CW: Miscarriage.
One month ago I finished up my tenth year of teaching. It definitely had its ups and downs. I struggled to find ways to engage with and support the young people with whom I work; I felt wildly ineffective all year. Ironically, for the first time in my career I was a finalists for Teacher of the Year. I guess I did something right..?
I recognize that everybody has stuff going on in their lives, but it just felt like this year the pandemic amplified that feeling. In previous years, I tried my best to keep myself busy to suppress any feelings and stress I was experiencing. But this year, being at home remote learning with my pups did not allow me to maintain that same level of business.
On March 27th, I got some news that took me through a wide range of emotions and gradually built up heavy loads of stress. The already interesting and challenging year was about to get even more interesting and challenging.
Cue the stress.
The following weeks were filled with appointments, planning, and, of course, everyday life. To say we were busy would not do it justice. Along the way, we learned about that our team wanted to closely monitor our pregnancy. Z writes about why (and more) here.
On the same day we ended the school year, May 19th, Z and I sat in an ultrasound room holding hands. It happened so quickly: a warm greeting met with some small talk. Then, “I’m so sorry. I’m not seeing a heartbeat today.”
All I remember after that is sitting next to Z, holding her hand, crying through our medical masks.
We willed ourselves to stand, but needed each other for support. We embraced and cried in that room for what seemed like hours, waiting to be moved to another room to talk to the doctor.
One month has gone by and it has not gotten easier. I try my best to keep it together because I do not want Z to feel pain. But I know she still does, and it is far greater than what I will ever be able to understand; my pain and grief feels so shallow in comparison. Unreasonably, part of me thinks that if I do not show I am in pain, then Z will feel less pain.
So I cry when I am alone.
Today is Father’s Day. It was supposed to be the last Father’s Day of me not being a father to a human (I am forever a dog dad). Instead, I am sitting on the couch crying, still grieving.
I made the mistake of opening Instagram earlier today and was overcome with emotion having seen post after post of friends celebrating their partners being amazing fathers to their little ones. After a few scrolls on my feed, I closed the app and wiped away my tears.
Miscarriage is one of those things that is not talked about publicly. And because of that, it has made me feel the most alone I have ever felt.
So to all the dads and would-be dads out there who have or who continue to struggle, you are not alone.
