August 27th - 3 years later
I dread this day every year. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about it, but August 27th will always be the hardest day out of the entire year for me. There it is at the end of the summer just waiting for me... waiting to crush me.
If you're new to the blog or haven't yet read about my story, I recommend starting here for some background. Don't feel like reading another post? Ok, I understand. I'll give a quick recap...
During the summer of 2017, after having just moved to a new apartment, I found myself pregnant. 10 weeks in, on August 27, 2017, I had a miscarriage. After everything else I'd been through in my life, all the abuse and neglect and manipulation, this was the worst thing that I'd ever had to deal with. It's not just the physical pain, though believe me it's bad, it's the emotional pain.
It's the pain of knowing that you've lost a piece of yourself.
I always think about what would have happened if I'd carried the baby to term. My life certainly wouldn't be what it is now. I wouldn't have the friends that I do, I wouldn't be living in NY, and I'd probably still be trying to make my marriage work. Even though I was unhappy, I would have stayed for the child's sake. I also think that if I ever got the courage to leave, he would have used the child against me in any way he could.
I always hate to say it, but the miscarriage allowed me to have the life that I do now.
It's a horrible thought, but an accurate one. Because of his lack of empathy during and after the miscarriage, it propelled me into leaving him. No matter what else he had put me through in the previous 8 years, the fact that he couldn't support his own wife during the worst moment of her life proved that he'd never be the person I thought he could be.
So where does that leave me now?
It's 3 years later and the pain is still there. I still grieve what I lost and cry during certain songs or movies due to the triggering of memories. The grief and pain have eased a bit, but I don't think it ever truly goes away. I always say that a piece of my soul died that day and I think that's true. I was never the same person after and I don't think I could go back to who I was even if I wanted to.
The first year after, in 2018, I had lunch with a friend, listened to a lot of Hamilton, and had therapy. It was a therapeutic and self-care kind of day and exactly what I needed.
Last year a friend came to visit and we saw Hamilton on the 27th. I had bought the tickets months before, thought it would be good for me to finally be in the room where it happens on that date, but quickly realized it was a terrible decision. I was already crying before Blow Us All Away even started. By the end of Quiet Uptown, I was full-on sobbing. Thankfully, I had a friend with me who understood the importance of the day and the show's impact on it, that she comforted me. Held my hand when I started to cry and put her head on my shoulder when it got too much for me. Seeing Hamilton that day was cathartic, but not something I think I could ever do again (I say this knowing that I'll most likely be watching the HamilFilm at some point).
This year is tough for a number of reasons. Covid quarantine, social-distancing, and isolation are still in play. While there are more people out and about these days, I don't feel safe knowing that not everyone is obeying smart practices (wear your masks people!). So what can I do really? Lay in bed and cry all day? Watch HamilFilm on repeat until I run out of tears? I couldn't think of a solution that really made any sense to me. Then a friend said something that sparked an idea in my brain. She said, "Just because you're physically alone doesn't mean you have to spend the day by yourself."
I'd been so wrapped up in worrying how I'd get through the day that I completely forgot how I'd managed the last 5 months! So I got to thinking... ok, who knows about this day and who would provide the most support? I made a mental list and then started texting people. I never assume that people remember details about my life, so I gave a quick, "hey the 27th is coming up and this is why it's hard," recap and asked if they had time to talk. Almost everyone that I reached out to agreed to a call and I was overwhelmed with the outpouring of love.
I've always been very sensitive to dates. I was terrible in history, but I can tell you birthdays of people I haven't spoken to in 20-25 years. A friend of mine, after reading the first draft of my book, commented on how I was able to remember specific dates when things happened. I don't know why my brain works the way it does, but it's both a blessing and a curse. If the memory is something good (like October 25, 2019), then I want to remember. If it's something bad (August 5, 2005), then I try everything in my power to forget that date exists.
Other than the ability to physically remove a date from the calendar, what's the best option, really, to try and get through a tough day? I remember telling someone once that the 27th was the "anniversary of my miscarriage" and they found it strange. The word anniversary makes people automatically think of something happy so having it associated with something bad seemed like an odd connection. But I was never sure what else to say. Then last week I thought, "What if I just rebrand the day?" Meaning, what if I find something else to call it, something that provides me some form of comfort? I thought of the only thing I could...
Alexander's Day
I know people sometimes refer to the day they had a miscarriage as the "birthday" of the child, but to me the word "birthday" also is not the right one for this occasion. I think simply calling it Alexander's Day will allow me to, eventually, move away from the pain of the day and focus on something else. It might work, it might not work, but I think it's at least a step in the right direction. I also just hate the word "miscarriage". It feels like you've done something wrong. Think about other words that start with "mis": MIStake, MISspell, MISdiagnose, MIShap. The prefix of "mis" seems as though the miscarriage itself is your own fault... as if you caused it.
What about pregnancy loss? I hate that too. Sure, we say we "lost" someone when they've died so "losing" a pregnancy falls into the same category, but it still feels weird saying it. No words that exist for this thing that happens seem to actually encompass the emotional and physical pain that one goes through. It all just feels... wrong.
I can't change the things that have happened to me and everything I've been through, both good and bad, has led me to where I am and who I am today. I'm always going to struggle with this time of year... I'm always going to grieve. That feeling of loss will never go away no matter how much time passes. But knowing that I've surrounded myself with loving people who truly have my back, and that with each year I'll get just a tiny bit stronger, makes the struggle just a little bit easier.
- DB
