1 in 4 pregnancies ends in miscarriage.
For me, the surprise, unplanned pregnancy of my Leo Moon was full of anxiety of being pregnant and the shame and stigma of being irresponsible – how could I be pregnant with a third baby and on unemployment?! I had a toddler on the breast, and undiagnosed post partum depression.
I had multiple bleeds throughout the thirteen weeks, the entire time it was weird. But each time I had another scan in the early pregnancy unit, seeing this little blip of heartbeat grow legs and bounce around, presumably healthy, made me realize that it would be okay, it would be good, it would be lovely. I wanted him.
At 13 weeks I became so ill. I only knew something was wrong when I was shivering violently, freezing cold, with a high fever. Later, I bled all over the emergency room and was rushed into theatre where a tiny foetus of a boy was taken from my womb.
I was relieved to be saved.
I was relieved that my life was chosen over this tiny foetus.
Not everyone gets that.

My miscarriage and grief through it was harder on my parents than on me.
My mom carried an intimate guilt. I have a letter she wrote to him.. one of the few letters I have of her writing.

My miscarriage felt shit.
It felt normal.
It felt like it connected me to women around the world.
It felt holy and sacred, as I buried him with my barehands under the tree I planted for his older brother, as he asked for toast.

As I buried him in the garden I grew flowers for, flowers from seeds women all over the world sent me.

As I watched my 4 year old hold this tiny foetus in her hands and we talked about how sometimes this happens, and it is sad, and it is also okay.

My body has held four other lives within it. Within my blood, the magic of their creation swirls. The eggs that created them once grew within my own foetus body within my mother’s womb…

We are made of stardust.