a reason, why I wouldn’t fight like hell to figure out why my babies were taken from me. But no matter what I do. No matter what questions I ask. No matter what answers I get. No matter, no matter, no matter… Nothing will change the fact that they are gone.
I will never know them. They have left this world nameless. “Too beautiful for Earth.”
I know that I did everything I could to ensure a healthy pregnancy from even before I was pregnant. And I had a healthy pregnancy. Picture perfect, in fact.
But doesn’t that just make you want to know why even more?!
My doctors, whom I trust wholeheartedly, whose care I never doubted, have no explanations for me. The nature behind how I got pregnant — through IVF and with a sperm donor — required me and the donor to have every genetic test and screening under the sun. My wife and I even chose our cryobank based on its high-as-can-be screening and testing policies. Our donor and I both were cleared. For everything. We did everything right. I refuse to go on a witch hunt searching for something that isn’t there.
Could it be I lost my babies because I smoked for 11 years? Maybe.
Could it be because my wife and I decided to transfer two embryos and not one when we were concerned from the get-go about my 125-pound body carrying them? Could be.
Could it be I had far too many ultrasounds during my 17 weeks of pregnancy? I guess.
Could it be because I took a bath three days before and women susceptible to this type of thing shouldn’t take baths? Perhaps.
Could it be because I ignored a head cold that possibly carried with it an infection that found its way to my uterus? It’s possible.
Could it be the hate-filled creatures on this planet masquerading as humans are right when they say this happened because I’m gay and shouldn’t have children? No. That is definitely not why.
And it’s also not because I didn’t do everything in my power to take the best care of my babies while they were with me. That I didn’t love them enough. That I didn’t want them enough.
I did the best I could with the time I had with my babies.
Many people have spoken to me about the guilt that comes with miscarriage. Maybe enough time hasn’t gone by, but I feel no guilt. I know there is nothing I could have done differently. Not. A. Thing.
And that is why I am okay with accepting that, yes, sometimes these things just happen.
God works in mysterious ways.
And I trust Him. That is enough for me.
Read more of Aela’s writing at Two Moms Make A Right.